Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

10 THE SOUTHERN WORLD, AUGUST 1,1888, W om $ Skwk- TEWUl. FAITH. When heaven was stormy, earth was cold. Ami sunlight shunned the wold and wave, Thought burrowed In the church-yard mold And (ed on dreama that haunt the grave. But now that heaven Is freed from strife And earth's foil heart with rapture swells, Thought soars through Helds of endless life Above the shining asphodels. What flower that drl iks the south wind's breath, Whatsparlcllng leaf, what Hebe morn, But flouts the sullen greybeard, death. And laughs our Arctic doubts to acorn f Pale scientist, scant of healthful blood, Your ghastly tomes one moment close; Pluck freshness from a spring-time bud. Kind wisdom In the opening rose. Hark the white lily, whose sweet core Hath many a wlld-bee swarm enticed, And drew therefrom a honeyed lore Pure as the tender creed of Christ I Yea. even the weed, which upward holds Its tiny ear past bower and lawn, A lovelier faith than yours unfolds Caught from the far faint winds of dawn. —PaULH. Haynk. In Jlarper'i Magazine. Written specially tor the Southern World.] HY GRANDFATHER'S WILL. BY UELKN 11AKCOUBT. “Well, Marla," said my father, looking across the table, as my mother laid down the letter she had been reading, “Was 1 right? Is it really from Jane Weston?" “It really is," she answered, with a per plexed look on the dear, tender face, “and it contains an invitation for Elsie to spend a few days with her at the Grange.” “What!” No wonder my father and I united in the exclnmation, for in all these years that my Cousin Jane and her husband had held sway over the grand old estate that should have been my father's inheritance, this was the very first invitation extended to any one of his family to cross the thresholdof the home of his youth. “She says that John, (her husband, you know), will be away all next week, and she will be lonely," continued my mother, “What do you think of it, Harry ? I do not quite like to accept so tardy an invitation, and yet it seems wrong to refuse the first overture toward a reconciliation. I have al ways believed that Jane would have done differently, if it had not been for her hus band." “I don’t know,” said my father, doubt fully; "Jaue is, I think, good-hearted, and 1 hold her no ill will, though she reigns over my rightful kingdom, where my poor futher meant I should be sovereign lord. What do you say Elsie? You are slightly interested, and are entitled to a voice in the matter." “I—I think," said I slowly, “that I should like to go, just to see the place where you were horn.” “Well, we will think it over, and tell you our decision to-morrow. You know the cir cumstances my child, and that it is rather a perplexing question to settle." Yea, I surely did know the circumstances, I, Elsie Heydon, had not lived to the ma ture age of nineteen, without having heard all about our romantic family history; how my father, an only child, had offended my grandfatherby marrying my mother, instead of the heiress selected for him; how he bad been disinherited, and the doors of his old home closed against him; how a distant cousin, had been summoned to take his place in the house, and in my grandfather’s will, his son being left out entirely. Then, after several years, the old man fell sick, and believing he was on his death-bed, relented, and sent for his son. There was a reconciliation, full and entire, and then my father hastened home to bring his wife and year old infant to his parent’s bedside. Contentment, and a lightened conscience had done wonders for the patient, and the physician announced his decided opinion that the crisis was safely passed, and my grandfather would be as well as ever in a short time. “But, I've made it all safe for you anyhow, Harry," he said eagerly, “the old will Is no good now, I've a better one here, Lampson drew it up this morning and Walker and his wife witnessed it I'll burn the other one to-morrow; it was a wicked .will, Harry— can you ever forgive me ?" he added, wist- fnlly. “Fully and freely, dear father, And now you have talked enough; Marla and I are going down to the village for to-night, John says Jane has no room ready for us yet; we expect to find you well to-morrow.” They did indeed, find him “well" on the morrow; sowell that neither sickness nor trouble could touoh him evermore 1 During the night he bad passed away from earth; John Weston hadfeat with him to ad minister medicines, but he bad fallen asleep, he said, and when he awoke he found him self alone with a corpse. “I can’t understand it at all,” exclaimed the puzzled doctor. “1 never made such a mistake before in my life. I thought his life safe for some years to come; he was ap parently entirely over this attack—I confess I am puzzled." Still, the fact remaiued that he was gone, and to ail appearances, he bad carried out of the world with him, his last and true will, for not a trace of it could be found, in vain the old house was searched in every nook and cranny, on the possible supposition that he had arisen from bis bed in secret, and had hidden it away. It had been duly executed in my father’s favor, with a comfortable annuity for Cousin Jane, and then left in my grandfather’s pos session ; to thede facts, Lampson, the lawyer, Walker and his wife Betsey, testified most emphatically. But of course, this availed nothing legally, my father went sadly back to his illy-paid work, as a clerk in a large store, and tried to forget the wealth that was rightfully his. And now, after the lapse of eighteen years, came this strange invitation to me, to visit my father’s birth-place. It was accepted, of course; my parents were not of the kind to refuse overtures of friendship, even from one who had wronged them, and so it came about that the next day (Cousin