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Castle and Cabin;
-OR,—
Lord Edwin’s Vow.
A TALE OF ENGLAND AND THE GREAT WEST
BY C. H. WEBSTER.
CHAPTER XII.
THE DEPARTURE.
Next morning, early in the gray twilight of
the autumn dawn, % anee Tarbell, the young fur-
dealer from the distant settlement, was astir to
complete his bargains with the Pawnees ere he
took up his departure for his home again.
For the past three yrer.rs he had traded with
the Indians in the intervals of his farm labor;
and it was on one ol these excusions he had been
absent in the preceding May, when David
Brandt had visited his cabin with his love con
fession for his pretty young sister Johanna.
And lately, Vance had found these trading trips
very profitable; hence he gladly continued in
them, hailing with joy the wealth that should
enable him to surround sweet Lucy Brandt,
when she redeemed her plighted, troth, with
the luxuries which it would delight him to lay
at her feet.
At this last trip he had purchased a larger
quantity of furs than usual; and his train of
pack-horses now stood heavily laden in the early
morning, and l.is preparations tor departure
were nearly made. His route homeward was to
lie in a south easterly direction, tarrying a day
at a trading post, where he disposed of his furs
to the government agents; then he would take
up his way to his own settlement again.
On the preceding evening Sir Hugh Raleigh
had informed him ot his determination to accept,
for himself and cousins, his cordially given in
vitation to visit the settlement with him, and
Vance now awaited, in the gray morning, the
appearance of the Fnglishmen from their tent.
A parting walk bad been taken yesterday by
Lord Edwin and the beautifnl Wind-Flower
during the short period that elapsed between
his decision to leave the Pawnee village and the
early afternoon twilight, in which the youth
had spoken of his departure on the morrow;
but true to his promise, he had uttered no vows,
although he took especial pleasure in dwelling
on the fact that he should return again with the
following spring time.
But his firmness was sorely shaken by the un
affected sorrow which the artless forest girl
knew not how to conceal, although all the warm
impulses ©f youth cried out against leaving her
thus without a word of what was surging
through his heart. It was a hard test; bHt his
word was passed, and so he only held Wind-
Flower’s little brown hand for a moment, and
said calmly:
‘Adieu, Y/ind-Flower. In the spring I shall
visit the Pawnee village again.’
And the dark eyed girl bent her steps, in the
sad pride of disappointed expectation (for what
had all their past betokened but that he loved
her?) back to her wigwam; and the young Eng
lishman went to his own lodge to make prepara
tions for his departure.
Now, in the gray of the morning, Vance Tar
bell stood awaiting the appearance of his com
panions for the journey.
Eagle Plume with his braves, bad superintend
ed the lading of the last pack-horse; breakfast
features, and with the true barbfr^love* 1 ^
splendor in her ornaments, came out from f
wigwam and approached him r0m a
tow; do you do this
A few minutes later the fur-dealer and his
companions were riding away from the Pawnee
village; while Wind-Flower sat disconsolate and
lonely in her wigwam.
CHAPTER XIII.
A SORROWING MOTHER.
The sesaon in London was at its height; and,
among the titled queens of beauty, none at
tracted more homage than the Lady Amelia
Sutherland.
But, although she had come up to the metrop
olis to enjoy its winter gaieties under the chap-
eronage of her aunt, the Duchess of Argyle, and
entered with the zest of but twenty summers
into the enjoyments of society, yet her young
heart was ever faithful to her absent lover.
Admirers in crowds there were, who offered
their homage, but went away disappointed
when they pressed a warmer affection; and many
young lady rivals in society vowed ‘ ’twas the
strangest thing they ever knew—Sir Hugh to
remain so long in those foreign wilds, leaving
his lady-love to flirt so shamefully with their
lovers!'
But the lovely Lady Amelia, secure in her
own high-minded course, calmly pursued her
‘We are about the same age; perhaps Hortense
may be even a trifle younger than I—not mow
than forty. She was married young, and we did
not meet for many years. Her trouble has not
aged her sweet face, except for the sadness it
has thrown over it; but I saw threads of silver in
her abundant hair. I don’t think she will ever
get over her great grief.. If it was a buried sor
row, she might have rallied from it; but her
daughter did not die—she was stolen. I never
knew of it before.'
