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CoNTIUED FROM 3rd, PAGE,
field. Spots o( gore stain the ground, broken
muBkets, fragments of shells, piles of shot are
scattered a boat Daed and dying lie every
where. I am attracted by the figure of a mere
lad. I stoop over him; he openes his glazed
eyes and mariners, ‘mama.* His drnm lies be
side him, while he grasps the sticks* I ask
ean I do anything for him. ‘Water, water!' he
says, feebly. I bant about and find water, but
I find it is too late for the little drummer boy;
he is dead. On his drum is his name. He is
from Carolina, and oannot be sixteen years old.
I pass on to another wounded man. He is
dressed in a bad imitation of a Zouave.
God bless you Miss, * he says, *1 have been
wanting water all night.*
•Miss Helen, don't you see he's a Yankee?'
cries Pen.
•Yes Miss, I am a Yank, * he smiles feebly as
Pen turns away.
•Her brother was killed,' I explain, as he
fixes his hollow eyes upon me. 'We are South
erners.'
'Yes, many one has gone, many more to follow.
Miss Helen, that's your name, won't you write
to my wife when I'm dead, and tell her that a
Southern woman gave me water?'
I oannot refuse; so I put the address with
many others, and move on. I come to a face
that attraots me; it is a noble face. I kneel
down beside the soldier, asking if I can do any
thing for him.
‘Nothing. I shall soon be dead, so attend
to my comrades less badly wounded;' he
fixes his brown eyes on me as if to ask who I
am.
‘I am Helen Boss, and am from Virginia.
Where are you from ?’
'From Georgia. We charged well!' deliriously.
‘Indeed you did! General Lee is proud of
yon.’
'Of me? I am only a private! There are
thousands of privates lying about me. I am
from Georgia, dear old Georgia, and we have
but a poor showing among the Virginians,’ he
goes on dreamily.
‘Yes you do,’ I reply, soothingly. ‘I have a
brother in the army and he says that all the
Georgia officers are renowned for their bravery;
and I heard Gsneral Lee say that Georgians
fight well.’
'Did you? Is the sun up ?’
‘Not yet,’ carefully surveying the handsome,
pallid features. ‘Where do you live, and what
is your name ?'
‘In.Georgia.on the banks of the Chattahooohee.
I was born there, raised there, with two other
brothers younger than I am. My name is Jim
my—• Even now my dear old mother is wait
ing for me. Already one of us have left her.
Do you not hear the rush of the river as it goes
past ? Listen ! That’s old Abe singing as he
crosses it! My beautiful home, am I never to
see you again ? Mother !’
DELAMERE;
—OB
Corinne the Sphynx!
BY PAUL G. LB SUEUR.
CHAPTER VI.
“The soldier’s off duty forever.”
Some letters were ic his pocket from that far
away home, where wailing shall be heard above
the rippling of his river. Three graves instead
of one are now on the hillside—Jimmy's Will's
and the little drummer boy's from Carolina.
Why detail these horrors ? Only one more: *
I come to a man leaning against a rook appar
ently reading a Bible. Approaohing him I am
startled to find that he is dead. The decaying
finger points to,
‘Yea, though I walk through the valley of the
shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for thou art
with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. ‘
The July sun is fast making him an obnox
ious object, for decomposition has begun. He
must have been killed on (he first day. So long
as I live I shall never forget this attitude, this
face with its staring eyes; and above all that
this man read and believed in his Bible.
The scenes I have described are duplicated
scores of times. We see bodies perforated with
bullets, limbs without bodies, bodies without
limbs, brains splashed over the trampled grass
and wheat, headless trunks, heads without
bodies, bodies torn into fragments. Faces of
aged men, middle-aged men, young men, beard
less boys lie upturned to the sky. Dead and
dying artillery horses dotted here and there.
Broken arms, blood-stained bayonets, broken ar
tillery wagons, fragments of shells, blown up
caissons, tiny pistols, long muskets with spiked
bayonets, crushed oanteens, lost caps, shoulder
straps, epaulettes, belts, sashes, and plumes are
scattered around. The ground torn and plowed
in all directions; the wheat field that waved its
golden grain in the breeze last week, trampled
under foot of men and horses.
