Newspaper Page Text
Sundown.
BY SHALER G. HILLYER, Jb.
Author of the Prize Story, 'Alarable Family,”
the Savannah News.
[Copyright Reserved.]
CHAPTER XiV.
MAN, OB HORSE.
I slept about three hours, when I was
awakened by tl.e sound of horses galloping,
through the lane towards ‘he house. The riders
proved to be GJorge Goldie and Hr. WatsoD.
They brought tidings of Swetwell, and so were
conducted at once to my room. Mr. Goldie and
K ite came in with them*
Mr. Watson, distrusting perhaps his powers
of narration, yeiiued to George the position of
narrator, which position he accepted with evi
dent satisfaction.
‘Turning off to the left beyond the bridge,’
he said, ‘we found ourselves iu a rough road,
over which ws could not go very fast. We were
anxious to reach Mr. Swetwell’s before day
break, as we would then, more likely, take him
by “urpcise. We therefore hurried, as well as
we could, along the rough, dark road made
darker by the thick woods on eaeh side of it.
Just as any was dawning we came in sight of
the house,'when, putting spurs to our horses,
we galloped up to it. Tae front gate being open
we rode, without ceremony into the ya;d; two
parsing to the rear of the house, while two re
mained in front The sheriff dism.-unted, and
knocked loudly on the door: no answer was re
turned. He knocked louder, loud enough to
have been heard half mile away : still no answer.
He tried the bolt, but found the door locked.
An old negro, gray and stooping with age, came
from a cabin in the yard.
•Wti'.re is Stephen Swetwell ?’ demanded the
sheriff of the old xnan.
‘H- done gone, sab.’
‘How do you know he has?’
‘1 hearn him, sab, when he lef.’
•How did he go?’
•On Loss-back.’
‘Waich road did he take?’
‘I'm not sure, s»h, which one, but I think he
took de Lumpkin road.’
‘That's a lie; you do kuow which road he
took, for you were standing in the yard when
he rode away,’ said a shrill voice which came
from a tail mulatto woman, who had just come
out of another cabin. The old negro tried to
stop her by telling her to mind her own busi
ness.
swe:
GO , _
See them take Stephen S.vetwell and drag blur
to i risou. When 1 te.ird last night that Mr. Lock-
wood had been k.l.od at the bridge, I straight
way susoecu-d who did it, I suspected that man
who I knew hated Air. Lockwood, and that man
who I knew was wicked enough to do such &
deed. And then when Mr. Swetwell came home
between two aad three o’clock this morning I
knew he had a hand in it. Oh ! this isn't the
first murder that blac.tens his soul. 1 say sir,’
she continued, turning towards the old negro,
and speaking in a sharp, angiy tore, ‘can ycu
tell me where Nan is? Have you forgotten how
he abused inr? And have you forgotten how,
when she was taken down, and there was none
„,.n! 5 ).-tn her bnyim doctor ha wan'd, lot no
doctor be'senl for'r On, sirs ! turning towards
us, *ev< r since the day my gal died her cries
have be n ringing in my ears,—But I am keep
ing you. The road forks just out there us you
kuov ; the riguthand goes to Lumpkin, the lett
to Links ferr . He took the lef'. hand: I Know
it because I watched him. He must have bten
hurt Iasi n;ght, for he carries his left arm in a
‘We were so assured of the truth of the woman’s
words that we at once, without stopping to
search the house, rode out ot the yard, and took
the Link’s ferry road at a urisk canter.’
•Alter going about three miles we met two men
on horse-back, who had been out tox hunting.
In answer to our enquiries, they s ated, that
thev had seen a man mounted on a black horse,
pa.-s by about a half hour before. They were
in a held at the time, and some disiar.ee from
the road, so Could not tell who ue was, hut re
calling his general appearance, as well as that
of < is horse, they were now satisfied that it was
Stephen Swetwell. On learning why we were
la pursuit of him they lamed their horses about
and joined us. , , ' ,
‘Mr. Yocum rode a small, rough looking norse,
which found it difficult to keep up; the more so
because he was unaccustomed to tne gait we
were going. , , ,
‘Mr. Yocum, I said, as we cantered along, art
you not afraid you will a jure your horse ?
•Yts. lam,’ he answered, b .i I can’t help it.
We must catch B:other—M & web.’
•We will mi-- good brother nr the Sunday
school *tv we.
«I‘ ii not c f >r his abscenee if T know he s
in the penitentiary • l)b. ttel
•Wo pass a man i work in -, li hd near the
road. Me reports Sw6tweli about fifteen min
utes ahead o: us. iff was going, with one atm
in a slit-g at a quick canter. Bat we were gain
ing on him; he was oniy fifteen minutes afiead
ot us !
