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VOL IV.
J.I.AWR SEALS, j fgormiTaKs.
ATLANTA, GA., SATURDAY, APRIL s, 1879.
TERMS!
$3 PER ANNUM
IN ADVANCE.
ISO 196.
THE BABY'S BIRTH-DAY.
To-day is your birth-day, my darling,
A day we have ever held dear, •
You spent the last one with us, baby,
And this one is spent—tell us where?
You slipped from my arms, baby darling.
And while we all thought you asleep,
You went with the angels, who beckoned.
And left us in silence to weep.
I’ve watched the bright clouds to-day darling,
With the hope that a rift might appear,
Through which I might catch for a moment,
A gleam of your bright golden hair.
But no sign has come to me, baby,
No token, no message of love,
All silent, all calm, and all peaceful
In the radiant glory above.
O,my baby ! my beautiful darling!
Are you keeping this birth-day up there?
Can you ever look down, and behold us ?
And know how we yearn for you here?
Have you grown in the spirit-world, baby?
Does your memory reach to our sphere?
And will you still know us, and greet us ?
If we should gain entrance there?
C. G. S.
THE
MISTER OFJEDAR CUFFS.
An Autobiography.
By Rett YVinvrond,
Author of •Nobody's Wife,’ ‘The Brolcen Mar
riage Bond,’ 'Ethel Dreeme,' ‘The Mhite Spectre.'
‘Sweetheart and Wife,’ ‘The Chilton Estate,' ‘The
Wronged Heiress,' etc., etc.
chapter xii.
THE BITLED DESK.
But the trials and perplexities of that day
,s not over, as yet. Coining out of my room,
title before snnset, with the intention of tak-
g Lottie and Tr< ssy for a walk in the cool,
adowy twilight, I heard a door close abruptly
ver down the corridor.
Turning my eyes in the direction of the sound,
jcheld Mrs. Fanshawe standing just outside
e apartment allotted to the housekeeper.
Her crouching altitude, the dismayed cry she
ve on seeing me. the burning flush thut swept
er her face up to the roots oi her hair, all be-
lyed consciousness of guilt. I knew in a mc-
pnt where she had been.
Going straight up to her, I said in a low, an-
y vo 0 3:
‘Mrs. Fanshawe, yon have broken your word !
>n have deceived me !’
She did not speak at once, but her eyts blazed
th a strange, lurid light.
*Yon pr niised not to see Louis Remington if
kept his secret and yours,’ I went on. ‘You
,ve broken faith with me.’
‘Did yon expect me to keep such a promise?
e broke out, impetuously. ‘You should have
iown better than to extort it lrom me.’
‘I acted for your good.’
‘Yes, I know what yon will say,’she exclaimed,
eaking with a fiery passion that alarmed me.
on think it was wrong for me to go to the man
love—to speak to him—to LeRr his voice again!
a, heaven ! Such espionage is unendurable !
•It may be,’ I said, forcing myself to reply
lmly. ‘But have a on ri fleeted how terribly
• n are wronging your husband by your present
le of conduct ?'
‘I hate him ! Don’t speak his name to me !’
•I must, Mrs. Fanshawe. While I am in this
irss I will not lend m. self to any conspiracy
ainst him.’
•Conspiracy ?’ She repeated the word in a
ared voice, and with n quick glance at me as
ougb she would have read my very soul.
•Yes,'I said bitterly. ‘What else is it where
iu hide a lover under your husband’s roof,
id med him by stealth? Oh, Mrs. Fanshawe,
itn shocked at you !
•There is no harm, in this case,’ she replied,
if trying to excuse herself. ‘Louis is ill; you
low he was injured by the breakers, that dread-
1 day of the tempest. He would have died if
had refused him shelter !’
‘Is this the only house along the shore where
i would have been kindly care for?’
She dropped her head but did not answer.
•You see what a pitiful sham is the excuse you
Per, It is not right I should accept it. I shall
>t. There must bean end to this.’
Mrs. Fanshawe lifted her head like a crested
rpeut. There was flame in her eyes, and fury
her f, ce.
‘Go she hissed, ‘go and betray me to my
lsbat d, if you dare. There may be a life or
ro lost by your cruelty ; but what will you
.in ?’
I did not tell her that Colonel Fahshawe al-
ady knew of her folly. It would have been
a wise.