‘Stolen, Aunt Harriet ?’^echoed Lady Amelia.
‘How? Do tell me!’
•Yes, my dear; and I mention it to you that
you may not unintentionally wound her feelings
while she is our guest. It is a strange, sad story,
and Madam does not speak of it often; but I had
a portion of it from her lips to-night. They
were in America—the marquis and his wife-
traveling there for a few years, I think, and
their little Hortense suddenly disappeared
from their apartments when only six months
old; and no tidings were ever gleaned of her
fate. Immense rewards were offered, and the
officers of the law employed for years; but all re
mained buried in profound mystery; and at
length they were forced to give her up*Bs dead.
Do you wonder that the poor mother never
smiled again, and drags herself so restlessly
‘Oh, it is sad indeed? Poor Madame De Tre
maine ! I will do all I can to cheer her lonely
heart while she remains with us,’ said Lady
Amelia, pityingly. ^
TO BE CONTINUED.
Waiting for the Dawn.
BY IRENE INGE COLLINS.
even way, neither inviting their homage nor dis-1 aroun(J the world—bereft of home, husband,
dainfully declining the many honest friendships an d child?’
she secured in the society into which her annt
introduced her; and, meanwhile, she eagerly
awaited such times as her faithful Sir Hugh
should return from his wanderings with his
young relative.
The true reason which took the traveller to
America had not been imparted to any person;
only to Lady Amelia did Sir Hugh say that this
journey was absolutely necessary to his young
cousin’s health and happiness; and the youth’s
pale face and altered mien, since the death of
his father, was considered a sufficient reason for
the trip which would divert his sorrow by change
of scene.
It was a brilliant morning of early January;
and in the elegant mansion of Grosvenor Square
which the Duchess of Argyle had made her win
ter residence, the two ladies sat in the duchess’
boudoir, the Lady Amelia with an open letter in
her fair, jewelled hand.
‘Now, my dear, go on with your reading,’ said
the duchess, for they had been momentarily in
terrupted by the appearance of a servant with
some message. ‘ What more does Sir Hugh
wr te respecting young Lord Edwin’s accident?
How shocking it was—and what a wild, venture
some life they are leading ! But he says he is
convalescing at the time of writing ?’
‘Yes, annt; the wound was fast healing, and,
indeed, Edwin had fully recovered from a fever
caused by the attendant inflamation; but Hugh
mentions that the susceptible youth has fallen
victim to more dangerous shafts than buffalo-
horns, viz: Cupid’s arrows, flung from the bright
eyes of a prettv young Indian girl who has been ,
his nurse at the Pawnee village whither they
CHAPTER XXIY.
Eloise came back to a land upon which change
had deeply set its foot prints. The war between
the states had been begun and ended since she
had sailed away that memorable morning.
Death and desolation had brooded over the
South; many of Eloise’ friends were dead upon
the battle field—among them one whose true
heart had beat so warmly for her in that vanish
ed long-ago. Sydney Farnam— the brave, the
tender, the true had fallen in the cruel battle
of Sharpsburg, while charging at the head of his
command. The terrible news had been convey
ed to his stricken home by a letter from Fred
Denman—a letter full of deepest sympathy and
telling plainly how the writer mourned the loss
of his friend. He gave all the particulars of the
gallant young officer’s death,knowing that such
details would be dear to the hearts that cherished
the noble son and tender, thoughtful brother.
As he wrote the lines telling her favorite broth
er was no more, Fred’s heart bled to think of
the pain he was inflicting upon Carrie—Carrie
bore him. Isn’t it romantic, aunt? And this j w i 10 * m he s till loved, though the estrangement
Indian maid bears the poetical name of Wind- between them still existed; the gulf that pride
Flower. Quite a charming episode in their for-) anc j misapprehension had dug, had never been
est life !’ said Lady Amelia. | c j oae( j though across it two hearts were silent-
‘Absurd in the extreme. In very bad taste, I j v vearn i D g.
think,’replied the aristocratic lady. ‘But I trust | ■" y ain Farnam and Bertram had gone through
But I trust
that Sir Hugh will restrain his young relative ! the w^r"with honor.
from committing any imprudence; for Lord Ed
win is very young and impulsive, and his boy
ish freaks might might be carried too far. I
wish they would return to England.’