‘About a mile further on my horse b j gan to
flag s rnucu that I'was sure he couid roc keep
up much loti er. I no i-ied in- Mr. Yocum s
was in the same condition, dust men, as w -
gained the top o a high hill, which commanded
a view of the roao a *ong streccn in front * s, we
saw, aben th :ee fourc s o.'amleaway, the man
we we e pursuing. Wesaw him presently turn
his Lead, and tne next instant we saw his horse
spring lorwavd, as if goaded afresh >:y tne spur.
He was theD ascending the Ltiii on me top o
which Air. Watson lives. Whan we knew that
he had seen us w< rased a wnoop, and spurred
on our jaded hoists. 1L the lime we reached
the foot of the,long Liil^he hau gu.ned its top,
and so we lost sight ci'hnn.
‘While urging our tired horses up this hill,
raised a shout, and dashed forward in the lead,
though Watson and myself kept close behind
him.
‘ The flying man must have heard the shout,
for he turns and looks back, and then we s“e
him urging his horse to still greater efforts. We
press on, bending forward in our eagerness,
while not a word is spoken, save to the straining
beasts that bore us.
‘Another mile is passed : we have gained on
him, for dow there is only about four hundred
yards between us. The river is now just a mile
off—can we overtale him before he reades it?
Not unless his horse flags mose than he iia3 cone;
we can only hope for this while we keep our
spurs pressed to the flan’s of our own.
The last half mite is reached, and he is still
three hundred yards ahe<-d of us. If the ferry
boat is cn this side the river, I thought, he will
have time to euter it, and pull entirely away
from the bank before we reach it. If the boat,
however, is on the other side, he may have some
trouble in making his horse take the river, in
which case we will huve.a chance to capture
him. In which case, too, it occurred to mo. he
may show fight, beiDg well-armed and desper
ate. At length we Bee him mount a little knoll
right on the river’s bank, beyond which Me
quickly disappears. In a minute more we have
reached the top of the same knoll, and the river
is before us. The ferry boat is on the further
side, and Air. Swetwell is already io the current,
tryiDg to keep his seat on his swimming horse.
‘We’ll follow him across !’ cried Mr. Yocum,
as we dashed down the bank to the water s edge.
‘But just as he was about to ride ip to the
water, I caught him by the arm, and told him to
stop, poiatiug to the mau and horse in the river.
The'latter, rxhausted by his long face, had re
fused to swim with his rider any farther. Or, it
may have been because Air. Swetwell, not being
able to s vim—1 have heard him say that he
could not—pressed too heavily on his shoulders,
and so frightened him. Whether he was ex
hausted, or frightened, or both, the fact was that
he refused to carry hi3 master any farther. 1
saw him raise his black form as far out ot the
watrr as he was able, and try to shake him
self free from his rider. In tfiisjjhe so tar suc
ceeded that the man, thinking himselt lost, yet
still keeping his hold upon the reins, made a
wild plunge at the horse s head. As the body ot
the animal sank for a moment out of sight be-
Deatu the momentum and weight ot the man s
body, the latter turned toward us a ghastly face.
‘Help me !’ he shouted, in a voice b okea aod
hopele.-s. He uttered the cry but once. lne
horse arose the next insrant, blowing the water
from his nostrils, and with a wild gleam in his
dilated eyes. He w, s} ow -.horough y f ighlened,
or enraged. He began to strike at the man, tvno
3tiil held the lines, with his forefeet.
‘Again we heurd a despairing cry from Swet-
wali.'es he makes a frantic effort to once more
reach the head of the horse. He fails : he falls
helpless in front of the infuriated beast. An
ironed hoof strikes him on the breast, again on
the h ad, and he sinks out of sight. The black
victor swims slowly down the stream towards a
sandy beach, against which toe current sweeps,
and then turns i ff to the right. He seems to be
borne along by the force ot the current rather
than by any < xertion of his own. We watch him
as he drifts on towards the beach, and then.
when near the bank, we see him drag himself,
with great diffi uky, through the shallow water,
and on to the dry sand. A-, he staggers forward
and fails to the ground there follows him out of
the water a human form. One ot its arms is he.d
tightly by the ruins of the bridle, and so it ha<
been brought to land. The body of the mau lies
bositle that of the horse, mating even from where
iW-Artid. a ghastly special-.-. "* "T“\ r
•Q iickiy we made our way to the beach. Horse
and rider were both dead. T ie former from ex
haustion, the latter from the blows received from
the other’s hoofs. There was an ugly gash in his
breast, and another iu his head, either of which
would have killed him.