Sickened by suoh scenes we turn baok to oar
friendly rook. We just reach it when the third
day's battle at Gettysburg begins. It is more
terrible than on yesterday; it is the greatest con
fliot of modern times. More than two hundred
cannons vomit out their deadly fire; two hun
dred thousand muskets, hurriedly loaded, hur
riedly discharged, add their sharp cracking to
the melee. Flying shells fill the air. Quick,
passionate, stirring commands from the officers;
wild oheers from the men.
At the close of the day, unable to dislodge the
enemy, General Lee leads his men on the re
treat The want of ammunition, the scarcity of
supplies and the security of the enemy's post
tion leave no other alternative. It is no defeat
to the Confederates, no victory to the Federate;
only an advantage in position and overwhelm
ing numbers.
John and Maurioe come and take us to Mrs.
Hill's
'Had general Gordon been listened to the ene
my would have been dislodged and routed on
the first night,' Maurice says, gloomily.
In two weeks we mount into the carriage and
drive away. Not before Major Jerome pays me
a visit, and sends tender messages to Eve. We
meet, also, the brutal lieutenant who took Bert
away from hia mother's grave.
We bring oalamitous news, meet ealamity at
the gate. Before we can dismount Valarie is
with us.
■God balp us, Helen ! Vicksburg has fallen !'
‘My dear child, ‘ mother says, as I kneel be
side her chair, ‘Vicksburg has fallen !*
'Vicksburg has fallen !' murmurs Eve, as I
embrace her.
(To be Continued.)
* A true incident.
TEXAS.
Cetton has opened out finely throughout Nor th
ern Texas since the recent general rain, and the
picking season has commenced in earnest.
1 he latest information from Hearne, where, on
yesterday, a general outbreak between whites and
blacks was feared, is to the effect that the city mar
shal, Bishop, by aid of the citizens, white and black,
succeeded in quieting the belligerents. The cause
of the trouble was the shooting of a negro desperado,
named Calhoun, by the city marshal, in attempting
to arrest him.
Farmerville, a new town on the border of Milam
county, has a flourishing high school.
The cattle of Montague county in many places are
suffering dreadfully for the want of water.
The Texas Pacific railway company has paid into
the land office at Austin fees to the amount of $8000.
A party of men are at work on a silver claim
about twenty miles from Belton, which assays 840 to
the ton. So they say.
Stone coal haa been discovered on ths Colorado
river, in Brown county, and it is believed the quan-
will be inexhaustible.
It was a calm, mild day, such as sometimes
comes when surly winter is making its retreat,to
remind us of the better days ahead. Merrily
the sunshine played about Mr. Ethmer's yard,
and the noisy jay, and birds of less renown,
obattered and oarolled already of the joyous
spring, as man often prematurely rejoices over
expected happiness. The old gentleman him
self, with his feet propped comfortably before
him, and surrounded by battalions of newspa
pers and files of magazines, sat in his great arm
chair in the reception room. A fragrant cigar
now and then, as his interest flagged in news or
story, made ringlet clouds of smoke whioh died
away anon as hia attention was drawn off by a re
cital of bold robbery or terrible mercantile dis
aster. Diana, as was her custom, was out try
ing the exhilarating, health-giving exercise of a
horse-back ride, when the front gate opened,
and Colonel Fenton entered and walked slowly
toward the house with the air of one who makes
a leisurely morning call, and cares not how
long he tarries. And yet there was a look of
settled purpose in his eye which might have
been perceived only by a keen observer, and
which was slightly at variance with his unen
gaged and careless air. He was shown by a serv
ant into the room in which Mr. Ethmer sat.
‘Ab, Colonel Fenton,' said the old gentleman
with a cordial grasp of the hand, T am happy
to see you, sir.’