‘Why, aunt, you don’t suppose Lord Edwin
would engage himself to any one out of Eng
land,’ said the Lady Amelia; who, in her own
exclusive sphere, could not conceive of such an
Anna was still unmarried.
.'?ri“' 6r .o“ d 5; b ™i lin , e th « •Ppattaoce'of I P*int thi, likene* lite'.iS‘“„naT' *°
the girl.
yoa have C0 me‘ t oVee SuiT
SoifS >««v, .ad yon will •
•les—Pawnees all miss Inclose W ^
miss ’em more than other,’ said the eiri li
pretty affectation of impartingV valnabl© nf h &
of news. ‘Tall, slender youL Tnll* v PI6Ce
spend much time courtin’ handsome P ™
S£ weep “*■ ““p-“S
painting his face a’niTTr 8 “A 1688 of skins .
Wind-Flower. But really {W 7 . “ arryiD 8
win has exquisite tLffo c 1 d tblnk Lord Ed -
which Hugh ba amnln V S6e ’, f th , i8i8 her face, Ula but he
on this bit of cardS h T eIf by Etching * as harbored by
,nfi goddess of the western wilds.
- - me -
one is a genu-
I mean to
Charles Ennis had not gone into the army. Al
though he acknowledged allegiance to the old
flag he had found it. impossible to reconcile his
patriotism with his regard for the Southern
friends who had been so kind to him and his
love for the Southern &rl who still had his heart
in her keeping thoughjne had not heard from
,'her in so lone. He her know-
.Phoney Lad been',^
and he had now given her ? w , for her >
ever-eitherdead-or—worse TheTif° for ‘
he could hardly allow to rest’forV- 44 ‘ hougLt
his mind, but he hadbecome consdous^tw 7
was harbored by many, and he felt . that 1(:
shame of the stain upon his
‘Ah
such
i! I never dreamed that you h»,l
a grand passion before; but I oLn’t f°ethFt
you have begun to loook 1 ike a shadowyet Utit
Xono,’ said Tarbell gravely affantin„ J*’ ^ e
stand that he supposed herself to h« 8 fh° U1 ? der '
of the girl’s information ‘If w® thes - ub J 80t
die of a broken heart \ono von n g0ln g to
word when you begin, for I shouldin® 1 ** 1 me
ing such a curiosity.’ en Joy see-
zit SUrj^ss **
son lips, and replied: gd ber fn 1 cnni ‘
•White fur-trader pretend to be dull fool- w
he know all the time, that \ro„o “ uu . 1001 ’ but
about when he" comes“horne^’ amW 5 ^ J * in
pressed with this whim-for’theLadr/ T'
was something of an jmaiJ. ,? Lady Amelia
away her leisure in her eleganUittle i W J- aed
she carefully lai.i aura*. n , gaDt Bttle studio—
gold ini• i ,“ ‘t‘
ftrss s « b r ef ^ °°'«-
ss? & SK amssjs
' Lad y Amelia, upon
self near her aunt.Vho"‘w^— 119 ' f ° UDd W
peers of the realm • and the f . ,? blg best
tion with a lady of middlo years, of eLTuTpr"!
ence and rare beauty, but with such*?settled
ouame oi tne stain upon his
ily name. Perhaps this w , „ d pr ° Ud !am ‘
and causing her cruel silence fencing Auna
udice of her fathe™ gains?^those ^ pre J'
deadly enemies to h?m and his D I n °,e h f d b / 6n
years, operated against his (Chlriesft f ° r f ° Ur
perhaps Anna herself no longer hopes,and
log for the f *,f
days when no chasm r>f w eased to I°^e in the
lo/edo„el,yVe^er.h™" d ' °° gt " 6 “
“»« go; he could no‘XMT 1 -. U ~
in his state of restless bL™.. busmes «
he finished, turning ronnd upon his auditors
and pinching the cheek of his wife, who was say
ing: ‘For shame, Sam, see how you are making
Carrie blush.’
