The sunny South. (Atlanta, Ga.) 1875-1907, March 06, 1875, Image 1
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