The visitor took the proffered palm with mod
est warmth, and Mr. Ethmer, having drawn an
other chair to the fire for his guest, sank back
luxuriously into his own.
‘A lovely day,’ remarked the latter with a
slight gesture toward an open window whioh
looked out upon a landscape flooded with the
glorious sunshine, and green and spring-like
from the blended shades of pine and cedar.
‘Yes, very fine,' assented the old gentleman.
This was said in deference to his guest, for he
had been before aware that the day was very
fine.
‘I have been taking advantage of it.’ continu
ed the visitor, ‘by riding out, but as I came by
and saw things looking so inviting I concluded
to walk in.’
‘You did right, sir,’ returned the host push
ing a case of cigars toward the speaker; ‘and 1
hope you will do so often. Have a smoke?
But how do you like our neighborhood here,
and the people ? I suppose you are well pleased
with it.’
‘So much so, sir, that I find it very hard to
tear myself away from it. My health is thor
oughly recruited now, but still I cannot find it
in my heart to leave. In fact, sir, I received a
letter only a few days ago from my lawyer in
Havana, who told me that one of my tenants had
fallen sadly behind last year, and that I had bet
ter take the place away from him and let one
have it who is more capable of conducting such
an afiair. He also told me that it would be best
for me to return and see personally into some
other matters there requiring attention; but
last night I received a letter from the culprit
tenant, begging so piteously to be continued in
position that I concluded to humor him even
inst my interest, for one can afford to lose a
,e for nn honest man's ^ake.'
Jr. Ethmer listened to the last part of this re-
SKto use an old expiCSfcion— aifcctis auribvs.
I see, my dear sir,' be said, ‘you have fallen
an error very common to young men of in
herited fortune. You are too'lavish with it—too
generous.^
Colonel Fenton, availing himself bow of the
old gentleman*8 proffer, took a cigar, bit off the
end meditatively, and lit it
‘Ah. no. sir;’ he replied, ‘you do me more
than justice. I never go beyond the bounds of
prudent charity. But I fear I am detaining you.
I am on my way to Delamere, and should not
have turned aside here, anyway. I am going
over to see young Delamere. Like myself he is
fond of eporting, and I am of the opinion that
he and I will be boon companions for a time, at
least. I know very little of him, however, ex
cept that he is of taoiturn disposition.’
'He is a man, sir, every inch of him,’ returned
the old gentleman enthusiastically. Colonel
Fenton turned upon his host an expression sar
castic, though annoyed and uneasy, but the lat
ter went cn.—‘You will find him a good shot,
sir, and then he is a witty, knowing kind of a
fellow when you once draw him out.’
To a keener obsereer than the speaker the look
upon the face of the visitor, and still more, the
reply he made might have betrayed, at these en
comiums, a feeling of annoyanoe axd disgust.
Said Colonel Fenton;
‘Yes, so he is; but he has still more qualifica
tions, though they may be of less worth. He
rides like a Comanche, is an excellent gymnast
and sings marvelously well. *
'I have taken quite a fancy to the young man, ‘
replied the old gentleman in whose opinion,
however, the above recorded praises rath9r de
tracted from, than added to, the merits of the
character under discussion. ‘He has rare en
dowments. ‘
‘So far as natural gifts are concerned,' was
the answer, ‘he is greatly to be envied by us
less gifted men.'
‘It is strange to me.' said Mr. Ethmer, who
had never been blest with a son and was there
fore naturally inclined to over estimate the im
portance of one,—‘it is strange to me why Dela
mere never had him before at his home. ‘
‘I think it was on account of some quarrel he
had with the young man's father who was rath
er a wild kind of a man,' explained Colonel
Fenton. ‘So Wilinot was telling me the other
day.'
‘There may be some truth in that. I knew a
little of his father in his earlier days; but he
never spoke much of his after oourse in life.
How did it happen ?'
‘Young Delamere's father, as 1 said before,
was a wild drinking sort of a young man, and
very different in his habits and tastes from his
brother, the present Jasper Delamere, who, up
on a certain occasion reproved him for some of
his misdoings. This occasioned a breach be
tween them, and at the death of their father,
this younger brother—I have forgotten his
name’—
Robert Delamere,’ in tsrposed Mr. Ethmer.
