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DIES IRiE. OR Under the Stars and Bars. BY CELESTE lllWHISS BARKSDALE. CHAPTER X. "Thy lot shall y at be link’d with thine.’’ Bbide of Abtdos. March. •Mail!’ cries Lila, ooming up the walk from the front gate. ‘Two for Mrs.fCrofton, one for Valerie!’ , , , Valarie stretches out her thin hand, while her eyes turn exultingly toward Eve. Valarie has been quite sick, and is yet unable to go about the house. Throughout the short, dreary March days, she lies upon the sofa near the fire, listen- ing intently at every unwonted noise, expect ing, hoping to see John every moment. She has never lost faith in him. Her eyes take on a piteous, wistful look that nearly breaks my heart when I look at her, but her lips refuse to condemn John for his silence. •He will write or come soon,’ she says; and re peats it daily. . He does not write or come through all the long days of weary waiting and watching. Eve, who would be as well pleased to see Penelope John’s wife as Valarie. has more than once ex pressed her belief that John and Pen were mar ried. She goes to the door to meet Lila and take the letters. Valerie's fingers tremble and her face flushes as she essays to open John’s letter, for it is from John we know by the superscription. Barbara glances at hers, opens the one she recognizes as Mr. Rogers’. •Charlie has eaoaped !’ reading a line or two. •Maurioe too!—They have gone back to the army !—I wouldn’t!—Fared miserably while prisoners '.—Eve! Eve!’ in an eager voice. The girl starts up, the loveliest glow comes to her oheek, while into her eyes comes a sudden light. Does she hope for tidings from Bert ? Lila is watching Eve curiously, half smiling. I, who see it, leave Valarie deep in the perusal of John’8 loving letter, go over to Barbara. •Tell us what it is,quickly ! Is it about Bert? Speak, Barbara!’ •Yes ! Are you not glad ?’ Barbara has a fac ulty, and she exercises it to the utmost, of tor menting people when she has them at her mer cy. ‘And he is—’ •Married!’ I ejaculated, as she stops and looks at Eve. The girl grows white and red, looking at me despairingly. •No!' Barbara says pettishly. ‘You always interrupt one at the wrong place, Helen.’ •You are enough to try the patience of a saint, Barbara,’ I reply impatiently. ‘Where is Pen ?’ ‘Pen ? Who said anything about Pen ? I am am sure I did not,’ reading her letter as quietly as though I was not waiting for au answer. •Come here, Eve,’ Valarie says, smiling softly. Swiftly Eve crosses over to Valarie who holds out John's letter and points to a parapraph. •What of Pen, Valarie ?’ I ask, giving over my fruitless effort to get answers to my questions from Barbara. Lila's face darkens, and she turns away to her room. •It is just as I said always, Helen,’ answered Valarie. ‘Precious Pen ! had it not been for her noble exertions John would have been cap tured. She carried John's horse down to the river, as you and Eve once did Major Revere's, and John, fearing that her sudden appearanoe might excite suspicion among the Federals here at the house, and thereby cause her imprison- perbaps death, induced her to 00 as far aa.JV-vm> expressed a determination to go North to ascer tain the truth about her brother being at Fort Delaware; and if she it not here now, she cer tainly has gone to Delaware City.’ •And Bert, Valarie, has John heard from him?’ I question, eagerly. Valarie glances p.round the room: Barbara is deep in the perusal of her letter, and Eve is oblivious of our nearness. ‘John received a letter from him juBt a few days before he wrote. He writes principally about Pen and Eve. She is reading it now, foT John has transferred it verbatim for her to read. When he comes home we shall have a wedding that should have been long ago.’ ‘“Should have been,” yes, Valarie. Now, darling, what does John say of himself? Is he well? When is tfle *happ' consummation’ to be?’ •When he comes—perhaps in August Sup pose I had ever doubted him. Helen, I don’t think I should ever be able to forgive myself after reading that letter, ‘ a smile wreathing her sweet lips. ‘Happy John to have so true a heart to love him,’ lory, kissing her. Look at Eve !' she whispers.' I do look, and my own heart grows glad at the sight of her joyous face. She looks up and catohes my eye bent upon her. She rises from her knees, where sbe has been kneeling like a priestess before a shrine, and comes to me, •I am so, so happy, Helen ! Kiss me, and tell me that you are glad with me. Nothing more will ever sadden my heart I shall alwayn be happy.’ •It seems to me a strange way of doing for Penelope to assist John in escaping before Maurice, • Barbara says, breaking in upon our congratulations, deliberately folding up her let ters. •Not so strange to those who know all the cir cumstances connected therewith, • replies Lila, who has entered unperceived. Barbara is our ‘death's head at the wine, • I hasten to say to Lila: •You heard from Maurice? 1 •Yes, He escaped with Mr. Rogers, and ha^ returned to the ranks once more. I met Dr. Eustis just now, Miss Helen, and he tells me that his sight is completely gone. He cannot distinguish daylight from darkness. ‘Helen, he was such a dear friend of father’s, has been so kind to us in our troubles, and is so alone and desolate, had we—ought we not to offer him a home with us ? questioned Eve. ‘Yes, dear Helen, please do, • cries Valarie. My own heart appeals strongly to my judge ment to offer our afflicted friend a home. I am older than these girls, I look farther into the future than they can possibly do. 1 see many privations, much suffering before us. This sad, cruel war has not done all for us that it can. We have suffered, yet we could suffer more, un dergo more privations, which oar poor, blind friend, did he come to us, must do too. I tell them plainly, more plainly than I have ever yet done, our straightened means, our growing pov erty and total dependence upon the negroes’ la bors. I am willing to divide my share with him, are they ? Will they make little sacrifices to add to his comfort?* They are only too willing to prove their devo tion to dear father’s memory by taking the care of his boyhood's friend upon their hands. Eve and Barbara go to him with the request, that he will consider our home his home. It is worth while making sacrifices to gain happiness for others- the Wilderness, and engaging them in a long and fierce conflict at Spottsylvania Court House we again mourn the loss of one of our noblest and most gallant generals. ‘General J. E. B Stuart, the pride of the army, the idolized of his men. fell in the battle or af terward. For six hours, with one thousand men he fought, and defeated Sheridan with eight thousand. In the ardor of the pursuit, he beoame separated from his men and was shot by one of the foe who was lurking in ambush. It is needless to say that his cavalry are inconsol able over his death. They have been placed under the command of another excellent leader, but who can replace the dead ? ‘One of the most thrilling soenes of the war occurred during the battle. General Lee, in order to encourage the men, rode to the front and stationed himself near the forty-ninth regi ment of Fengram’s brigade. Through every man there ran a thrill, and with it a determina tion to do our best Would he, we asked our selves, place himself there as a target for idle bullets? Such seemed to be his determination, when one of Georgia's younges* and most gal lant officers spurred bis horse forward and dashed to our Commander-in-chiefs side, seiz ing his bridle, and urging him in an impassion ed manner to go to the rear. Our hearts were enthused with patriotism, and we fought des perately. We lost between seven and eight thousand, while, it is rumored, that the enemy lost between eighteen and twenty-five thous and.’ The negroes are working famously for them. Our household of five women and a white-haired, blind old man pursue the even tenor of its way. We have long since exhausted the contents of the library, and every other for miles around. We amuse ourselves and the servants learning to spia. We knit sooks for the soldiers and renovate old dresses at other times. Will this never end ? Will bappiness never abide with us again ? Shall the song of Lamech be ours forever ? Down in the depths of my weary heart I cry: •Will the shadows never be lifted from our hearts ?' Midnight. Out on the verandah the moonbeams fall. The world, our little world, is wrapt in slumber. The ghost of the past haunts me and I cannot sleep. In dressing-gown and slippers I paoe to and fro, looking idly out upon the lovely, moon- kissed scene, that has never been mere beauti ful even to my partial eye. High above me, the Pleiads “Glitter like a swarm of nre-flee tangled in a silver braid.” There is a freshness of full-budded spring on the balmy air that blows gently past me. How fair a world God has made for us 1 How daz zling a sky to lure upward our earth-born, earth- enchanted g8ze! Eden, in all its young beau ty, cannot have been lovelier than this broad stretobing valley, threaded by silver rivers and streams, brightened by flowers and woods. Eden, my Eden, stretches before me. I, alas, cannot appreciate it. Something carries me back, beyond the war; beyond the time when gray hairs and I were acquainted; beyond the time when carmine cheeks and I had not parted. The exquisite scene steals over me, pervades my being. •Hist!’ says a voioe, near me, breaking in up on my sad reverie and self communing; 1 pause a moment •It is the wind,' I say, half startled, looking around to see from whenoe the voice oomes. 'Hist! Are you alone ?’ 'Yes,’ I answer, half inclined to run into the house. Thev call me ’ “*• jr” T I walk slowly to the end of tbe verandah, peer out into the shadows. •Who are you, and what do you want ?' I ask, with a peroeptible quiver in my voice. I stare with all my might at the figure advanc ing toward me. I utter an exclamation of aston ishment, for it is a woman! Who are you ?’ I ask, a second time, some- | what reassured by the appearanoe of my noc turnal visitor. I •Who are you ?' she asks, in her turn. 1 I start, for there is something Btrangely famil- j iar in the sonnd of her voioe. It is a soft, sweet voice, but it awakens distrust tbe other languishes in your wretched prison.’ ‘Young woman, a year ago Penelope's brother was taken from his mother's grave, not permitted to see her buried, and sent to Fort Delaware. There is one heart breaking for him, one sweet face paling and growing old before its time because of his absence. There is his sister, God only knows where, hunting him throughout the North. My mother died only last October, and her last words were, ‘if John would come, if I could only see my boy.’ She died, died of a broken heart because of my father’s death and my brother's absence. If yonr mother laments her sons why sent she them to murder our brothers, our sons?' I ask, coldly. •I had expected to find a woman, and, oh, God ! I find one who ’ ‘Knows, feels and resents her wrongs,’ I say. •By that suffering I implore you to aid me !’ the giri says, falling upon her knees. ‘Remem ber your mother's sorrow, your father’s grief, your own woes and be kind to me—for my mother’s life I beg!' She looks up at me through fast falling tears. The link in memory’s broken chain is supplied. I recognize her now, though I have never seen her before. Eyes, hair, lips, expression, voice are Henry Jerome's. This girl is his sister, it is for his release that she pleads. There comes to me a day, sunshiny and cold, when we sat in the parlor looking into mother’s woe-stricken face and sad eyes, saw father tot ter in, white and shaken,ail because of this man. There oomes to me a day nearlv a year after, when Eve lies white and stunned before ns; and then, again, when she sits on the river bank, pale and trembling waiting for the Federals to come after Bert. A bitter cold night looms up, three delicate, daintily reared women wearily push dirtfajo a,yawning grave, while sobs are heard above the low wailing of the wind. Get tysburg and all its horrors presents itself. Can I, remembering all this, can J help this girl ? While I am debating all this, she rises to her feet, saying, proudly: •You thought we had no devotion in our hearts, that Southern hearts were truer than ours. You make an egregious mistake! Pen elope Revere is not more devoted to her brother than I am to mine; and she goes to release her brother, so I go to mine. You parade your suf fering and sorrows in a phalanx before me. I too have had my sorrows, Brother, oousins, friends, acquaintances have gone down before the fire of v your men. You have suffered, so have I, anew by that suffering I adjure you to save my mdther.’ My mother's sweet face rises before me and pleads for Henry Jerome's mother. Compassion and sympathy are knocking loudly at my heart. •Vengeance is mine, / will repay.* He will re dress our wrongs 1 Tears spring to my eyes, I stretch out my hand to the girl, saying: ‘Blanohe, it is not for you or me to seek ven geance. All that I can,I will do for you. 1 The girl conies to me, lays her head upon my shoulder and bursts into passsionate weeping. She is quiet at last, and she tells me that she was brought here by a soldier under Major Je rome's command. While she is speaking, Eve glides into the room* do. What a set of croakers you are! I was nevei in better spirits. The moments fly on rosy pin ions, I wish they would fly with lightning swift ness until August comes with John.’ ‘I wish I had a part of your gay spirits, Val arie,’I return, sighing. •Eve is generally wrong in her prognostica tions, Helen, so you need not let her make you fear any evil through her prophetic sayings.' •I am not aimer- eperdument with our latest comer,* Lila remarks. 'She seems to be a nice girl, and she is cer tainly a refined and accomplished one, • I re turn, reprovingly. •When is she going?* questions Valarie. •Just as soon as she is able to travel.’ •I heard a scritch owl last night, ‘Lila says, with so much solemnity that it causes a burst of laughter. • ‘The scritch-owl, scritohing loud, puts the wretch in remembrance of a shroud,’ 1 quotes Valarie, her lovely face dimpling with laugh ter. ‘The basket is ready, girls, Take good care of the doctor, and don’t stay long,’ I say, as I fol low them to the door. Valarie takes the basket, Eve leads Dr. Eustis, while Lila carries a fishing pole. At the gate Valarie turns, runs back to me. •That is for you,* she cries, kissing me.’ •These are for John, • kissing me twice ‘some how, • she laugh’s uneasily, *1 feel Lila's and Eve’s gloom creeping over me.* It is foolish, I know. If anything should happen to me though, which is not likely, if a blue coat gobbles me up or I fall in the water and drown, tell my darling John my last heart beat was for him. There is’nt that a tragic message ?• She laughed, but I say that her mirth was forced. I stand and watch her until her lithe, young form is no longer visible, feeling that John has made a wise ohoice in selecting this noble- girl who will make him a true, tender wife. Then I go back to my patient. I find her dress ed as I enter the room. •Will you not go into the parlor?’ I ask, for she has been in no room but this sinoe she has been with us. •You aTe so kind to me, and I was so rude when I first came,’ she saye. T carry her into the parlor, place her in an easy chair. She looks around. I interpret her look, and say: •It is not the room your brother.knew. It has been plundered as has every other house around us,' Her face reddens. There are roses blooming out in the garden sweet as those that perfume the air about Paestum’s rivers. One lovely bud pressed by the wind against the blind. Blanohe reaches forward and plucks. •Lovely isn’t it? I have a withered bud that your sister gave Harry—long ago. Miss Ross, you did not like my brother?' I feel the blood rising to my cheeks as I re ply: •We will not bring up my likes and dislikes. Shall I read to you?’ She assents, and I get Pollock's ‘Course of Time,’ and read an hour, perhaps longer. I am interrupted by Barbara, who oomes flying into •I heard you talking and came to see who you l the room in abjeot terror. had with you,* she stops short, oatehes her ) breath. She sees the resemblance, knows in tuitively, who it is that eyes her so steadily. ‘Blanche Jerome, how came you here?’ Eve asks as she comes closer to us. •I come to seek my brother,’ returns the oth er, still eyeing Eve curiously. They stand full fifteen minutes and look at each other, these two who came so near being n t wt<Va; sisters, but wMare more widely separated than if peas rilletf “*peen th^m.^I.watch them with lp'nce: ' J w ' No wonder mat he loved you! And vou would not leave your home for his, your land for his, your friends for bis! Have you any conception of bow much he loves you?