‘The sheriff, the rest of us looking on, searched
t?ie dead body, and iound on it, first, the mem-
crandam lost by Mr- Lockwood, aad then, be
sides other money, a ro:l of bills to then.setves,
whose numbers corresponded with tin so in the
memorandam. The sherifl took charge of these
things, and carried them lo Lumpkin, after mak
ing arrangements for the body of the dead man
to follow him there.’
Mr. Watson proposed that the party get a relay
from his father's siables" Air. Yocum and my
self accepted his ofi'-r, but tne ethers concluded
to keep on without stopping. A road crosses
the ferry road j ust beyond Air. Watson s house.
Mr. Swetwell therefore could go ettuer up or
down the river, or straight forward to Link’s
ferry. We believed it to be ms intention to go
to tne ferry, as by that route ne would Lope to
interpose the Chattahoochee river b tween nim-
self and his pursuers. Arriving at Mr. Wa:son’s
our expectation was confirmed: a man at work
in the yard, attracted by Swetw-iis rapid rid
ing, had watched him nnh he oisappeared
down the ferry roati. Mr. Yocum. Air. Watson
and myself stopped to obtain fresh horses, while
the others staned again in pursuit. The stables
being close at hanu the change was qhickly ef
fected so, freshly mounted, we weia soon fol
lowing rapidly after our companions. As the
road to the terry was now a continuous lane, we
knew that we could only come up with our mau
by using greater speed than he did. Wnile
tne animal he rode was strong and fleet, he had
been carrying a heavy weigut now for a great
distance, and must be nearly exhausted. This
thought made us hopeful, as, with spurs pressed
to the flanks of our coursers, we pressed on att- r
nnr comranions. When, at length, we overtook tne yard, near tne summer uouoo, * wuum
these we could see Mr. h wet well ahou.a haifj 80m e late roses, and a few box geraniums still
m“ ahead of us. At s:ght of him Mr. Yocum
CHAPTER XV.
LAST RAYS.
The estate of Mrs. Goldie was redeemed.
The evidences of Stephen S-vetwell’s fraud
were rendered so clear by the occurrences just
narrated, that in a mw trial the court reduced
'he indebtedness ol Mrs Goldie to the estate of
Stephen Swetwell deceased, to one thousand
dollars, which was at once cancelled by the
tones I had provided for that purpose. Among
the papers left by Swet'.veii was the note given
by Mrs Goldie to Mr. Greenl'.af, and whiea had
been stolen fiorn mo the night of my first visit
to Sundown. Fiapp had t.ai sferred it to S vet-
weli, but the latter tailed to produce it, only
1 ecar.se no doubt, he could not satisfactorily ex
plain how he obtained it. As it had been paid
ong ago to Mr. Greenieaf—a fact oa&.ry (staL-
lished, —the estate of Mis Goldie was new free
from debt, save the one due to myself. Kite
thought she could cancel the greater part of
this with that yea’s crop of cotton, and still-
have sufficient left to pay the current expenses
of another year. She was sure that, with pro-
i itious seasons, another harvest would free her
entirely from debt.
For several day3 after the events detailed in
the two last chapters, I lay very quietly on my
bad, unable to move, and, much of the time,
hardly able to tb nk. There was a dark shadow
noon me. In those moments when I couid re
flect upon my condition, an unutterable fear of
b. in<? forever helpless would se,ze and torture
me,,"until I would again relapse into a state of
insensibility. I lay in a neutral land—between
life aa d de%th. The doctor watched me closely,
ad I had every attention gentle and thoughtful
Lands could render. On the sixth a change for
the better came. Fall conscijusness returned
and with it the power to move my hands. This
evidence, that my paralysis was not complete,
gave me new courage in the struggle for life
and breath. From that time I steadily, yet
s'ewly, very slowly it seemed to me, recovered
strength, and the control of my muscles. It
was four long weeks before I could sit up, and
then only for a few minutes at a time. .
Mrs Goldie would come in every day to chat
with me a little while, and to see that I was
comfortable. George likewise often took a seat
beside my couch, and interested me no little,
whether he detailed the operations of the farm
or the occurrences of the neighborhood. Kate
never came, but every morning a little bunch
of fresh flowers found their way into my room;
and there, on the wall, was the child Kate, into
whose candid ey< s I never grew weary ot look
ing. And tnen, alter I had grown stronger, she
sent to ask me one even.ng, if she shonid play
for me. It was j ust what I had been wishing
fur, so, every evening after that, the doors of
the parlor and my room being left open, Kate
played and sang for me.