‘Not I,’ returned Carrie. ‘The cream of the
joke does’nt turn upon me, though the knight
drank my cream. He had come to see another
maid beside my humble self.’ and she looked at
•Fair sister, is it so ?’ asked mischievous Sam.
‘The rider was the dark-browed knight of mys
tery—Bertram by name. I thought he would
no more do his tourneying upon these prem
ises; that he had been warned away by a fair
ladie’s frowning brow,’ then more seriously,
‘Anna, you once gave Bertram to understand
that his society was not acceptable. Do you
like him better.’
‘She colored deeply, but answered promptly:
‘No, I do not.’
•Sam looked at her keenly a moment, then he
hummed carelessly:
‘My heart’s in the Northland, my heart is not here
My heart’s in the Northland a-hunting the deer.’
Again Anna’s face was suffused with color.
‘Carrie,’ said Sam, ‘what became of young En
nis, Eioise’s brother? have you heard anything
of him since the surrender ?’
‘No,’ said Carrie, ‘not a word,’ and she glanced
warningly at Anna.
‘It is strange,’ Sam said, not noticing her look.
‘I thought he would have let us hear from him.
I hope he was not killed; he was a fine fellow,
manly and honorable; didn’t you think so Car
rie ?’
‘I did indeed, and lather and mother thought
the same. I wonder why we have not heard
from him, and if he ever traced Eloise.’
It was this latter remark that Charles heard as
he stood a moment on the piazza before enter-
ing.
‘Is it possible that she has never received
any of my letters,’ he thought as he turned the
bell handle.
Sam answered tho summons. The light of the
hall lamp fell upon the face of Charles, and Sam
uttered an exclamation of surprise and pleasure.
‘Charles! Charles Ennis, is it possible?’ he
cried. ‘Old fellow, I am heartily glad to see you
alive and with us once more.’
They clasped hands long and cordially.
Charles said: ‘Sam, I never wanted to see faces
as I did your family’s. How are all ?’
‘All are here; come in and see how they are.
Ah ! here they come; they have recognized your
voice.’
Mr. and Mrs. Farnam and Carrie came at once
to the door, and gave Charles a welcome whose
friendliness astonished and gratified him be
yond power of expression. Tears filled his
handsome eyes as he held their kind hands.
He had feared they would regard him with cold
ness, perhaps repulse him altogether, because of
the terrible disrupture of friendly relations
caused by the war. After he had spoken to
them he still looked around; he was looking for
Anna.
‘Come in,’ Carrie said understanding his look.
He turned to the sitting-room. In the door,
leaning against the frame, stood Anna. She was
pale as death, and as he took her hand, it
trembled like a frightened bird. He caught
both hands and pressed them in his. He did
not speak; the emotion of both were too deep for
words. Carrie, sympathising with all her warm
heart, passed her arm around her sister’s waist
and led her to a seat on the divan. Charles sat
down beside her and gradually the color came
into her cheeks and her eyes turned to her
lovers’ eloquent with love and trust.
The hours passed unheeded while they talked.
Many questions were asked and answered. The
war’s changes and trials were discussed; poor
ixuiu tuoua^ed the tribute of tears and broken
while hers tnhlm'ha.dneve' 1 ' n6 Y e '*^* e e sieved; i IlfetJtieJfigro’s death on the field of battle, and
tination. He made no seer [o^htf r des! ' 1 t0 U * 6 th0m 1D C ° n '
and his joy at seeing hex lelin lT? 0lADaa
that she was and knowing
wronged her, he shall suffer for it with his life.’
His face grew so dark that Anna, looking at
him, shuddered and changed color.
•Remember,’ she said low, ‘that your life is
not yours alone now. It belongs to me.
Clasping her to him, he thanked her for the
sweet assurance. . ,
‘Charles,’ she said presently, ‘I know how you
loved your sister, and how very dear she was to
my brother Sydney. Her name was the last on
his lips, In the midst of the pain of death he
thought of tne woman he had loved and mourn
ed for so long. It seems that he would rejoice
if I tried to fill the place left vacant in your heart
bv her loss. And if we ever find her we will ad
mit her to both our hearts. If she is sad and
unfortunate, we will cheer and sustain her.