'This Bobert Delamere, when he obtained
control of his property spent the most of it in
travel, and finally settled down in the southern
part of Georgia where he married, and where, I
am sorry to relate, he broke the heart of his
wife by dying of delirium tremens.'
'A sad termination truly to so promising a ca
reer,’commented Mr. Ethmer.
Tis so indeed,’ assented Colonel Fenton.
‘He was so handsome, and so accomplished and
so generous—in faot he was just suoh a young
man as his son now is,’ and he glanced keenly
and quickly at the old gentleman, as if to see
the effect of his remarks; but judging from his
faoe that he did sot connect with Eryo the
moral obliquitios of Bobert Delamere, he con
tinued in a careless tone. The present young
Delameie has every gift, but one, that a sensible
man could wish.’
'Ah !' said Mr. Ethmer with a degree of in
terest and curiosity, ‘and what is that ?’
'Biohes,' was the sententious reply.
The host’s countenance felL
‘By heaven !’ he exclaimed after a short
pause, ‘you are right, Colonel Fenton. But I
thought he had a large patrimony.’
‘Nothing of the kind, sir, as I am informed.
Almost a beggar, or as near to it as a prend man
ever gets to be. Still, I think none the less of
him because dame fortune has seen fit to frown
him down.’
‘Of course not,’ responded ths old gentleman
readily, tnough in tones which implied that as
far as he himself was concerned, the circum
stance made a material difference. ‘If he ever
needs a helping hand,' continued the visitor
‘and will accept of it, I shall be glad to lend him
mine.'
- Mr. Ethmer appeared staggered at the infor
mation he had reoieved, and, after gazing for a
while in silence at the fire, he broke forth em
phatically thus:
•By God, Colonel Fenton ! I am sorry of this
thing; but I am.glad you have told me of it.'
‘I shall be exceedingly sorry,* was the re
joinder, ‘to know that I have at all injured him
in yofir estimation.’
‘Yes, yes, of course, but rest assured you have
not done so, though I am glad yoq have told
me these things. It's a pity, as I said before,
a cursed deplorable pity.’
The latter part of the old gentleman's re
mark had been uttered in a soliloquy. He had
not said much, but he had said enough to be
tray his real sentiments and perhaps, also a
dim shadowy plan, to the penetration of bis
linx-eyed companion.
‘Bat will not a part of his uncle's property
fall to him ?' he asked.
‘Hardly I think. Wilmot who has lately seen
a copy of Mr. Delamere's will says that every
thing is left unconuiiienally to the daughter.*
‘But iu case this daughter should die, per
sisted Mr. Ethmer who seemed to wish to in
vest the object of his sudden fancy with the
subsidiary consideration of wealth, ‘is he not
next of kin, and will not the property be his ?‘
‘If there are other relations I do not know of
them. But. of course, the Delamere property
will go to the daughter and her children.'
‘Yas; I had forgotten—‘tis true.'
‘Aud so,‘continued Colonel Fenton, ‘asmuch
as I feel for young Delamere, I cannot but con
sider him as only one degree removed from a
beggar. ‘
A short pause followed this, during which
Mr. Ethmer again gazed meditatively into the
fire, At length he suddenly exclaimed:
•I have it, Colonel Fenton !'
‘How ?' asked the latter in a voice of surprise.
‘I am going to do as you hinted just no w—
lend the lad a helping hand;' and then he ex
plained to his guest how that he had a large
plantation situated in the wilds of Southern
Georgia, and how that his tenant stole every
thing that was made on it, and how that he
would turn off this unprofitable steward and
would install young Delamere in his place.
Colonel Fenton smiled oommiseratingly, as if
pitying a generosity he saw carried to an ex
treme.