* Major Jerome's love is a matter about whioh I think little,’ Eve replies, haughtily. Blanche draws herself up, and looks at Eve I with disfavor. I interrupt them by saying; ‘You have had a long, wearisomejourney. Let | me show yon a room where you can sleep, for it is already late.* I So we have Henry Jerome's siBter for our | guests. Truly, ‘no man knoweth the things of •What do you want ?’ I ask, impatiently. I The woman gives a bound and is at my side | before she answers. tomorrow. CHAPTER XI. “A precious sample of humanity I” The Defobmed Tbansfobmed. May. ‘Wo lid that I could always write good news,’ writes John. ‘After repulsing the enemy at •I want protection and help.’ I am at my wits' end. It is evident that she wishes to conceal her identity and her designs, j I withdraw some distance. 1 •Afraid of me, are you ?' she laughs, scornful ly. *1 have been told that you ware brave as [ Jean D’ Arc. I see that you have been over rated.' •Perhaps,’ 1 reply, ooldly, for what she says jars disoordantly upon me. Her very laugh is so dissonant to my feelings that it increases my dislike for the unknown. •I was told if I should see a medium sized woman, with sad, hazel eyes and brown hair threaded witn white, a pathetio face and haughty manners, that woman would be Miss Ross, Hel en Ross. I see such a one before me; I presume I address Miss Ross.’ •I am Miss Ross,’ I reply, haughtily. •I am happy to meet you, Miss Ross,’she con tinues, with elaborate courtesy. ‘I have come a great distance to see you and your sister.’ •Whom have I the honor of addressing ?’ I ask in ioily polite tones. •Not many weeks ago I had the pleasure of meeting a friend of yours, I may say a mutual friend of ours now,and had the power of assisting her when in trouble. I needed similar assist ance, and she direoted me to you as one who would render me service for her sake.’ •That mutual friend was —’ •Miss Penelope Revere!' I thaw in my manner. If this is a friend of Pen’s then she is entitled to the courtesies of our house. This much I say, and bid her fol low me - Once in my room she lets the wrap around her head fall away, and I have a fair view of the unknown. About Eve’s age, certainly not old er, with a fair, fresh face so like some one I have known at sometime of my life, known and dis liked I feel, and a wealth of long, yellow curls. Dressed, as we are, in dead black, but richly and tastily. She smiles, and that smile disfig ures her face that is very lovely in repose, and says: •You see the resemblanoe and dislike me for it! I did not come for your love but for your assistance. Help me! help me!' she entreats. ‘You are like some one,’ I admit, unwillingly; ‘but I cannot tell who it is or where I saw them.’ You come to me in Penelope Revere’s name, that assures you of all the assistance in my power.’ •What I want your assistance for is this 1 my dear'y loved brother is a prisoner in ,» I start at these words. This girl is a Northerner, I know now. ‘You have friends in that town who are influential: write me a letter of intro duction to these friends. I will see my brother and get him released.' ‘You wish me to connive at the escape of a Yankee prisoner?’ I ask, contemptuously. ‘You do not know me.’ •You mnst! you shall!’ she cries, excitedly. ‘I left my mother sick, sick unto death beoause of the prolonged absenoe of my brother, beoause CHAPTER XII. "That clear-featured lace Was lovely for she did not seem as dead, But fast asleep, and lay ae though she smiled. ’* Lancelot and El a ins. •Helen,’Valarie says, ooming into my room where I sit beside Blanche Jerome, who has been quite sick, ‘Eve, Lila and I are going fish ing, under Scab’s supervision, and if you will prepare the basket of food for Mrs. Denison we will carry it for you.’ •I smile up into the face of John’s darling, as I answer slowly: ■There is a report of Federals. ‘You all look upon Federals as if they were devils, especially Mrs. Crofton,* says Blanohe looking at Valarie admiringly. ‘Sensational stories, my dear Helen, ‘ Valarie replies, gaily. ‘If there are I don't suppose that they will tomahawk us as the Indians did Miss McCrae.’ •I am not so sure, • I say seriously. •If they attaok us we will imitate those Cia* brian women,* Valarie laughs gaily as she an swers. ‘Put up your knitting; Miss Jerome will excuse you long enough to fix the basket. • ’Oh, yes. Pray, Miss Ross, do not let me detain you from anything,’ Blanche adds, hastily. •I do not like tbe idea of your going so far away, Valarie. Federal troops are not infre quent visitors now, ’ I say, when out in the hall alone with Valarie. ‘What a timid fawn you are, sister mine! We have not seen a blue coat in several weeks, not since Miss Jerome made her advent among us. Dr. Eustis is going with us; indeed he planned the excursion, and it will be too bad to disap point him. The Federals are too busy trying to take Richmond to think of us.’ •But there may be stray handfuls of troops with no responsible officers over them, stroll ing over the country to plunder and depre date. These are to be dreaded far more than the regular army.’ ‘Of that I am aware; but they have long 6ince taken all the horses except two old mules, all the cattle but one or two cows, all the sheep, all the hogs, trampled down all the crops, have taken all the household goods they can —there is nothing worth their while ooming now.* •I am not convinced,* I still object. •There are none so blind as those who will not see. ‘ Pray, what remains that will attract any of them?’ •There are none so deaf as those who will not hear, ‘ I retort. ‘Seriously, Valarie, I have been very uneasy since Blanohe Jerome has been with us. ‘ Yet you have nurse! her faithfully. You re call the fable of the farmer and the snake. Here are Lila and Eve, ‘ as the girls join us in the dining room. ‘I feel gloomy, ‘ Eve says, laying her lovely head against my shoulder. ‘Something bad is going to happen to us again. • I‘m blue also, • Lila says, leaning over on the •The Yankees!’ she gasps. ‘And the girls are gone,’ I cry in consterna tion. Blanche smiles and saye: •I think your fears are groundless. There are none of them dastardly enough to injure, inno- oent, unoffending girls.' While she is speaking a soldier, an inferior officer by his dress, enters the room. He is very courteous to us all, calling us tbe aliases Ross, and begging we’ll not be troubled on his sc at home, for he lights his oigar, and endeavors to carry on a conversation with us. My replies are curt, Barbara’s hysterical, Blanohe is si lent. Troops appear in the streets. The maroh of booted feet around the house plainly says that it is guarded. ‘Why do you place your guards around us?’ I ask, emboldened by Blanche’s presence. ’Orders, madam,’ sententiously. 'Indeed! Pray, whose?' •The Captain’s laconically. •Where is he?* I ask, curiosity getting the bet ter of discretion. •Jnet around the oorner. This honse, we are are old, contains valuable information to us, in the shape of letters from your brother, concern ing Lee’s movements.’ •It is an egregious mistake. My brother never writes to us about the designs of our generals, knowing we are subjeot to raids,* I say with dignity. ■Allow me to judge of that,* he says coolly. •There is a young lady in the house who is be trothed to your brother,’ looking hard at Blanche. •Since you assert it, I need not answer,’ evas ively. •Sbe receives letters from him regularly?’ •That is nothing to you. • 'We want those letters. • •You won’t get them. • •I guess we will—• •Miss Ross. I would not stand this man’s im pertinence.* Blanohe cries, for the first time. •If you know where they are, Helen, get them and let him go,‘ ories Barbara, beseechingly. •I have no right to dispose of other people’s property, Barbara,* I answer, resolutely. ‘Here are the girls,* as I catch a glimpse of Valarie as she carefully leads Dr. Eustaoe up the street. ‘TTaU.I’ nrips a. afontnpian vnion Mrs. Amory comes in just then. Even her loquacity is checked at the sight of \ alarie. Go to your room, Helen,* she says to me. 1 will attend to everything.