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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.)