‘Do yon think he would consent to any such
arrangement?* he asked. ‘Let me tell you. sir;
he is proud, and such a thing would touch
him to the quick. It would hurt him more
than if you had struck him a blow.*
‘Then, curse me, if he is'nta bigger fool than
I took him to be,‘ broke forth the old gentle
man incontrolablly and in that just indignation
which we feel when we see our charity spurned,
or proffered friendship slighted. ‘Young men
have strange ideas now-a-days, any way. Why
‘I cannot imagine whom you can mean,’ said
Diana.
‘Perhaps net. I have reference to Henry Stacy
and a Mr. Bandal from Naahville, and our new
comer.'
Who?' asked Diana more becanse she thought
he expeoted her to inquire tbau from any inter
est she felt in ascertaining the name of the per
son referred to.
.‘Our young friend Delamere over the way.’
‘What!' She exclaimed in enrpriee, while her
countenance betrayed a concern which her es
cort did not like—‘you do not mean Corinne’s
cousin ?'
‘The same' was the reply.
‘I have been greatly deceived in him then,'
she answered, 'but—no matter.'
‘To what extent have you you been deceived?'
demanded Colonel Fenton, gazing at her in his
calm, quiet, penetrating manner, and speaking
in tones, half-interrogative and half insinuat
ing, which brought a flush to the fair cheek of
bis companion. Diana, though she had some
idea of the impertinent drift of the qnestion. was
too mnch overcome with surprise at the sudden
ness of it, to answer immediately, and, in order
to conceal a very natural confusion, struck her
horse a sharp blow with her riding-whip, and
darted from his Bide. When he came up with
her again she laughed merrily, and began talk
ing upon another subjeot as if she had not
heard bis last remark. 1'bey had now turned,
and were riding more leisnrely in the direction
of Mr. Echmers, and, in the short distance
whioh they had then to go, Colonel Fenton
dwelt at some length upon the events of the
night in question, leaving himself modestly and
mostly in the background. When they parted
at Mr. Ethmer’s gate, declining an invitation to
go in again, he rode off toward Delamere.
CHAPTEB VII.
sir when I_
taken such s'
waited hook t 4
i ‘Of couc"°
ed the visi.tr.
ou8 of making ao
/’young man I would have
’^a eagerly as ever fish bit at
"-disgrace in it,-- observ-
a young man who is desir-
onest living, any work, that
is honorable, should be acceptable. As far as
your intended offer is concerned, young Dela
mere has a place offered him somewhere in Bal
timore which he can enter into as soon as he
feels inolined to. But I must bid you good-day
sir. I have overstaid my time,’ and be arose,
pat on his gloves in the leisurely manner char
acteristic of him, and departed, followed by the
admiration and good wishes of his host.
‘Now I do honestly swear’ mused the latter,
as the door closed upon his visitor and he sank
back thoughtfully into his chair again, ‘he has
an honest’heart,—a frank and generous one I
may say. I love to see a man speak his senti
ments.’
‘Old miserly fooli’ muttered Colonel Fenton
as she walked away ; ‘I believe he was actually
in a notion to marry his daughter to that poor,
proud buggar. I have put a spider in his cup,
however. For all this youug sprig’s gymnu.tic
excellence, I like him not.’
He was about to mount his horse when he
espied Diana rapidly approaching down the
avenne. She rode .a spirited little blaok animal
whioh she managed with consummate skill.
She w»u alone, and as she drew near and stop
ped before the gate, he offered to aasist her to
alight, but she declined his aid and sat in the
saddle, waiting for her groom, who was some
distance behind, to came up.
‘Thank yon, she said ‘I am not yet done rid
ing. A* the morning is unusually fine, I am go
ing to make the best of it.’
‘If yon wish to ride farther it will be a very
great pleasure to me te accompany yon,’ replied
Colonel Fenton. ‘I shall be very glad to have
you do so sir,’ she said, ‘for it seems that my
gallant attendant has deserted me. But I ride
very fast.’
