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BY MARY E, JOHN H. SEALS, jjgSb&g ATLANTA, GEORGIA, MARCH 6 1875. TERMS, | [For The Sunny South.] APRIL, AND MAY. April stood in the valley, her dew-gemmed fingers press’d In a quick and nervous clasping over throbbing breast; Tears fell on the blossoms untwined from her tresses now, And lines of sorrow were stealing over the stainless brow. A weary smile with a struggle through her weeping found itB way. As she turned with faint-voiced greeting to the form of the fairy May. The flower-'broidered mantle she trembling held in her hand, Then cast it round the shoulders of the gay young queen of the land; The garland of early blossoms she twined in the golden heir. Then turned with wistful glances from the vision so won- arously fair. My Old Life stands in the valley, watching with tearful eyes, With low, regretful murmurs and many reproachful sighs; While I linger beside a pathway that leads another way, And turn with light-hearted laughter warbling a joyous lay. My Old Life turns to my New Life and yields with a sigh of pain The ’broidered robe and the garland she'll never wear again; My Old Self turns to my New Self, and smiling through her tears, Looks down the rose-hued pathway trembling with child ish fears. A kiss and a clasp at parting,—my Old Self wanders away; I turn with heart of sunshine to my life’s fair month of May. [Written for The Sunny South.] TWICE CONDEMNED; OR, The Border Mystery. T CHAPTER VI. TUi *1 dc. lO 1HK illLE -^- A NARROW *RCAPK — THE SIREN IN SCARLET. “Are yon going to ride this morning?” asked Melicent of her husband as he came into the room, with his riding-boots on and his spur in his hand. “Only as far as the mill,” he answered, hut without warmth in his tones, and without offer ing to approach where she stood at an open window. “May I go with yon?” “Certainly, if you wish; but I must tell you that I shall be detained at the mill some time, inspecting the working of some new machinery I have just had put up. You will find it tire some waiting.” “ If I do. I'll cut the company of you and your machinery and come home alone,” Melicent said playfully, longing to see the cloud pass from her husband's eyes. At the same time she could not help thinking how this arrangement favored her secret resolve to visit Ishmael at his cabin. If her movements were really observed with suspicion by Colonel Archer, her riding this morning up the river, instead of down, and furthermore, accompanied by her husband, would put his suspicions at fault—dispel them, perhaps, before they could take definite shape. On returning, she trusted to be able to get out of town by a back way un perceived, and to find Black Bayou and the fish erman's hut described by Munch. She retired to change her dress, with feelings divided between distress at her husband's unaccustomed coldness and excitement at the thought of the interview that awaited her. “I must dress as unlike the Milly he used to know as possible,” she thought, winding her hair into coils about her stately head. She was on the point of putting on a bine habit, when a sudden recollection induced her to lay it aside. A blue muslin was her best dress in that one bright summer that she had been Neil's wife. Blue might possess associations for him—might furnish a link that would extend into a swift chain of recollection, and lead to her being recognized. She put up the blue habit, and substituted one of black velvet, fast ened to the throat by buttons of dull gold. She wore with this a black hat with drooping plumes, and as an aigrette, a golden hand clasping a coral spray. “Why do you look at me so. Aleck?” she asked, smiling, but rather uneasily, as she stood on the steps drawing on her riding-gloves. Her husband bad come up. and stood waiting on the walk below, regarding her with a grave, ques tioning. half-cynical look. “ I was wondering at the dancing brightness there is in your eyes—like an ignis fatuus. It is unusual. What has kindled it there?” “Fever, perhaps,” she answered, dropping her lids; “I have not been able to sleep refresh ingly for several nights, and I have a dull, throb bing pain in my temples.” His face softened; he looked at her attentively. “And you did not speak of it to me?” he said with concern in his voice and repressed tender ness in his look. "Perhaps you had better not ride. It may fatigue you.” "No; it will do me good. I feel as if I needed rapid motion.” she returned, as she seated herself in the saddle and took the reins from his hands. Their ride carried them through the upper part of the town—through a suburb irregularly built, and composed, for the most part, of “shanties” and of hastily-constructed houses in the “American railroad ” style of architecture. On the hack porch of one of these buildings, stood two persons whose appearance riveted Melicent's attention. They were a man and woman. The man caught Melicent's eye from the fact that, though he stood with his back towards her, leaning against a post, his dress, his atttinde of insolent ease, and his tall figure, i reminded her of Colonel Archer. The woman jwas young and handsome —a dark, bold-eyed beauty, round-throated and full-lipped, with a quantity of shining black hair tucked carelessly under a black-and-red net. and a slender figure, graceful even in the soiled pink wrapper which she wore, hound round the waist with a cord, the tassel of