Jane had been very particular to specify the days for my arrival and de parture), I started for the Grange. It was a lordly building, well worthy to be the ancestral home of the good old family of which my father was the head, and I won dered how he could so patiently have borne its loss; my hot young blood boiled with in dignation, as I thought of the cruel stroke of fortune that had turned him out of his rightful home. And Cousin Jane, how unfit she was to be the mistress of that beautiful estate! A little, faded, timid woman, who, with her husband, and two old servants dwelt in one corner of one wing of the rambling build ing—all the rest of the mansion had been shut up ever since my grandfather’s death. Cousin Jaue was in very frail health, and terribly nervous—I saw that at once; evi dently anxious to have me feel at ease, and yet herself starting ut every sound, und look ing fearfully over her shoulders whenever a door opened suddenly. Two servants, I have said; one of these was a feeble old man, whose bright eyes scarcely left my face, us be waited at dinner upon his mistress and myself. “And now Elsie," said Cousin Jane, “I am going to lie down awhile, I am not strong, and have to rest every afternoon, but you must make yourself at home; go where you like, do what you like. Your room is next to mine, you know it is John’s room, but you will be gone before he comes back, and the rest of the house is not in order for guests." Left to my own devices, I soon found my self wandering down to the beautiful river that flowed swiftly along at the foot of the terraced lawn; a boat was moored there, a light skiff belonging to the Grange, and as I was fully at home with a pair of oars, 1 yielded to the temptution and was quickly afloat ; unacquainted with my surroundings, however, and seeing that here and there large rocks cropped up out of the shallow river-bed, I did not venture far, only far enough to note that about half a mile below the Grange, in the middle of the stream, was a cozy little island, with one substantial farm-house standing back from the shore, embowered in grand old trees. Little did I think what urgent importance that same lonely house was quickly to as sume in my eyes! Returning to the Grange, I was met by the old servant I had noticed at dinner. “Eh I Miss Elsie," he said, “I’ve been looking for your sweet face all over. I wanted to see it for the love of your father, my dear, sure I taught him to shoot and ride, and ah 1 lack- a-day, the dear young master I" he drew bis rough coat-sleeve across his eyes, “I'm Walk er, Miss Elsie, mayhap you’ve heard the name?" “Ah t that I have," I cried, clasping his rough band in mine. “I have often heard my father speak of you, he says he has no more faithful friend in the world than Walker. I am so glad to know you, why— you were one of the witnesses to my grand father’s real true will I" “Hist I hist I" he exclaimed in a sudden tremor, looking round as if be expected some one to appear,—(I easily guessed who.) “If Mr. Weston heard you, Min Elsie I Bat the Lord be thanked, he’s had to go away on business for the first time these eighteen years, he stays all the time in his library and don’t like folks to go in it. It’s queer like. He wouldn’t have let you come here, he cant abide the name of Heydon. My idee is that Mrs. Weston knows she ain't going to live long, and has sent for you to tell you something before she dies, for she knows some queer things, or my name ain’t Walker. But she's mortal feared of that man, he's a bad one aud he hates me like pison, because he has to keep me and Betsy here on fair wages, or else pay us a nuity,— so the will ordered, and it’s cheaper to keep us here, so here we stays. He don’t like it a bit." Was this really the explanation of the un expected invitation tendered me, was there something to be revealed, that cousin Jane preferred telling me, rather than to my father? • All that night I lay awake pondering over Walker’s words, and my thoughts traveled in a circle, of which the missing will was the centre, diameter and circumference. Several times the next day I felt sure cousin Jane was about to speak on the sub ject uppermost in my mind, but each time, she hesitated, shivered, then turned the con versation to indifferent topics, and so the day wore on. Tea was over, and we too were sitting quietly together, when a heavy footstep sounded in the hall outside, and os cousin Jane sprang to her feet, trembling like one with a sudden chill, the door was flung open and a tall forbidding looking man entered the room. “John is that you? I thought you would not be back for a week yet ?” “And you are sorry your thoughts were wrong, no doubt. You’re a model wife! I got througli and came home, that’s all. Who is that?" he asked suddenly, as his glance fell upon me. “Its—its—Elsie—Heydon” fluttered cousin Jane, cowering against the wall as a thun der-cloud darkened her husband’s face. “Who?” he shouted, “who? How did she come here?” “1—I—invited her I thought— A sharp snarl like that of a wild beast broke from the infuriated man, as with one bound he reached her side. The next in stant there was a pitiful cry and a heavy fall. “Beast! brute! coward! ’’ I exclaimed, and then as be turned furiously towards me, I fled in sudden fear, for the face I saw was that of a demon. I fled, but whither ? Not to the room I had occupied, that was bis, I remembered,—the bail door stood open—out of the house, around to the servants quarter’s, into the arms of astonished old Walker, I rushed, breathless and panting. What was I to do? It was too late to start for my home that night, but I could not meet that terrible man again, and I knew I could best serve Cousin Jane by keeping out of the way. Walker and Betsey put their heads to gether in consultation, and