Never would I have you desert her.’
*My own noble love,’ Charles returned, look
ing fondly into her face. ‘Anna, I never knew
vour worth before. Forgive me darling, but
you looked so ‘coldly sweet, so proudly fair I
bad a trembling fear that my fair statue should
lack a warm heart. I did you great injustice
dearest.’ ,, -
‘No, you did not; it is your own warmth and
earnestness that has warmed the statue.’
Charles remained several days at Oak.anct. it
was a time of sweetest rest and happiness to him.
This warm-hearted, frank and hospitable family
formed a retreshing contrast to the society he
met in his city home, and then’what a pleasure
to stroll through the green shrubbery and along
the winding walks that intersected Oakland s
ample grounds. Before he went away it was
decided that they should he married in six
months. Charles plead for an earlier marriage,
but Anna gently reminded him that her parents
were now quite old,that Carrie s health was deli
cate, and that the sudden change the abolition
of slavery had brought about, the necessity of
such work and such anxiety and exertion as her
parents had never been accustomed to, would
not permit her to leave them yet. She must
stay awhile to cheer them and to help them, for
since their misfortunes, and especially since the
death of Sid, their hope and pride, they had
been gloomy and despondent.
‘But you must promise to write often, Anna,
I can stand no more gaps of dreary silence. _ ^
‘Three times a week, and Sunday tor a rarity,
she answered, laughing- as they talked together
in the pretty summer-house the evening before
he went away.
TO BE CONTINUED.
A Tender Poetic Tribute,
(See Illustration of ‘The Hero Brothers.)
There are few readers of newspapers, either
at the North or the South, whose hearts have
not been softened and whose eyes have not been
moistened by the reading ot that touchingly
beautiful poem (so frequently re-publisued even
now by the press generally,) entitled ‘Somebody s
Darling,’ written by Miss Marie La Coste, a
sifted and accomplished young lady of Savan
nah, and first published in 'The Southern Church
man.' Nations may learn to war no more, and
soldiers may beat their swords into pruning
hooks, in the ‘good time coming, but the
tender pathos and simple beauty of this exquis-
itly drawn pen picture, will keep it alive in lo\-
ing hearts until ‘all things earthly shall pass
away’ into eternal oblivion.
The talented authoress of this poetic gem was
a welcome visitor to the once happy and un
broken home-circle in which the ‘Hero Brothers
formed such an attractive feature. Rumor has
suggested that the poem was called forth by the
death of Capt. Joseph Clay Habersham, although
it admits and indicates a more general applica
tion. Be this as it may, the following extracts
from several verses are quite appropriate to that
that she was unmarried and still
He gave Mr. Farnam a brief acconnt nf k~*
ness and of his family His sZV w h t - S busi '
s&Wftffi.'r :r " ra
Somebody
Wearing
or-
with happiness ov« rhTreikffiTW^lJ^V 111 *
so long mvided bv these two
was thoughtful a nd Si? &nd dan « er ’ «ke
that all should retire Jt D , 10as ’ f nou g b to arrange
two iovers together Thin leave tbe
other and tfeir conversatio^ 7 Sdt near eaob
the lingering light of his boytaoSfo^race
Somebody's darUn'° n ° f
en thread;
race—
is still and dead.
Somebody cl
; forehead lay,
■ to his parting hand.
, . gether at thepensionnat inl^ris^ndToife I** t0 iT
I hxssssl
my old friend Hortense Marckmont M.d"
la Marquise De Tremaine. We " me
‘I feel the need of yourYov<f ITet
said. I think too I can n V t more tban eTer , ’ he
a ;jR7 e 41“?/ •« sparing him to ” a
whornhe , ®“ t:10 aDd Joveable old lady,
oiu b* knar. „s mother, bade him good-by^
each : affectionate
grow pale; you mix Pawnee "blood wTth ITn f U
ces and it fade out: an Indian oirlTnlu P fa '
people too well. She mean wfnd-Flnl«f ° Wn
when the young white brnvn’a f » • °? Fer pme
in a?, lodges of on^tribe/ 001 “ 1 “' 1 “»
v »«•««»
SGddrt.’gS.’.TaV"*"’ f “ be ' aum '“
‘Cer ainement —an da little for her own .’said the
them saw herliTv^ v“ v , e seea her -
man was positive he saw her leave ° rk ’ aDd 0ne
bound for Lurope These f n a stea mer
to have had t£?r riS P f h T s claimed
period, while I was g absent from V &t v be Sarue
is strange the detective did n t W lork - It
pale-faced, sweet, sad-voiced French^ laV w Sald .