T am no tale-bearer,’I said. ‘But I shall see
r. Remington. If be Las any regard for his
vu safety, lie will Rave this house to-night,
ongh he Las to he carried out.’
She turned from me with a low, scornful
ngb.
•See him by all means,’ she muttered. ‘Per-
aps it is the best thing yon can do. I'm tired
; this surveillance, and do not care how soon it
ICS.’
Deigning no ottir word, she swept kaughtily
st, and 1 heard the rustling cf her silk dress
i she descended the stairs.
Pau-iug but an instant longer to summon all
y courage, I lifted the latch of Mrs. Hulks'
3 or, and went in. The room was empty,
nickly crossing to the apartment beyond, I
piped softly for admittance.
‘Ccme in,’ said a voice.
q:ered. Louis Remington was pacing the
He turned and looked at me with a iVnile curling his lip.
l.o . r
floor of the dingy little room, wb’ch, for the
lime being, was his self-constituted prison. He
fookc-'i! pale fund languid, ap.d ai-JI an
•walked ; V>ot ^jiraved no other sign olj invalid,
ismi I was surprised to find him so well ana
strong.
I had over estimated my strength. I felt a
nervonsnessVome over me, and dropped upon
the sofa for a moment to recover composure.
At first he paid no attention to me ; seemed
not to know of mv presence, lie walked to the
fire place and took up a glass of red wine that
stood upon the mantle piece. He held it up
and 6eeined about to put it to his lips, half turn
ing towards me as he did so.
He paused ard looked at me—first with a
frown, and then with an odd smile curling his
lip.
Is it yon, little saint?’ he said, not any too
courteously. ‘I thought you had forgotten me.’
‘I am not likely to do that,’ I ansv. ered shortly.
•You are come for no good, 111 be bound.’
Did yon come hs re with an honest purpose
in vour heart? Answer me that, Mr. Reming
ton ?’
I had risen and stood calmly confronting him.
He laughed lightly.
•I’m not in the witness box, Miss Palgrave.
Pray do not question me.’
I have no such intention.’
That’s fortunate. Be good enongh to sit down
and tell me the object of your visit.’
His insolence gave me a courage that might
not otherwise have been mine. I thought, too,
of that poor, suffering, heart-broken man down
stairs, and could scarcely coi trol my anger to
wards the villain who had brought such trouble
upon him.
•I can say what I wish inHty present position,’
I said, declining the pr< ffered chair.’
‘As yon please. I am listening, Miss Palgrave.’
His coolness w as so exasperating that I re
solved not to spare him.
•Do you know that yon are playing a verycon-
temptable part, Mr. Remington?’ I began. ‘Your
conduct :s not only mean—it is cowardly. I am
surprised that anything short of the impossibil
ity of getting away could induce yon to remain
in this houee an hour, without the oonsent ot
its master.'
A cloud came over his handsome face.
‘Your opinion of what is proper may differ
essentially from mine.’
‘It is not a difference of opinion. It is a
choice between a manly couise and a contempt
ible one.’
‘Your lang age is strong,’ he said, sneeringly.
‘I intended it should be. My convictions are
also strong, in this matter.’
‘Bah! i snppo.se yon think I am doing Colonel
Fanshawe a wrong by hiding away in this
wretched place?’
‘I krow you are.’
‘What then ? he cried, fiercely. ‘Do you think
I care ? No ! He has robbed me of the woman
I love ! Is that nothing of which to complain !
You seo there are two sides to the story. But
for him, Louise and I might be happ;. I hale
him ! The thought of torturing him gives me
unalloyed happiness’
‘Hold !’ cried I. ‘Perhaps I understand mat
ters better than you think. Was not M s. Fan-
shawe already a wife when you first met her ?’
He dropped his head with a muttered curse.
■You have been the offender from first to last.
Not content with the folly of which you were
guilty in France, you have come here to repeat
it.’
•Louise loves me, and she detests her hus
band,’ he said, li .shing a triumphant glance at
me. ‘With all your cunning, you can’t change
facts. She would have fled with me, long ago,
if our plans had not been discovered in season
to be frustrated.’
Yes,’ I said, passionately. ‘And the poor
wronged husband forgave his wife her treachery.
He took her beyond the reach of temptation.
He meant to save her from herself —from you !
And now, villain that you are, you have followed,
btr here, to darken and blight her life anew !
Oh, it is horrible !’