Her volunteer impromptu escort mounted,
and together they set out. They rode rapidly
along the broad opeu road until they oame to
where a path turned off at an angle, and down
this they plunged almost in total silenoe , such
rapid motion could not be engaged in daring con
versation. Diana tamed here and there among
the network cf old neglected roads, whioh lay
plentifully and intersectingly along the fields,
like one perfectly acquainted with every foot
path of the country, and all that her companion
could do was to gallop blindly at her aide. Hav
ing dashed off a mile or two, they began to ride
more slowly.
‘Lifs has not many pleasures greater than this
to me,’ finally remarked Diana.
Colonel Fenton gazed in hie alow, marked
and deliberate manner at the fair girl at his side
—her bright oheeks flushed with pleasure and
her eyes with a joyous light in them, and he
thought, too, that it was pleasant, and that he
might extend this ride with pleasure many a
mile farther. But he was not of the impulsive
kind ; all that he did seemed measured, out and
dried, and aimed with archer-like precision at
some given object
‘My pleeaure in suoh oases depends greatly
upon the person who beers me company.’
She had a vague idee of something flattering
about to follow this remark, but she did not now
desire to hear oompliments passed ; so she turn
ed the conversation by saying with just the
slightest shade, he thought of coquetry.
‘Perhaps social pleasures are more oongenial
to your turn of mind.’
This reft as much room as before for the ex
peoted compliment, ao she continued. ‘Yet Har
ry told me that you did not seem to enjoy to
any great extent the little sapper he gave not
long sinoe.’
‘I admit as much ; the orewd, though small,
was very rowdyiah.’
She looked at him with a wondering expres
sion and replied, ‘I am sorry you have reoieved
so bad an impression of onr neighborhood.’
*On the contrary I have a very good impres
sion. Those, who produced a bad one, are not
of your neighborhood.’
It was the same bright morning a. .hat in
whioh the events recorded in last . ^.er took
place, when Eryc sat in the library with an open
volnme in his hands. Its contents he was not
reading, but, with clonded brow, gazed vacant
ly over the top of the pages. While he was
thus engaged, Corinne entered. In his abstract
ed state he was half conscious of the presence of
some one, bnt of whom, he knew not, nntil she
exclaimed in her petulant, well-known voice:
‘Oh, dear me, Eryc pnt np that dreadful book
and entertain me some. *
‘Very well, but am I in duty bound to do so? 1
‘No; I don’t know that I altogether think so,’
she retnrned, sinking into a chair with her fa
miliar languid movement, ‘but it is so selfish to
be seeking your own amusement when a lellow-
creature is near by, pining for sympathy and
companionship.*
To do Corinne justice she really meant and
felt what she was saying. She thought it truly
strange and selfish in Eryc to seek his own en
joyment rather than hers.
‘Perhaps I am selfish,’ he answered. ‘But
I Lad forgotten that to amnse others was more
important than to amuse myself.*
She looked curiously at him. The idea of
thinking abont the happiness of others, if she
were the one to do the thinking, was disagree
able to her.
‘For the life of me I can’t see how you find
amusement here anyway. Everything bores me
insufferably. I don’t think I can stand it mnch
longer. I told papa I thought I would apeud
the month of May among the mountains in Vir
ginia.’
‘I heard him talking to Aunt abont it last
flight. He aaid he could not ‘ let y’ou go away
so soon—that yon had scarcely reached home.’
, ‘What?’ exclaimed Corinne, a^yrrily drawing
hei'self np from her reclining posurte, ‘I swear I
will go! Papa takes these sadden notions—bat
never mind, we‘U see who will rale the day.
I have had my own way all my life, and I am
not to be thwarted now. ‘
Eryo had ceased being so nnoivil of late as to
to stare at her, but now be stared in good earn
est. Seeing, however that nothing was to be
gained by the proceeding, he laughed and re
plied:
‘ ‘I swear* does not become such sweet lips as
yours, my dear cousin.’
‘I don’t care whether it does or not, • she re
turned, bnt with a softened air. She took the
rebake mildly for the sake of the compliment
which acoompanied it, as we more readily take
a bitter pill, to use an old simile, for the sake of
the sugar coating around it.