took Lady Arnold, proffered han f L“ Sl,e
"8 to •» jnnr annt to-morron;and
me look on your younp hrirrbt r, A u w
don't lowSiV £and, y „r e ‘y'"' fl'j'on I ?r«ye the sight of yonth .nd"“igh, e j "’'hMgh
you are an Indian and opposed7o T’ because 1 a , m . d ® nied the sight of them ’ • gb
but here’s this handsome ^ml t ° amalga f l a t 1 °n;
ry quintessence of Pawnee 6 "o the , Ve ‘
of your chief, who d« 8 K L daughte r
by this ?’ asked TarbeH ” “ 4 d you mean
cess and safety. ~ P ra - Vef « tor his sue- j !t not for the testimony 1 of these persons I
d ° Wn SoutWd was a constant I ^Vl^LtlorirmistSf'
-f Slatfntsl B rT 3 o 6 { r 7a7 be Th°e I aad of my sK nnworthy oT^/Sly
fc'HHUV* honaes’ to.?.* Lor guilty.^Bat^oh’ An^Ja’^'’ 1 wiU
t0 hi ‘
leaves are gone,
AI ^mhest glories dead :
Hive bri = ht tIlal1 •'
na\e « 11H their partin'*-
The noble heart that treasured life-
Win. ~ '"“t- treasure
If,,/. 1 . 1 ! % oice of truest glee—
had e nm ena ' S , th ; ltd ^th
had not singled thee.
might claim.
and towns,
ana gen
He reached
evffieitly^adiotmSnUo 1141 ^7 ba ° k ’ She
and now endeavored tn ,.° sa y.what she had,
smiling it away Then T, 1 18 memor y
step forward, in half resn! SUddei ?i y sbe took a
to Vance's ear the o n Sion ^ whis P«ed in-
peopS? “ a2 k66p a secr&i ' 1 ’ You no tell your
^though, alas! I haVe no ES I ^ =
sadly. " ■ now -
‘I am sure that I shall regard you verv dearie
madam, if you are the cherished friend r i J ’
hear d aunt Harriet so often mention, ’ replied^he
Lady Amelia, with sweet, girlish grace
Is .
‘Of course! k now how to be silent.
What
Moganna/ D ° b ° dy kD0WS ‘ U the old
squaw,
‘Your mother?’ nodded Yance
gtnn e .‘C r e™„Tg“ S ‘ h S j** *** Mo-
though the time comes whe^hV kD ° W J 6t ~
opened.’ flen bls car will be
‘Well, mine is already Wn. u
your precious secret, for ?°e e V,° ? r ° I }- i ? to U
a-e coming, and I mr-t h, ^ . tbe En ghshmc-n
impatiently. Ust Dfe off * nodded Vance,
and her tongue had*b ? egun?o ° ff tip J° ed hearer,
the words: gUQ to utter her secret in
‘Moganna knows; she savs Win a t?i
But just then, piercing the air '° f d J Flo , w ? r 18 ~’
Ca VNono!Nono! ?fthe ° ld Squaw ' "uZgblfify:
of thni, wigwam; then ah.K^“ “• <>»*
‘Well, keep your secret till I come agaffi
tie Nono, sang out Yance Tarbell JI? m Q ht *
to his horses, while the girl wm Y ? back
obey the bidding of her dusky “othw^ 111118 40
£«. tt:5;Br.r5s s
case's i 10 ” 811 ™
i ssaffiisK-t■: i s
I 8 °" 0 ^ ln ,g ““M for her whole life was dark-
i 1 ■ il J. br : r eari y married years by the loss of a
° V6dy ., h tle . d »hghter. Since then she has raL!