These days, the days of my convalesoence,
were very quiet ones. As I sat in my open
window and looked out, there was an autumn
sunshine on the yard and grov6, softened by
the brown foliage overt: sad through which it
made its way. In the grove were heaps of
brown leaves blown together by the wind. In
the yard, near the Bummer house, I could see
in bloom. There is the memory too of sounds
which did not break the sileme of the pla e:
such was the lazy chirp of a bird that came
from the mulberry beyond the green-house,
the monotonous clacking of a hen with a brood
of young chickens, p.nd further oft,
<• i hear the phasant's muffled drumming,
The turtle’s murmur from a distant dell,
A drowsy bee iu mazy tangles humming,
The fair, laint, tinkling tenor of a bell.
And now,from yonder beech-trunk,sheer and sterile
The rat—tat of the yellow-hammer’s bill,
The sharp staccato barking of the squirrel,
A dropping nut, and all again is still.”
It was only a human vo ce, or the sound of
the dinner horn, which could break the weird
and pleasing silence of the pt&C9 during those
autumn da;s. And yet, I loved to see the
shadows lengthening in the strove, and listen
to the 1 wing cows as they slowiy made theii
wav homeward.
One day, after I had grown strong enough to
walk about a little, young Watson same-this
time without his sister. Ills thee wore*aserious
expression, which I had seen i® it before, but
not so marked as now. ‘ The Ntopo itan prince,
I said to myseit, “nas come, at last, to try his
fortune with the caskets. He must know his
fate; he can bear the agony of doubt.no longer,”
He oid not iearn it, however, that evening, be
cause, perhaps, when the time and opportunity
cauie his courage failed. A'- ^ny rata, he had a
short interview with Kate, ihe-ntxt morn-Dg,
in the parlor, and when I saw him go away, I
uoticcd that his taee was pale, and that his lip
quivered.
I met Kate as she came from tae parlor.
‘-The Neapolitan prince” 1 said, “has declared
his choice. I saw him pass out, and his down
cast eyes and quivering up resiled that he has
lost. ”
“It may turn out fcba’r tie has won by having
lost,” she answered, with a sad smile.—“Are
you getting strong fast ? ’ sli9 asked.
“Yes: 1 r'j >ico in the strength that daily
c mes to me. The fresh blood in my v ins
often urges me t * active exs c:sa iu the woods
and fields.' And yet—and yet—when my
strength returns I must go vivvuy.”
Sue did not answer me, but her eyes sought
mine, for an instant, with a searching look, and
then she turned away, with a heightened color,
I thought in her cheeks. Sue went cut to
where her horse stood waiting for her, and,
mounting him, rode away.
Two more days have passed. I am sitting
alone in the portico watching ihe shadows in
the grove lengthen, and list mins to tue distant
tinkiing bells of tue returniog_cu ws. AIv quiet
reverie is somewhat unplc-Kirioily' interrupted
by the arrival of a swiftly moving buggy. Its
occupant is Mr. Alonzo Harper, my Lord L
Son. He comes in, and soon proves himself as
vivacious and self confident as ever. It he bus
come to determine his fortune with the caskets
he has not suffered himself to contemplate fail
ure. His good fortune, as it Lai always done,
will s i i win for him.
Liae him of Naples, he left at an early hour
the next morning. I saw him depart. His step
was not so elastic as it was the .voning before,
and the smile oi complacency his ikes wore then
was absent.
As ho was driving away, I again met Kate at
the door of the purior.
“My lord Le Bon has also made his choice,”
I said.
‘My lord knows his fate: the knowledge will
rot trouble him long,’ she answered.—Are yen
s.di b-Owter this morning? Are you quite suro
that you are growiug stronger fast?’
‘Fast? yes, very ia.it. I au>. even now qu.t-
41VOJI g,. b? a iiy Wj^T^rU^ij^-^USljvO awtv
•So soon? Bat you must not think of going
to-morrow,’ she said, ‘you are mistaken, Air
Lockwood, in supposing yoursedf strong enough
to travel’’
Sae spoke this with animation, an I the rose
tints, .1 they had indeed lett them, uau come
back to her caeeks. She w„s standing before
me with her riding habit on, bat holding her
hat in her hand*
‘Strong enough, strong enongh to travel ?’ 1
said; repeating the words siowiy, hardly con
scious oi what 1 was saying. *Ii may be so, but
we know not what we can do until we try.’
‘At least put off your ue^arture lor a few
day s.