which she twisted absently as she listened to what her companion was saying. Her face, lifted to his, had an expression of earnest, business-like attention, while yet a smile of malicious mischief lurked about her month. Melicent’s quick eye had just photographed CHAPTER VII. THE “TREE-FROG”—I3HMAEL’s CABIN—THE WEARY HEART — AN ITXLOOEED-FOR VISITOR — MANCH’s STRATAGEM—THE SHADOW OF DISTRUST. Drawing her vail about her face, and avoiding the principal streets which ran parallel with the river, Melicent took her way through the back part of the town, and riding rapidly, soon came out of it on the lower side. It was built mainly upon the point made by that curve of the river known as “Bear's Bend.” The little settlement of that name had been located lower down, just within the bend. Passing the few dilapidated cabins that now marked the site of this earlier settlement. Melicent at length came to the bayou she was in search of, and found the road Manch , had described as following the course of the bayou until within a short distance of Ishmael’s cottage. She kept the road for nearly a mile, * riding at a moderate pace, looking about her and listening attentively. A man driving an ox- ' wagon with vociferous threats and deafening ap peals to his cattle; an old woman riding in to market with a dressed pig strapped behind her, with a lap full of noisy chickens; a couple of boys with a pack of dogs at their heels, carrying guns half as long as themselves, and a poor little cat bird or two by way of game,—these were all Mel icent saw upon the road. She was beginning to look and listen a little anxiously for Manch, when a sound that had once been familiar caught her ear—the bugle-like note produced by blow ing upon a rustic instrument made of reeds. It proceeded from the belt of woods bordering the bayou, and Melicent at once turned into it. It was a strip of open hammock such as only West ern streams can show: huge trunks of ash, syc- , amore and cottonwood, towering aloft with enor mous wild vines running up their sides and stretching their brown arms like mighty cables from tree to tree—suggesting the idea of the mast and rigging of some Titanic ship. Fit flags for such a monster vessel seemed the masses of long gray moss floating from the limbs of the trees and moving slowly in the wind. Reaching the bayou, Melicent rode along the steep bank in the direction of the bugle note. Suddenly it ceased, and soon after the clear, cheery chirp of a^frog came up as if from th cvyvater. At the ; Melicent’sTap. ‘Looking arffrcnd, Rhe espied the brown little face and the keen eyes of Manch ! peering from the foliage of a limb that overhung i the water. He drew in his fishing line, and | running along the limb like a squirrel, was soon i at her horse’s side. “Don’t I make a pretty good frog?” he asked. “And ain’t I a high hand on a home-made flute ? I blowed myself hoarse and caught a string of perch besides, waiting for you. If you had tioning with zest, and Melicent, left to herself, | “Since you wish it, you can go alone,” he | broke your promise ” walked about aimlessly and thought of the caoin said, with a cold flash of the bine eye that had j “You would have known it was out of my on Black Bayou, and was sure that Manch was | grown so soft a moment ago. i power to keep it. I am not mistress of circnm- •HE LOOKED AROUND SUDDENLY WITH THAT STARTLED, DEER-LIKE GLANCE,” ETC. waiting for her and remembering the promise implied in her parting words of “Look for me to-morrow.” She walked about absently, and did not notice that several times she approached nearer than she should to a large wheel that was rapidly revolving with a great buzz and whirr, and turning, by means of its straps and bands, other smaller wheels in the department above. Suddenly she felt a violent jerk from behind, this expression, when the girl tossed her little : and at the same instant saw herself in what j near the river and is dangerous.” head—a toss that sent a portion of her rich hair tumbling out of the net—and exclaimed: “Two days! Why, I can do it in two hours, if it can be done at all. Hearts are not heads, and quick work is the motto in affairs of this kind.” “The quicker the better,” was the reply of the man. “But mind you—-—” He stopped, checked by a low exclamation from the girl, and turned his head quickly to wards the street. He averted it even more has tily. but not before Melicent had assured herself that it was really Colonel Archer. Evidently he did not wish to be recognized, and Melicent gave no sign of having done so. Mr. Avery had noticed nothing particular in the scene on the back porch. He had given it a casual glance, and then turned his head to bow to an acquaintance on the oppo site side of the street. “Who lives there,—do you know?” Melicent asked of him when they had gone a few steps farther. “No: they are new-comers, I think,—French people I should say. or of French extraction. He helped her to her saddle in silence. As | stances, Manch. But—here I am—and now, she took the riding-whip from his hand, she j where is the fisherman’s hut?” bent down and said gently: | “This way,” he cried. “We must ford the “l*ou are not offended, Aleck? Indeed, I did i bayou; it’s not saddle-skirt deep to your horse not mean ” j this time o’ year.” He. inclined his head courteously and drew “ And how will you cross ?” back from her side. “Yonder’s a good enough bridge for