as a result con ducted me quietly upstairs, and Into a grand old bed-room, in the wing adjoining that oc cupied by the present owner of the Grange. “I’ll make the bed up fresh, and put a warming-pan, to take the damp off, Miss Elsie,” said kind old Betsey, “and me and Walker will fix a bed on the floor in the next room, if you like and leave the door open; but laws, he'll never look for you here; he hasn’t stepped foot in this wing these eighteen years—so don’t you scare none." I did not attempt to undress, 1 was too nervous and excited for that, but threw my self on the bed in my clothes and soon, worn out, and soothed by the sense of compan. ionship afforded by the loud breathing of the old couple near by, I fell Into a sound sleep. When and why I awoke I cannot tell, but I suddenly became conscious that l was not alone in the room, I had left the lamp burn ing, and by its pale light, I saw and that without the least sensation of tear, that a man, with snow-white hair, slight and frail in figure, was standing within the apart ment. He turned his face to the light, and I recognized features, that an old oil painting in my father’s possession, had rendered me very familiar with, my grandfather’s I Yes, there stood my grandfather, looking at me with a gentle smile on his lips. I felt no fear as I have said, it did not seem to me at all strange that he should be there, but as he raised his hand, I sat up, and gazed at him in earnest attention. He moved towards the door, then turned rad beckoned me to follow; still keeping my eyes fixed upon him, I stepped to the floor and obeyed him. Down the corridor, up one flight of stairs, down another—the full moon beaming in at the windows as we passed—I followed my ghostly guide. The figure paused at a door; it flew open, and we entered an apartment I recognized at once,—it was Mr. Weston's library, where nearly all his time was spent; there was a dim light burning, it was always kept so, for he had a habit of coming there at night when he could not sleep. Straight across the room I followed my guide until we stood before tbe quaintly carved fire-place; then one finger was raised and pointed towards a group of carved flowers. Mechanically, so far as any conscious volition of my own was concerned—I too reached forth my hand and my finger touched the central point of the flower group; instantly, the latter swung inward, disclosing a shallow aperture, so artfully concealed by the skillful carving, that no one would have dreamed of its existence, even if searching for some such hiding place. Still tlie finger pointed onward, and I plunged my hand into the opening and closed it upon a folded document! “The will! the will!” I exclaimed ex citedly ; I saw a triumphant smite light up the wan features of my ghostly guide, and then the spot where he stood was vacant. At the same instant a terrible oath smote on my ears, and John Weston, wild, hag gard, with the look of the very devil in his eyes, leaped towards me from the open door.' I had felt no fear of my ghostly visitor, but from my earthly assailant I recoiled in humble dread, there was such hatred, des peration, murder written on his convulsed features. I eluded his grasp and cried out as I fled towards the door. "My grandfather brought me here, he showed me the hiding place—oh ! there he is now, grandfather, save me, save me! ’’ I saw that frail form once more, it stepped between me and the infuriated man who threatened me, and John Weston stopped short in his efforts to seize me, his cheeks grew ashy pale, his eyes protruded, his knees shook, and with a low groan he sank an ab- ject heap on the floor. Had my words alone so magical nn effect, or did he see what 1 saw ? I did not stop to consider that question, grasping the precious will tightly, I ran as one runs for life, down the stairs, out into the clear quiet moonlight, down the path, across the lawn, with quick coming breath, for 1 knew the instant John Weston recov ered from his temporary stupor, he would pursue me relentlessly. On, on, on, flown to the river shore, and there lay the little skiff before me, floating lightly on the tide. Blessed little skiff, a revelation of hope and escape I The oars were lying in the bot tom, and to unhook the chain and push out from the shore was the act of a moment Carefully I slipped that precious paper inside my dress, to insure its safety, and then os the sound of hasty steps running down the gravel walk to the shore, caught my ears, I pulled away with might and main. A fearful torrent of curses, a pistol ball that whistled by, and struck the water ahead of me, and soon after the rattle of oars, fiercely, swiftly falling oars, behind me, urged me on to greater and greater ex ertions; my foe had found another boat, I remembered having seen another close by, and now it was, as I felt, a race for life or death, % The moonlight guided me on my course, just as the rattle of my oars guided my pursuer, for I had happily too much the start, for my small boat to be visible in the soft lustre of the moon. Suddenly the island I had seen the day before loomed up before me, and my heart gave a great leap as I recalled .that cosy house near to the shore. On flew the skiff until its prow touched the shelving sands; then I sprang out, and running out into the water with the boat sent it afloat down the stream. "He won’t hear the oars, but he’ll see the boat soon, and think I have fainted, so he will follow it for a while anyhow, till I am safe in the house.,’ So I reasoned as I ran swiftly to my haven of refuge, and startled the peaceful inmates from their slumbers, never intermitting my attack upon the door, until the farmer cau tiously opened it. And then, the fearful strain over, I fell in sensible at his feet, to the dismay of rad his kind hearted wife.