•Nor will we know what we may know untii
we bravely face the sibyl, or tae siren, t.s the
case may be,’ I continued, pursuing my own r^-
flections. ‘And there is our knowledge which
we will have, though its possession may weaken
rather than slrengmen us, tor ail knowledge is
noc power.’
•What are you talking about, Mr. Lockwooe ?
asked Kate, looking at me with a puzz.ed ex
pression in her lace.
■Now there was Air. FJconbridge, the Eng
lish baronet, ‘I wen. on, ‘who came in the first
da„ s of my convalescence, bent on knowing
what the Fates had in reserve for so distin
guished a personage as himself. He c»me ana
tried the caskets but the fair Por.ia was not
for him. After him came our young friend the
Neapolitan prince, likewise cent on obtaining
knowledge. He went away a little wiser and
much weaker on account 01 its possession. And
then, two da^s days atterwarus, there came oar
tiicnd, my lord Le Bion. He, like the othe:s.
couid not rest untii he anew whether tne lovely
Heiress of Beimcat was to be his. He kno,vs n
now, but it the knowledge has Orougnt him test
he knows it has been deadly bought. AIissKate.
you ask me to protract my stay, but the next
that come may be B<.ssanio ?’
•Suppose I teii you that Ba.sanio has already
come V
‘Wuv, then, I cannot leave too quickly.’
‘No,'no— I‘11 tell you rather tuat Bussanio
will never come ?
•That there is to be no Bassanio! If that be
true, i surely must be gone 10-morrow.’
‘You are hard to pleas-,’ she respoi d d, I know
not wnat to answer you. At aaotner time 1
wili try again.' idhe said this as she was pass
ing out.
‘At another time so will I try—my fortune,’ I
said to myself, for she was already passing down
the walk towards the gate.
The next morning, aoout nine o'clock, I again
met Kate in the hall. I was, surprised at the
meeting, tor I supposed that she had left the
house some time before to attend to her duties
iu the plantation. I noticed too, which increased
my surprise somewhat, that she had bestowed
mure tnan her usual attention upon her toilet:
This was so evident that I would have con
cluded at once that she was expecting company
had she not held her hat, nevertheless I asked—
‘Are you expecting friends to-day ?’
*1 thought that perhaps Bussanio might come,'
she answered, with an arch smile.
•Indeed!'—I tried to speak it indifferently,
and succeeded only because it was one word.
‘Will yon go with ms to meet him? she asked,
with a c. quettish glance in her bright eyes.'
‘Nj; I must decline to share tuat pleasure
with you,’ I answered, with as muofi calmness
as I could command. Under different circum
stances and conditions I would not have under
stood her words as I did then. But the possi
bility which, those words implied was one
which, in my then weak ccaditon, I was una
ble to face. That I might conceal from my com
panion this temporary weakness, I turned aside,
as if to enter the parlor, bat she intercepted
me.
‘Mr. Lockwood,’ she said, 'yon belong to me
to-day. Yoa need more recreation than you
can find at home, so I have determined to give
yoa a baggy ride. Dont say a word I will help
you intb9 buggy, and help you out, and open
ail the gates. Just remember, will you, that I
am the stronger and ycu the weaker party.’
A o' ange came to me with her first words,
They broke the spell that was upon me,enabling
me to perceive clearly what I had before seen
darkly. I could now smile at the raillery which,
a moment before, caused me acute pain. It was
fir me then ti a: she had be n so soli itous 10
go to ‘meet Bts^aaio.’ Either it was a mere pre'-
tw way of putting a friendly invi atiou to
take the air in Her company, or that illusion to
Bassanu * as meant as a delicate encouragement
to my hopes. Aly heart beat quickly as the hit-
tor thought presented itself.
Kate brought me my hat, and then taking me
by tue arm, a sistel me down tile steps. With
out the gate we found a buggy awaiting us.
By K ites help and the aid cf a chair brougut
trom the house, I succeeded in taking my place
m the vehicle. My companion mounted quick
ly to her pi C9 beci le me, and taking the reins,
drove off. We wentslowly because 1 coul 1 not
jet endure rapid motion. As we were approach
ing a large gate opening into the plantation, Kate
asked:
‘ Where do you wish to go ?’
‘To lie spring.’
‘So . o I; but 1 supposed you would be indiff
erent us ti where wo went.’
•if you uuew how I have cherished the mem
ory ci'the day we spent there you would hard
ly be surprised at my wish to revisit it.’
On arriving in front of Che gate. Kite left the
buggy to open it while I drove through into the
field.
‘1 am gla.i we have lef: the road,’ I said, when
she uad resumed her seat.
‘Whj ?’
‘Because we will hardly now meet Bassanio.’