me and “It is of no importance,” he said. “Be sure I the coons,” he said, pointing to afallen tree that to take the lower road; the upper one goes too ; spanned the water. j When they had crossed, he led the way and He walked back to the mill, and she rode away Melicent followed, controlling her agitation and with a burdened heart. j composing her features as best she might. “Luck’s dead against me, as Manch would j Manch stopped before a group of trees so thickly seemed a fatal proximity to the wheel. She turned faint and dizzy, and would have stag- 1 gered and been caught by those whirling arms into an'embrace of death, had not other arms say,” she thought. “I would not gd alone from draped with moss that only glimpses could be interposed to rescue her from the frightful peril. Quick as thought her husband sprang forward and snatched her from the danger. Supporting her in his arms, he bent over her with a face as white as her own. “Melicent, my love—my darling!” he uttered, his coldness and distrust vanishing in the rush of anxious tenderness. She opened her eyes and smiled reassuringly. “I am not hurt, Aleck—only frightened,” she ! and increased that shadow' of distrust that has asserted, standing upon her feet, hut still cling- ! fallen over bis love for me. Alas ! I feel I am ing to him as much in tenderness as in weak- fated to lose his confidence and destroy his af- ness. “Iam not hurt—thanks to you, Aleck,” fection !” she repeated, unwinding his arm from around ! She pressed her lids together to keep back the her and putting his hand to her lips, with a look j tears that burned under them, into his eyes of tender, almost humble gratitude: j efforts, a few bright drops fell upon her cheeks for the thought that she was wronging his love i and were kissed off by the wind as she rode rap- by her concealment was supreme in her mind at 1 idly on. this moment of her preservation. ! But Melicent’s nature was too elastic for any She had no time to say more, for at this in- i brooding despondency. Her natural hopeful- You see the pair of poodles on the steps and stant the engineer rushed in with a glass of j ness soon asserted its rule. Her spirits rose as that hideous parrot in the window?” , water, and Mr. Sneed, the burly head clerk, she rode on under the soft, hazy sky, noting And that old woman in the short gown and ; came panting up with a black bottle labeled with her usual ready sympathy the different “spirits.” followed by several of his younger 1 phases of human life she encountered, and hear- assistants, one of them having snatched up in i ing the birds sing in the trees of the cottage his hurry a jar of perfumed hair-oil belonging ' yards, to the dandy of the establishment. Melicent was able to smile as she thanked them (though with rather a pale face), assuring them that she was quite recovered. She shuddered, however, when the engineer put into her hand some torn home this morning for fear Col. Archer would ; had of the little black hut within, want to accompany me, or at least, would watch i “Here it is,” he said; “looks like a squirrel’s and find out w'here I went. I trusted to some j nest. Listen,” he went on; “ain’t that beauti- fortunate chance to furnish me a pretext to Aleck ful ? Ishmael’s been feedin’ his birds, and now for prolonging my ride alone as we returned; ! he’s coaxin’ ’em to sing. Did you ever hear any but after that unlucky adventure of the wheel, j whistlin’ like that ? Beats harmonicas and I knew he would be sure to insist on my going j Jews’-harps all hollow. I’d give everything in straight home with him. I’ve done a worse | my bank if I could whistle like that.” thing after all—wounded my husband’s feelings man’s hat. who is scrubbing dirty linen in the back yard, is singing a French ditty,” added Melicent. thinking at the same time that the girl had also spoken with a French accent, and wondering much what her words meant, and what Colonel Archer could be doing there en gaged in such earnest conversation with her. On arriving at the mill. Mr. Avery said, as he assisted Melicent to dismount: “You can sit in the oftiee and rest while I look at the machinery.” “I had rather go with you. if you will let me,” she answered. “I am not tired in the least.” Throwing her long riding-skirt over her arm. she went into the mill. It was not the first time she had been there. She had a feeling of sym pathy—of fellowship, perhaps—with all work ing people, and liked to be where they were busy at tbeir labors : liked to speak friendly words to them, and show the interest she hon estly felt in their pursuits and their welfare. She greeted them pleasantly now as she passed— the carters in the yard, the errand hoys, and the workmen in the mill, in their white blouses, with their bare, muscular arms, their hair and faces all powdered with flour. They turned to look after her with hearty admiration, and such a brightening of the eyes as might happen when a brilliant sun-burst takes the place of cloudy and dismal weather. They went down to the engine-room, and there Mr. Avery entered into a discussion with the grimy-faced individual who presided, concern ing the new principle of action on which the engines were working, and learned from him that there was something wrong—“a hitch somewhere that made a drawback everv now and Melicent remembered Neil’s whistling in times past, but it had not impressed her as this did now. It