Bnt it seemed very odd to her to be told that
a thing did not become her.
‘However, on second thonght,’ she resumed,
T don't want to go away from home soon. I
am sure you oan make it pleasant to me here,—
if you will but exert yonrself to do so.’
Whatever faint, Half-formed project she
might have had of flirting with Eryo, whether
from a perception of its utter impossibility, or
whether from the fickleness of her nature and
desires she hod now, somewhat, if not altogeth
er, abandoned. His oalm, quiet, uncommuni
cative ways toward her, though they still an
noyed, to a slight degree, abashed her. Pet her
he could not, without hypocrisy, and when he
conversed with her there was a kindly, but pen
etrating look in his eye whioh seemed to say to
her, more expressively by a glanoe than ever
oonld words, that, while he felt interested in
her welfare and happiness, he saw at onoe to
the bottom of her motives and pitied them.—
Some things of late had burst like a revelation
upon her whioh she was amazed to think that
she had not known before, but she had not yet
had time to oonsider them in all their lights
and bearings. Fickle, bnt not false, undecided
but not irressolute, when once her oourse of ac
tion had been determined, she was the sport of
every transient feeling, and perhaps, the only
emotion that ever obtained permanenee in her
mind was her growing, and her almost uncon
scious love for Geoffrey Glenville. But whut
was a little more remarkable, she confessed her
faults as glibly as she related the current scandal
of the day, and seemed to think them perfectly
justifiable and blameless short-comings, which,
though culpable in another were charming in
herself!
‘I shall exert myself to make you feel perfect
ly at home,’ responded Eryo to her last remark,
but with ao subtle a shade of sarcasm in his
voice that even her lynx eyes, ever upon the
lookout, as they were, for some shadow of hos
tility from others toward her, failed to discov
er it
'That is kind of you, and I do hope I shall
have a pleasant time between now aud ’ she
paused abruptly, and in oonfoaion, as if she
were afraid she verged upon terms of too much
confidence and intimaoy.
‘Your marriage you mean?' concluded Eryc,
‘I hope so too. There was a pause between
ihem after this approach towards familiarity.
‘I am too young to marry,’ finally and hisita-
tingly remarked Oorinne.
'You are twenty years old. *
•Oh, yea, I know that, bnt twenty-five is the
proper age; and then I am mnoh a child, yon
know, anyway.’
‘Indeed, I think so,' replied Eryo, fervently.
It was one of her pet notions to be thought
very childish, sweet and unaffected, and, at
this reply, delivered, with a significance ahe
did not expect, she bent upon him, for a mo
ment, an eye of angry inquiry, bnt, as he met
it with unflinching innooenoe of gaze, she said,
doubtfully:
‘I am going to send over for Diana, to-mor
row. We are going over the lake a-aketohing. ‘
-Ah?’ said Eryo, with as mnoh indifference as
he eonld summon to his aid.
'Yes; Bhe will remain here two or three days—
perhaps a week. Bnt you are cutting the tas
sel off the curtain, Eryj; you will ruin it'
He set his teeth firmly together to conceal his
vexation, and carelessly replied. ‘And is not
Miss Devon also going with U9 over to the
lake?*
‘Oh, I had forgotten Vesta; she always ap
pears to be so busy; and then, I never enjoy
myself in her company in the least. I suppose
it is becanse her continaal diligenoe is such a
rebuke to my idleness and indolence. But
there are fonr seats in the carriage, and I sup
pose the more the merrier. Besides, she can
attend to our lunch, and do a thousand other
little things for oar comfort that I would never
think of. Oh, yes, she must go.‘
At this juncture, most unexpectedly to them
both, the door was opened, and Colonel Fenton
stepped into the apartment. His presence, on
this occasion, is easily explained. Oa arriving
at Delamere, the first person whom he encoun
tered was Bose, who answered his ring at the
door. When Eryc was inquired for, the latter
with commendable alacrity and disregard of
propriety, ushered the visitor into the library,
where he had seen Eryo a short time before.