‘I am afraid nit— yes ha may follow us,’ sue
said arciily.
‘Js tue _pring then a favorite tryst ng place?'
‘What an idea ! Air. L ckwood you forget that
you are talking to farmer Kate. Do you suppose
tuat she can find time for such trysts ? But iet
us talk of other things.’
I yielded the subjest, and also the principal
part of the talking, to my companion. It was
an Indian summer day. The sun shone with a
mild radiance, the air was soit and filled with
tue delightful odor of new-cut hay, wmlea mer
ry mocking bird made sweet music in a neigh
boring hedge. Presently wa entered the wood,
and then, a few minutes later, we stopped close
to the bubbling fountain.
After Kite U.id helped me to the ground she
took the two cusmons from the buggy and ar
ranging them on •?. stone near the spring, bade
me be seated. iStie then produced a lunch-bas
ket, from wh.eh sue toos a bottle of wine and a
silver cup.
‘I knew you would be tir9d and need a little
wine,’ she said, as sue poured some of it into
the cup.
‘You have been very thoughtful,’I answered,
as 1 gave h^r buck the empty cap. ‘Ho w I envy
Choc Bassanio!’
But tubs last remark she did not hear, for 1
spoke it rather to mjs .if than to her, and be
sides, she was-engaged in steering the bottle ol
vine Among the rocks m the rivulet, that it
might ke p cool in case it should be again
needed. This dons, she gathered a little bunch
cl wild violets that bloomed on the edge cf the
stream, and com.ng to u:e, pinned them on the
iappai of my coat. She was talking ali the time,
and in her gayety seemed to vie with the stream
that v/eiit sparkling aad laughing away.
I watched her in sdt-nce as she moved before
me, the impersonation of youtn and beauty. I
listened in silence to the sweet tones of her
vcKvs-ftEd -he Ewpio of her The hoar
had (Jo me, 1 knew, when I mu -a t.y my fortune.
1 couid notkflbrd to put it off any longer; I
mast lace the c skets even then ana there. And
yet, how could 1 afford to startle the happy girl
cep r.: ma‘ as I knew my declaration would do?
And if, as i feared, 1 should men learn that tne
flame which burned in my heart for her had
uever yet warmed hers towards me, that the
areal love I had given her was unrequited, that
she very highly esteemed aie but etc* etc, how
sadly i: would change the relation between us!
Constraint would at olcj take the place of
freedom. The buniight would depart from ner
eyes, and the ripple of laughter from her voice.
The cloud, heavy and chill that would tall cn me
would envelope h6r in the shadow. We would
00 back heme, sii.-ntiy and wearily, and bearing
with us the cloud. And then on the morrow i
would go away—banish my dreams, bury my
hope , and go away forever.
•Mr Lockwood, what is che matter? Why do
you iook at me in that sad way, and never un-
s , ; er me a w ord? I thought we came here to en-
j ij ourselves?’
She was standing before me, with a siighuy
puzzled expression on her Juv.-ly face. I asked
her to take a seat beside me at the sametime
making room for her on the stone bench.
I will tell you.’ I said, when she wad seated—
‘I was thinking of my going away to-morrow.’
•But you are not going away to-morrow,’ she
answered. ‘You are not strong enough to Sake
a ride of twenty mites, or even five mites; so
don’t think of it any more. Remember, you
are subject to me to-day, and my command no w
is that you find something else to think about.’
There wvssilence for a tew moments.
•Miss Ka e Goldie,’—there was something in
my voice which made her ej'es s ek mine with
a half timid look, it is because the parting is
from yon that I cannot cease to think of it—you
whom I baye loved through more than two long
v rara .’ Her ej es fell before mine, while a richer
crimson crept into her cheeks. ‘From the
memorable night I first spent at Sundown,
chiefly memorable to me for the love that was
boru in my heart, I have leved you.’
‘Yon loved me then, an idle girl who had nev
er been cd‘any use to hersMf or anyone else?’
She spoke this in a low and questioning tone,
as if it were hard to believe.
•Just as you were tnen, Kate,’I answered, tak
ing one of her hands in mine,’ you stirred my
heart as it never had been stirred before. Aly
heart did not ask if you were idle or industrious
it received you as you were; you were henceforth
its lodestone. And now the hour has come when
Alanrice Lockwood must know his fortune. The
caskets are not before me but your heart is; that
is the casket I would choose. Whose picture
does it hold ?’
‘Yours.’