was wonderful—clear and pure as a bird’s note, but with a yearning melancholy in it that no bird’s note ever had. Presently the “coaxin’” was successful; the mocking-bird In spite of her trilled out deliciously, and the whistling ceased. “Come on,” said Manch, parting the drapery of moss Melicent entered the narrow open space in front of the cabin. Ishmael was sitting outside upon a bench with his bird-cages before him. His face was turned from Melicent as he leaned on his elbow and listened to his bird, so that she saw at first only the remembered figure in an old gray jacket with loose outlines. The long hair fell upon his neck; it was darker and longer than of old, and it was slightly mixed with gray, but had still its wavy abundance. “Ishmael,” said Manch, “here’s the lady who give ns the pictures and that bought my birds. ” He looked around suddenly with that startled, deer-like glance—intensified now into the look of a trapped animal that sees the hunter ap- then. though he couldn’t be sure where the sharply as to disconcert her. He had read its fault lay.” expression, and interpreted it to mean reluc- Mr. Avery went to work examining and ques- < tanee to have him accompany her. She had meant to avoid passing the house where she had seen Col. Archer that morning, fearing he might still be there and might observe the direction she took—perhaps follow her; but o a before she was aware of it, she was close to the scarlet strips, saying that it was the remains of cottage, and saw in the yard just before her the proaching. The expression was momentary; as her scarf, which had caught in the wheel and dark, bold-looking girl* standing near the low it passed, he rose and bowed to Melicent with been jerked from her shoulders. paling and talking to a man on the outside. She i the simple, child-like grace that had always been Mr. Avery himself was paler and more agi- : was differently dressed now, wearing a coquet- his. fated than Melicent. tish scarlet jacket, with a red rose in her hair, “She has come to see your birds. She will “We will go home at once,” he said, and and her round arms and small hands showing get down and hear Constant sing,” said Manch. drawing her arm through his he took her out of to advantage as they were clasped over the silken- He came up to her and offered his hand to the mill. As they were preparing to mount haired dog she was holding and fondling as she assist her in dismounting. Melicent almost talked. The man upon the outside, leaning his feared to take it, her own was trembling so. She elbows on the low fence, was so absorbed in could not believe but he must recognize her looking at and listening to her that he did not She would have known him anywhere, though he see Melicent until she was within a few feet of was changed. She wondered why others did him. Then he turned round and stared at her not recognize him in spite of the beard that par- a moment with that puzzled, wondering look tially concealed his features, that had been beard- with which he had regarded her before—for the less as a boy’s when she saw him last. She did man was Gabriel Griffin. Melicent's appearance not remember at the time that even without this stirred some faint memory that served vaguely disguise it was not likely he would be recognized to trouble him, while she was disturbed at the by those who believed him dead, and in whose encounter. She knew from Col. Archers report mind his image and even the memory of his portaL.ee. If she waited till another time her that Gabriel Griffin was as much as ever one of existence had been dismissed by the lapse of going might be too late. She turned to her bus- the Pariahs of society—shunning and hating it time and the influx of newer images and inci- band. ! as it shunned and hated him. What was he dents. “Don’t let m« take you away from your bnsi- doing here, having a familiar, lover-like inter- Yes, he was changed. There were alterations ness. Aleck: I can ride home alone.” view with a woman whom an hour or two ago in the face she remembered so well: but every “No. uo ! I shall attend you, of course. I can she had seen engaged in deep, and what seemed change had seemed to deepen its pathetic char- come here to-morrow.” secret conference with Col. Archer? Was it acter. The lines traced in the forehead, the sad “But perhaps you had better remain. I am merely a coincidence, or did it bear some rela- droop of the lids, the grave wistfulness and sure ’’ tion to the plot Col. Archer assured her he had child-like candor of his eyes, the thinness and She stopped, for he looked into her face so formed for detecting Neil ? paleness of his cheek, the silver streaks in his “ ' " - • “I must let him tell me what this plot is,” hair—all these she noticed with deep emotion, Melicent said to herself; “I see no other way to while her own face remained partly shaded by i forestall him.” * the vail she had not put aside. their horses, the engineer came up and said: “ See here, Ylr. Avery, how about that new machinery ? I don’t like to try it like it is with out you were here to watch how it works.” “i’ll come to-morrow, Watson; I have an en gagement for the afternoon." the mayor replied. Melicent suddenly remembered her own en gagement for this morning. Should she lose her chance of seeing and warning “Ishmael?" Manch would be waiting- to show her the way. This opportunity might be of the utmost im- BETINCT PRINT