SftS^ferS^atoto^pK, - r -
the waste lands, torn
fo" jt-«»
amihar fa^ Sidney’s old office was unoccu-
L.J.m„ b y ' d d “ a s ; r .“"" e ‘ 1 ' Eer f*mily
Came were alive and well. H e - A “naand , son , efI .-:„„
veyanee and was soon approa;
among nf„ ed k t i‘ r 8 “ 0 , a , est l!!* 18 Lome, half Lid
- >. a.aen up the avenue, he saw
_ not believe
this stigma of her flighTwould fassen^ 611 afraid
ingness to bear the name of Ennis • Wl11 '
‘Never.’ Anno
We parted in the winter time
Wonff^SL.ljeejmmerLavM
W^ dreamed that those ofs’primr
Or that t'h OV0U , f ° r pull7 PnU =
I stand
^^llyetbe^ivTdTa^ChS I*1 r ght
that Eugene Bertram holds the keyfo tLttys!
l A ° n ; a ’, do yon be lmve this? Tell
Oh ! I have tried hard tn tV
n* no evidence ’
pp.d»wn“i t e‘*tL’bn” t 1 Ih,‘ r; ' leaTO » »»
he knew all about Eloise’’ ? ways hdieved
things caused this belief Jj gh , ' Many little
This is the reason I ° d s f r6ng thened it.
tions, I hoped inf* h permuted his atten-
momenf tn in some unguarded or confidenfioi
And mut'clv“7'!.p dmi , rt b;
TheSenV' U
HangfnVS^^ daad cap,
lThy t7«urc b o7 the y wah£ S ° ncemar
The sun’hufeeased 'u'fpAv haU = eJ -
An d yet I would n
T To cull Fame’s sli
fi ue souls like
ked,
lot c;:
i short li
fhe back
ed - flowers—
moment t'o iHduoe"himT«T* U j aor coalide oti a l
that would be of use l ° let ^ rop S0UJ8 wor d
ter. But I have been J0U W fiadiDg your sis '
nave been unsuccessful. He has
sad world of oursT
But still these hum
And th: '
As blind!
been always
suspicions ? have had my"
Andthrp^.r- a be^^ aclle
Our
■gutar. A.
tiiroueh tb« oner, “ vou «e, ne saw
inside Sam and famiIy groap
£«,*%' Ler dM.lTaonTe.Yh 4 ooirp” “l° ?““““l
orfiaM °^ ten t ba ^t she goes into society, and I was lF 0 *’ 8, Carrie and Anna Yes-\h U ‘’“‘’Facions confirmed bv Utn — • “““ “y
braime ot ner sorrows. I have invir„,i I ““®Joke had been bxoafhed « thought they sawS and “J I P~nokced of a “ anthem!
^ emesis,
_ i , —• I bay© invited lier tn
make her home with us; and when I return to
JfEP’V 8ba11 insi8ton ber accompanying
an f . pass tbe spring and summer. In must be
so sail, my dear, to have no hearthstone or kin-
d lu d ter 7 Dd w bich;our hearts’ best affections may
‘Sad indeed, Aunt Harriet,’ replied the Lartv
' and ^ am d ®t* g hted that you have invit
ed Madame to make one of our household for'
h 7, r ‘J’“'f* a toward her themome'at l
w«id5bi2aS.|
by tbe mirth-ro7ing C Sam!Tffike n th!t n ♦S atri !
upon her having acted that , tar ued
Sft re S Sa“‘f ^
ftr- KSJftafrsfftxa:
also tliffwA ~ "mise in New loi
in<* fearfrl -n f £6pt ? way from ever y
Eiois - -1-f' aD ^i aDxl0US * and l
took in the horrors" which V |, '' dy * P art he
“o.“ffi?' 1 Bh0 “« “ »«
w si:zn
would censure her? She might have kno“n I
third generation,_«d prophesieTa^dealh of°dis!
grace to all his race. Twentv “““w
a«3aSS®S»I^Sa&^Si^