As her answer fell upon my eager ears I stood
upright, I was no longer an invalid, for the
hot blood of youth was bounding through my
veins. Kate had risen also and was standing
before me, her hand still in mine. There was a
wild tumult in mind and heart as I stood there,
and a passionate joy in my triumph that could
not find expression in words. It was enough to
know that my fond hopes were realized—that
Kite Goldie was indeed mine.
Kate’s voioe recalled me.
You will not, then, go away to-morrow ?
‘No’ I can stay now until I am able to travel.
But tell me, Kate, how long has that pioture been
on your heart ? ... _ . ,
•From the day you came into my life. Bat—
‘But what?’ . .. .
•I did not know the meaning of it until after
you came back after your long absence.’
‘Did yon think it very long, Kate?
‘Oh Mr. Lockwood! no one can ever know
how I watched for your return. On rising in
the morning I would ask myself, ‘WiU ff e
come to-day ?’ and at noon I would ask, ‘Will he
retnrn this evening ? Othere came—oame often,
and with praises on their lips, but it was you
that I still looked for and your praises thatl
coveted.’
‘And when I did raturn ?’
But there is some one looking over my shoul
der as I write, who whispers me to stop. 1 lay
down my pen aad look around upon the whis
perer.
‘Will it not do quite as well to leave out that
scene at the spring?' she asks.
I only smile and tell her thatl will leave it as
as it is.
There is not much more to tell. Not many
months alter the ‘scene at the spring’ Kate and
I were married. Mrs. Goldie gave a supper on
ihe occasion, her invitations to which were sent
near and far. Among the guests I noticed the
Neapolitan prince and my lord Le Bjt, both of
whom seemed to hava recovered fully from their
discomfiture before the eafleets. In'fact I am
not sure but Le Bon outdid anyone there in
offering his congratulations. And there, too,
was the cheery face of Mr. Yocum. There he
was with his hour-spun ways and a neat new
suit of homespun clothes. He was too proud,
ho said, to wear broadcloth at somebody else’s
t xpense. He wanted the satisfaction of know
ing tuat what he had on his back was paid for.
•Ah ! Miss Kate,’ he said, in the course of the
evening, ‘you have been doing as you pleased
the last two years, following your own mind;
you will now hive to do as another pleases.’
‘You forget, Air. Yocum,’ she answered, ‘that
all through these two years I have been follow
ing the directions of that ‘other’ that you.spesk-
oi'. I am still content to follow them.’
‘No doubt, no doubt o’ that,’ he said. Ye’ll
turn tha farm over to Mr. Lockwood now, I
reckon. Well, if he doss as well with it as vnu
have done, Miss Kite, ha will beat any of his
neighbors, Tint's what Archie Yocum has to
say about your firming.’
With these words of the honest old man I
thought to end iny story, and so, leaving my
manuscript upou the table, I move across the
room to where Kate is, busily’engaged in sewing.
As I sit down besi ie her, George comes in and
scops beside the table. H3 knows what I have
been waiting and knows that he i3 at perfect lib
erty to read it. He picks up a page at random
and begins to read aloud:
‘ ‘ The hour had come, I knew, when I must
try my fortune. I could not afford to put it off
longer; I must face the caskets’—what were they
I wonder ?—‘even then and there. And yet,
how could I afford to startla th.s happy girl be
fore me, as I knew my declaration would do;’—
3tartie her indeed ! as if that were not the very
thing the happy girl ’
An exclamation from Kite ends his, to her,
outrageous comments.
‘(Jo, George, you shall not read it!’ she cries,
rising quickly, and with well counterfeited in
dignation running toward him. But ho darts
out of tae room with a merry shout, and I lean
back in my chair and laugh a silent but hearty
laugh at Kate’s disiomfiiure.
‘Well, Kite,’ I said, by way of con oling her,
when he had resumed ner seat, ‘you have the
satisfaction of knowing that your arts were em
inently successful.’
‘What arts, Air. Lockwood ?’
‘So innocent! Sfiali I call George back to an
swer you ?’
‘No, indeed ! I will admit any amouut of wiles
rather than that.’
‘I will spare you, Kite. But know thatl will
never find iauit with the graceful arts, or wiles,
that won me.’
She laid aside her sewing, for the sun was set
ting, and came and knelt on an ottoman in
front of me, with her hands resting on my knees.
Tae rays of the departing sun crowned Ler
for a moment with a halo of light, then slowly
t4ia»-i»»grfho wall they lingered foy a second on
face <\f the child hanging there, as if to kiss
it good-night, and then were gone. Bat not so
was the light of the dark eyes that looked into
mine. Yonder sun may shine with inconstant
rays, but the light of a woman’s love can know
no darkening.
(THE END.)