Eryc presented him to Corinne who bowed to
him with stately indifference, but, remember
ing, however, that she had heard of him as a
man of wealth, she assumed a more gracious
aspect, and engaged him in a conversation al
most exclusive of Eryc who joined in but oc
casionally. Colonel Fenton was a man who
could never eater a room and talk an listened to.
There was a magnetism abont him which it was
hard to resist, but Eryc wbo bore, unaccounta
bly to himself, no love either for him, or Cor
inne, (for the perverseness of the latter, though
late, had wrought its full effect upon him) turned
away, and was looking absently out of the win
dow.
CONTINUED ON 7TH PAGE.
jBuilroad (guide.
Reduction of Passenger P.t res.
GEORGIA RAILROAD IS SELLING
STRAIGHT AND EXCURSION TICKETS
Between all Station* on its Main Line and Branches
including the Macon and Augusta Railroad, at the
following
GREATLY REDUCED RATES :
Straight Tickets at 4 cents per mil-
Excursion Tickets at 6 cents per miL
(Good for Ten Days.)
Minimum for Straight Tickets, Ten Cents ; Excursion
Tickets, Twenty Cents.
To secure the advantage of the Reduced 'lutes, tickets
must be purchased from the Station Age- ts of the Com
pany. Conductors are not. allowed to charge less than
the regular tariir rate ot live (5) cents per mile.
Excursion Tickets will be good to Return Ten Days
from and including the date of issue. No lay-over priv
ilege attachesto these tickets, nor will any be granted
The company reserves the right to change, or eitirelj
abrogate these rates at pleasure aud without u< five.
E. R. DORSEY,
lov 9- Gea- l’a-s. Agent.
1.000 MILE TICKETS.
GEORGE. RAILROAD COMPANY, )
Office General Passenger Agent. [
Augusta, April 5th, 1879. )
C OMMENCING MONDAY, 7th inst., this Company
will sell ONE THOUSAND MILE TICKETS, good
over main line and branches, at TWENTY FIVE DOL
LARS each. These tickets will he issued to individuals,
firms and families, but not to firms and families com
bined. E. R. DORSEY,
198-5t Gen. Pass. Agent.
THE GEORGIA RAILROAD.
GEORGIA RAILROAD COMPANY, )
Superintendent's Office l
Augusta, Ga., June 6th, 1879 (
COMMENCING SUNDAY, 8th inst. the followin'/ Pas
senger Schedule will be operated:
No. 2 EAST—DAILY.
Leave Atlanta .7 45 a m
Arrive Athens 3 15 d m
Arrive Washington ’. 2 00pm
Arrive Camak 1 08 d m
Arrive Milledgeville 30pm
Arrive Macon 5 20pm
Arrive Augusta 318pm
No. 1 WEST—DAILY.
Leave Augusta 9 45 a m
Leave Macon 7 In a m
Leave Milledgeville 9 08 a m
Leave Camak ’ -t, 41 „ n ,
Leave Washi ugion ‘" 10 45 a m
Leave Athens 9 1“ a in
Arrive Atlanta 5 00 p m
No connection to or from Washington on Sundays.
COYINGTON ACCOMMODATION.
(Daily except Sundays.)
Leaves Atlanta
Arrives CoviDgton
Leaves Covington
Arrives Atlanta
No. 4 EAST-DAILY.
Leaves Atlanta
Arrives Augusta
No. 3 WEST-D AILY.
Leaves Augusta
Arrives Atlanta
Traius Nos. 2, 1. 4 and 3 will not stop at Flag Stations
Connects at Augusta for al! points East aud 80 uth-east
Superb Improved Sleepers to Augusta.
Pullman Sleepers from August], to New
York -either via Charleston or t hariotte.
4®*OnIy one change Atlanta to New York.*®Jl
S. K. JOHNSON, E. R. DORSEY,
Superintendent. Gen. Passenger Agent.
5 30 p m
8 00 p m
5 25 a m
7 40 a m
6 00 p m
6 20am
5 30pm
..5 00 a m
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