‘You seem to take quite an interest in our lit
tle romance,’ he said, his lip curling.
‘I am inter-.s el iu saving that wretched wo
man from ete*nal misery. C‘. ■. EO d ill
not spare/her ?’ i ^
‘No. Ynu are able to leaverireliffa
you
In-
the
deed, I believe now you might f^ t Ve left f.t
very night yor came—for the ii j iries ybu sus
tained could scarcely have been so great as you
pretended.’
He gave me a swift glance, and smiled.
‘Go on, Miss Palgrave.’
•Let me recall the terms of our agreement
You were to leave Cedareiiffs the instant your
strength was sufficiently restored. That time
has come. If you value your life, you will go
to-night.’
‘Do you threaten me?’ he said, with an ugly
sneer.
‘What matters it whether my words are as a
threat or a warning ? In either case you will do
well to heed them.’
■Humph ! And if I refuse to go away ?’
•You must meet the const quences of your
foolhardiness. 1 shall never again attempt to
shield you from the punishment and exposure
you so richly merit. I regret now that I ever
promised to keep your secret. It was wrong ;
aDd 1 huvo^paid, dearly for my tolly already.’
‘In wbat way ?’ he asked.
‘In the perplexity, distress, anguish of mind
it has cost me. in the constantly recurring
thought that I am plaving the role of a hypo
crite in this house. But I’m going to do right
now, that I may have no causa for self-reproach
hereafter.’
‘I was turning away, but he hobbled between
me and the door.
•One moment, if you please.’
He hid his eyes with one hand—a small, slen
der hand it was, white and shapely as a woman’s,
and sparkling with costly rings. For some sec
onds he stood perfectly motionless. A straggle
was going on in his breast; 1 knew it by his loud,
hurried breathing. God alone could tell how
it would all end.
At last he lifted his head, and met my eyes
again.
‘I have decided,’ he aaid, quietly. ‘As soon
as it is dark enough, I shall leave Cedareiiffs.
But do not think you have driven me away.
Yon haven’t.’
•You will go without seeing Mrs. Fanshawe
again ?’ I said, eagerly.
•Yes. Don’t tremble any longer, little saint.
I hope you will remember me in your prayers,
as a specimen of to at depravity, and ask the
God you worship to make a better man of me.’
And then, with a laugh full of mockery, and
an exaggerated bow, he swung on his heel.
I was glad to get away from him—giad to end
the wretched scene. He puzzled, shocked, and
distressed me continually when I was with him.
His was one of those natures to which it is so
hard to appeal, they have been so blunted and
dis orted by constant contact with evil.
Turning towards the nmsary—for I had not
yet given up my intended raiubie with the chil
dren— I had barely reached the dour w’hen a
shrill scream startled me, oowing f.om the di
rection of Mrs. F tnshawe’s dressing-room.
I ran down the corridor, and entered the
apartment in question without a moment's hesi
tation. Mrs. Fanshawe he: self was there—a
white, furious woman, with that in her face, and
those great eyes of turquoise blue, that caused
me to recoil involuntarily.
She was not alone. By a small table of inlaid
wood Rose Verlorme wus standing, all the pink-
and-white beauty stricken out of her doll-like
features, that now looked sharp, haggard, ven
omous.
Mrs. Fanshawe was glaring at the girl with
flame in her eyes, and one clenched hand shak
ing wildly iu the air, as if tempted to strike her
down at her feet.
One glance revealed the cause of this singu
lar scene. On the table stood Mrs. Fahshawe’s
writing desk—a quaint, and rather pretty affair,
constructed of dark, foreign wood, inlaid with
mothei-of-p..arl, and bound with tiny golden
hoops. This desk stood wide open, its contents
all disarranged, and a bunch of keys beside it,
that had evidently been tried unsuccessfully in
the lock, for the desk showed every indication
ot having been violently broken open.
‘Wi o has don"
*r toe
pou
dner in dis
may lit toe hr A«» '«* '“k. i jf
M 5 question seenu-d to revival Mrs. Fanshawe
into liie again), for she was standing perfectly
motionless, s».ve that one shaking hand, glow
ering at the maid with a scowl of fear, anger,
La‘e. distorting her lovely face.
•That viper ; she hissed, and shook her fist
at Rose. ‘I could kill her ! I think I shall, if
she doesn’t take herself away !’
‘No you won t, madam,’ said Rose, boldly.