A Woman’s I.ou’i*'-—“’M i s useless to take medi
cine. Isa ill feel natter to-m>rrow. Besides, I need
1 tie money to get that lovely new hat. -My old one is
such a flight, ucd people will look more at my bonnet
than they will at my lace. I will wait till I feel worse be
fore I spend any money for medicine.” The new bonnet
is purchased and fifty other feminine neexsaries, in the
form of ribbons, laces, brooches, etc. Meanwhile the
lady's face becomes a very day paler and thinner, and her
body weaker, until disease has gained so iiria a foothold
in her sysum. that the most thorough, and oft-times a
long and tedions. course of treatment ia necessary to re
store Uer to health. Ladies, attend to your health before
you even thiuk of apparel. Afresh, blooming face iu a
plain bonnet ,s m ica handsomer and far more attractive
to your gentlemen friends, titan a pain-worn, diseased
face i, the most elaborate and elegant hat your milliner
coul J devi.-e. lir. Pierce’s Favorite Prescrip.ion is every
wnere acknowledged to be the standard remedy for
female o-mplaints and weaknesses. It is sold by drug
gists.
Suffering for a Life Time.—Persons afflicted
with rheumatism often suffer for a life time, their tortures
being almost without remi -sjou. The joints and mus-
utial.es are i 1 most cases shockingly
v: on ot shape To afford them, eveu
he ordinary remedies often prove ut-
-te: Stomach Bitters, on the other
tv who have used it, to boa
. eps 11c blood,cool by pro-
•: ■ • a id removes from it im-
•1 i 'c rall rational pathologists
z tu 1 uiut and its ki ilrod mala-
. - i.a s. 1 he Bitters remedy disor-
tve and nerves prevent and eradi-
l-enuweut fevers, promote appetite
and deep, and is highly recommended by physicians aj a
desireable meU.ciaat siiiuulent a„d tonic.
cies of such iinfii
contorted and Ir
temporal' red-' 1
tcriy usele—.
hand, is avo . , o'
genuine sou: cm '
rooU regn , >
pnritiesw,
originate
dy, the -ou .
ti rs of t..e stomacu.
ca e : .H ermit eut an.
'he celebrated instruments of Danie' F. Beatty the
greatplauoand organ mannfactu :rof Washington, N.
, ■ if t me, • • m. and exueUen-
tivalii
cy oi a man,
uor, t tie a: m
1'ing
best, and
has r > 1
hoi i woi
Cana las,
Eng! ■■
of Sir Bi
it oi year: of indefatigable la-
.. to make oniy the very
■ !■ 1 '.(It. This course
1 0.501-ming a bouse-
of 1 lie Union and
■ t he residents of
. y. file special offers
: ! 1 .in,.s to-day. mean
jnst wna tusi: um urs are all and more
than is 1 aimed lor them, while me prices are barely
manni cturer’s cost, for Mr. Bea . is determined to place
his nucxei'.ted iustrum us the homos of the entire
mnsic-loviug population. No one contemplating the
pureh s ot.:" 1 01 a 11. should fail r,, take advan
ce ■ i off to io so will be a matter of
reg K mem tas 1 are only good during the
next th da - le i nstr 1 d catalogue of Mr Beat
ty is do ... • ind 1 fi tforma o . i teresting to every
oue. L will be in . free on app ication. Send fora
copy to Darnel if, B:auy, Washington, New Jersey.
Worth Twice the Sum.—We are just in re
ceipt of The Chicago Lelgeb, the leading
Family Paper oi' tae West, whicu is now enter
ing upon i s seventa volume. The Ledger is a
large forty-eight coin inn weekly paper, printed
upon bold, plain type, which can be read with
ease, by either the old or young, and is fitted
with choice stories and matter of particular in
terest to every household. This excsilent journal
is supplied to subscribers, postage paid, for the
extremely low price of one dollar and fifty
cents .per year. In order to more rapidly in
crease its present large list of readers, tho
publishers of this paper have just made a new
contract for the manufacture of sevral thousand
fine Nickle-plated English 8tee!-Barrel-and-Cyl-
inder Seven Shot Revolvers— 22 caliber—which
they propose to distribute among their sub
scribers at cost. aDd therefore offer one of these
elegant weapons of defense and The Ledger
one year for three Dollars. The revolver will
be sent by mail, postage paid, on receipt of
the price. They have already distributed 3,000
revolvers and are mailing hundreds daily. Now
iB your time to get a first-class revolver and the
best paper in the country for less than half the
actual worth of either. Three sample oopies of
The Ledger will be sent to any’ address for
ten cents. Address The Ledges, Chicago, IU.