•You won t touch a hair of my head.’
•Who will prevent me ?’ shrieked the infuri
ated woman. ‘How dared you tamper with my
dfsk?’
A shrug, and a sullen laugh was Rose’s only
answer.
‘You are a thief—a vile thief !’
‘No, I am not. Look your desk over, Mrs.
Fanshawe. You will see nothing is missing.’
‘Why, then, have you done this? Go and
puck up your things, you wicked wretch. You
shall not remain here another hour.’
‘I shall remain,’ was the dogged response,
‘and you dare not send me away.’
•I—dare—not?' gasped Mrs. Fanshawe, with
pallid cheek3, and dilating eyes.
‘You dare not,’ grinning triumphantly. ‘Let
me tell yon why.'
She leaned forward and whispered a few words
in Mrs. Fanshawe 8 ear. The anger died in
stantly out of the woman's face. It grew gl ast-
lier than before—she put one hand to her throat
as if she were choking, and then staggered
backward into a chair.
•Go away,' she said, turning from us with a
weary gesture, ‘Go away, and let me be alone.'
CHAPTER XIII.
THE BOHEMIAN GLASS.
The first thing I did the next morning was to
pay a visit to the housekeeper’s room.
This I time found Mis. Hulks within, and
alone. She was sitting by the open window,
with her dry, white hands folded in her lap, and
her expressionless eyes fixed upon vacancy. She
looked as if she might have been sitting in that
particular attitude lor hours, so perfectly still
wire all her muscles.
‘Mrs. Hulks,' I said, ‘I have come to make in
quiries about Mr. Remington.’
Without looking at me, or changing her posi
tion a hair’s breath, she returned, in a cold,
mechanical voice :
‘He s gone, if that is what you w'sh to know. ’
•When did he leave?' drawing a deep breath
of secret thanksgiving.
•Last night.’
•I’m glad. I feel as if a sLa.iow had been
lifted from this house.’
For the first time, her eyes met mine.
You have never learned to take things coolly
— aside,’she said. •/ borrowed no trouble
about that man. Why should yon ?’
•It was not for him I trembled, but for Mrs.
Fanshawe. She is so weak, so impulsive.’
‘So wicked, you mean.’
•That is your interpretation of my opinion—
not my own.’
She glanced away again, and was silent.
‘It seems very straoga that Mr. Remington
could have remained in yonder apartment twen
ty-four hours evt-n, without his presence there
beiug known to every domestic about the place,'
I yentured, after a pause.
A slight sneer curled Mrs. Hulks’ lip.
•It is not so surprising when you come to
think oi’ it, Miss Palgrave. The apartment can
only be reached through this one ; and I‘d like
to see one of the servants venture into my room
when l am absent from it. They would not
dare do it.’
Her tone was so expressive that I ceased to
wonder. The more I s..\v of this woman, the
less likely I thought the domestic would be to
intrude upon a part of the house exclusively
her own. She had a way of keeping people at
a distance. Like that haughty old corqueror.who
c <mm ended the sea, her manner said, ‘thus far
shalt tuou come, and no farther and nobodi
j oared to dispute the forbidden territory with
her.
But enough of Mrs. Hulks.
I could breathe freely now, that Louis Rem
ington was out of the house. Mrs. Fanshawe
might meet him elsewhere—that I could not
prevent. But, at least, she could no longer hold
stolen interviews with him under her husband's
roof.
As soon as I bad disposed of other duties, I
went down stairs to sit with Colonel Fatshawe ;
but loitered on the way a good deal. To be frank,
I wi s calling up all my courage for the inter
view, tor I had determined to have a long talk
with the master of Cedareiiffs, and to hint to
him more plainly than I had yet done my sus
picions of foul play.
Rose Verlorme passed me on the stairs. She
paused an instant, to say with a silly simper :
•You see I am here, yet. Miss Palgrave ; and
here I‘m likely to remain. Mrs. Fanshawe
won't have me sent away, for now she dare not. ‘
There was malicious triumph in her face, but
as I said nothing, she quickly went her way.
Was it true? Wnat dreadful secret bad she
stumbled upon that had put such power into
her unscrupulous hands?
My thoughts were all with Rose, when at last
I gained the library door, and went in. Quite
mechanically I approached the couch where
Colonel Fanshawe was lying.
He smiled a weloome, and held out his band.
•I thought you would come, * 1 he said. ‘I have
been watching for you ever since I awoke.'
‘Are you so glad to see me as you pretend ?*
‘Your presence does me more good than med-
ioiue, little friend, * he answered. Tt must have
been a good fairy that sent you to Cedareiiffs,
in the first place. ‘
•No, sir, it wi s my poverty, and the sore need
I felt to earn a little money.*
‘Blessed need !‘ he whispered, softly, but
with a fervor that brought blushes into my
cheeks.
•Has the doctor been here, this morning ?‘ I
tsked, looking as unconcerned as possiole.
‘No. ‘
•I am to see him wb - ti»' j comes. You will
” n i e o“>A'iSM pRlgri.ve.On V
He g'qve me au od l l£%, that ha$ something
of ltqofry in it, was silent a moment, and then
said with a faint, forced laugh :
•If I were to die, what name would they give
to my disease? 1
The question startled me. ‘You are not going
to die,* I said, choking back my sobs.
‘I hope not, little friend. But about the name.
Would they call it general debility, and depres
sion of spirit ? Humph 1 and he laughed again.
•Yon and I know very well that is not the trouble
with me. ‘
He paused, still scanning my face curiously.
I don't know exactly what he thought—how
strong his own suspicions of foul play had
grown ; but, assuredly, he realized that all was
i ot as it should be.
Justhere I should have spoken my words of
warning and cautioD. I should Lave told him
of my concern fur his safety. But I could not.
When I attempted to speak my lips only uttered
unintelligible sounds. I was powerless to ex
plain the horrible suspicions that had hi set me.
After two or three ineffectual attempts to re
gain composure, I walked hastily to the window,
and slipped behind the heavy lolds of the cur
tain, quite out of sight, and dropped on my
knees there.
•Oh, Father in Heaven, help me snield this
man’s life from the wretches hungering forit? 1
I prayed, with trembling lips.
Tnis fervent petition had scarcely been uttered
when my quickened sense of hearing caught
the rustle of silk in the passage that led past
the library. A moment later, the door opened,
and Airs. Vann entered. In her hand she car
ried a goblet of brittle Bohemian ware, ruby red.
From my position in the window rece.-s, I
could see her quite distinctly, though the vo
luminous folds of the curtaiu shielded me from
her ols9rvation.
She approached the couch, a false smile
wreathing her treacherous lips. Somehow her
slow and undulating movements reminded me
disagreeably ot a sernent.
‘Are you feeliDg better, this morning? 1 she
asked, in a soft, silky voice.
Colonel Fanshawe shook his head without look
ing at her. There was an expression of repug
nance upon his face. She must haveseen it, for
her dark eyes began to burn.
•I‘m sorry, 1 she said, her tone losing none of
its sweetness. ‘You do look paler. But we
shall have you up again iu a day or two.*
She leaned over him, as she spoke, and placed
the glass she carried, to his lips,
•What's that? 1 he asked, pushing it away.
•Lemonade. I prepared it on pnrp. se for
you. Drink it. You will feel better afterwardp.‘
I sprang excitedly to my feet. I did not stop
to think or reason; but I was prepared to dash
the glass from her hand, if he attempted to taste
its contents.
Oh, why had I not warned him! The lemon
ade was poisoned—I had not a doubt of it!
However, interference on my part w..s unnec
essary. Colonel Fanshawe persisted iu decli
ning the lemonade. ■
•I don’t like your potions, ‘ he said, irritably.
‘I am always worse after drinking them. 1
She shot him a swift, hall-frightened glance,
but his face told her nothing.
•That’s only a notion you have, ‘ she said. ‘It
was the doctor's order that you should take lem
onade. 1
How readily the lie sprang to her lips! But D
did not impose upon Colonel Faushawe.
‘Put down the glass, • he said wearily. ‘If I am
thirsty, I will drink it by and by.*
Y would rather you drink it now, 1 she urged,
•Tastcvit. I‘m sure you will dad it very nice.*
Oh. the horrible persistency of the wretched
woman! It turned me cold! ‘Sue looked like p,
fawning Messalina as she leaned over him, with,
such well simulated pity in her evil face.
Unable to endure the scene a moment longer,
I advanced into the room. Though secretly
trembiing, I managed to put on a semblance of
composure.
‘Mrs. Vann,‘ I said. ‘I do not think that Col.
(CONTINUED 'it 8th page.)