* Once in my room, alone, fortitude gives away. Sadly 1 recall Valarie’s coming among us. T re member that she has wept with us over our sor rows, rejoiced with us over our joys. Beloved bv us beoause of John’s love, but dearer tor her own true worth. My own grief is intensified by the thought of the great sorrow that has come into John’s life. It almost breaks my heart to think of him. T Some one raps at the door, and Blanche Je rome enters. Her eyes are red with weeping her voice falters as she says: ‘Oh. God! this terrible war! Who can realize its horrors but those who are made to feel them. Oh, Miss Ross, believe me, this will be beyond belief when told! Yet—yet six months ago I hated every Southern woman. Don-t look so shocked; I will tell you. Before the beginning of this straggle, I was to marry a man in our city—before Eve was to marry Harry—and I loved him with a purity and fervor that I now know no man was ever worthy of. He came South, to Baltimore on business. There he fell in love with a Southern beauty. I wrote to him time and again, but my letters elicited no replies. I was utterly cast aside, dethroned, uncrowned. I am proud, prouder, thau any woman should be, and I hid my feelings. ‘I scorned to be scorned by one that I scorn.’ A deadly hate sprang up in my heart for all Southern women. When Harry came home, so sad and dispirited, I hated them the more. And why not? One had taken my lover from me. an other bad blighted my brother’s life. The night I stood on the verandah with yon I bated you, hated your sisters. Yon have conqnered my heart; you have taught me that others have sor rows beside myself. The rest I have just learn ed as I saw that fair girl shot down. Do not condemn me for it—do not think that I am the Jonah who has brought this upon yon!’ I only bow my head and sob. What words can express my feelings, my thoughts ? tTo be Continued.) ROBBERY AT CLINTON. How a Burglar and Thief Got the Drop on a Law Officer. of his oaptivity. She oalls him day and night, | table. day and night, and she will die if he does not. *1 feel depressed—‘I begin, but Valarie inter- come. One son is dead, killed by your men, j rupts me, with a happy laugh and ‘hush girls, Halt!’ cries a stentorian voice. •Advance one and give the countersign, • I say mockingly, to the yonng officer. ‘Manassas!’ They do not appear to hear, bnt continue to advance. ‘Halt!’ Vaiarie takes her arm out of Dr. Eustis,’ and onr blind friend continues to grope his wav to the gate. •My God! don’t fire! dont fire! he is blind,’ Blanche cries wildly. •Fire!* Shall I never forget the sound of that voice? Will it ever ring in my ears? I clasp my hands convulsively together, spring to my feet. In stantly four muskets are discharged at the feeble bent form. They reaoh a fairer viotim. Valarie throws np one hand, presses the other over her heart as she falls forward. With a wild cry, I spring out the open win dow, elnde the detaining arms of the gnard, fly to her side. Frantically I catch her in my arms, call her to speak to me, peer into her half-closed eyes. They open wide, her lips qniver as they frame the words, so tenderly, even in death: •John, dear John.’ A long, quivering sigh shakes her. a faint moan, like the plaint of a dove, and Valarie, onr sister, John’s kve, lies dead in my arms. Eve kneels beside her, Lila and Blanohe are sobbing over me. Barbara has fainted. Dr. Eustis, who has groped his way to us, says brokenly: ‘Why not take the old and broken and leave the yonng and beautitnl! Take me, O God, but spare her!' The frightened servants come to ns. Tender ly they lift the dead girl and bear her into the house. The officer meets us at the door savin* humbly: B ‘I am very, very sorry, Miss Ross. It was un intentional. • ■Hash!* Blanohe says sternly. ‘Nothing yon oan say is of any avail; nothing can right this great wrong!’ They had a little sensation in the quiet hamlet known as Clinton a few days ago. During the storm of Monday night last a negro named Pete Robinson entered the store of T. G. Rice & Co. and robbed it of nine pairs of boots, twenty-one pairs of shoes and seven dollars and a half in money. The morning when the articles and money were missed suspicion at once attached to this ne gro, who was known to be a bad character. A party of gentlemen therefore waited upon Robin son, whom they found chopping wood a short dis tance from town. When asked about the robbery he denied any knowledge of it. He was then told to give up the key to his house, which was near by, that it might be searched. Robinson said he had left the key at the depot, but that he would go after it. Of course bis little trick of going after the key was understood and appreciated, and he was not permitted to go alone. Having reached the depot, he remembered that he had left the key somewhere else. His custodians told him not to mind the key, that they could break the door down. When they reached* Robin son’s house he found the key in his pocket and opened the door. Upon entering Robinson’s house the money was found spread out on a table and the boots and shoes scattered about the room. The stolen property was restored to the owner, and Rob inson was put in charge of Constable IFoosly to be taken to Jackson and jailed. a horse, the constable being mounted on another horse, and together the two started for the county * he P™!?"; After they had ridden some f from Chnfam the prisoner, taking advan tage of the constable’s un watchful ness, thrust his th ® la t w . 0 {H cer ’s collar, and, quicker than lightmug jerked him to the ground and fell from his» own horse on top of him The constable had his hand on his pistol-he carried two of them before he fell-hut the negro Sir dvantage, and managed to wrest the nf hls 8™fP u Havi »S obtained possession of ,°ne of the pistols, he pointed it at the constable and forced him to surrender the ether Bereft of their riders, the horses turned around and scampereil back toward Ciinton, and the con. stable, bereft of his firearms, started in pursuit of the horses, while the prisoner walked leisurely and calmly in the opposite direction, master of the Ueld and the possessor of two fine pistols, accounts he had not been re-arrested. — A WILD WOMAN. At last Frightened Away from Memphis, She Roams Through the Woods Sad Lack of Humanity Among Christian People. [Little Rock (Ark.) Gazette. Mr. J. Handlie, who has just arrived in the city from Crittenden county, reports rather a sail storv in regard to a woman who is now roaming around in the woods of the Mississippi river'’bottom. Shortly after the yellow fever appeared in Mem phis tho woman, whose name is Mrs. Annie Har per, left the city, crossing in a skiff to the Arkan sas shore. She lost her husband and two children last year, and when the fever appeared again she became wild in her manner, and declared that she would die unless she left the city. But leaving an infected city is not a perfect assurance against trouble, if it does sometimes prove a safeguard against disease. Mrs. Harper wundered around in the dense forest almost crazed. Tht bottoms are very sparsely settled, houses in many instances be- mg sevend miles apart. When the woman applied at the first house a man came out with a gun and demanded her immediate change of scene. In vain the woman pleaded. The man explained that it was better for one person to die than to he the cause of the death of a dozen. Plodding to an other house, the woman was just entering the gate when a man came out and said that cSming in would be more disastrous than a case of yellow fe- ver The poor woman wailed aloud,*declaring that she cei tainlv bore the mark similar to that worn by Cam. At the next house a man save her something to eat, but advised her to move on. Thus she has been wandering around, getting a morsel to eat here and being spurned there. She turned toward Memphis, but lost her way in the woods, almost tropically dense. When she went to i e n ?‘Tu h ! H u e ’ ,"'^ ere a Mr. Woodson lives, she de- > ar nr?i^ hat / he hatl the fever- ami wanted to spread it. 1 his, of course, excited the inmates of the maruled IU * woman s * lasfc y departure was de- Mr. Handlie saw the woman near Blackfish. The woman had been wandering aimlessly, and had at last reached the railroad. Having heard of the woman, Mr Handlie asked her several questions. f_m wild, the woman said. “Yellow fever is footstep^’’ 3 a b I oods hound, it follows my Then, in a quiet manner, the woman related har sad experience, and then in a moment she became wild again, and, with a wild shriek, she dashed off into the woods. Mr. Handlie followed her, but she paid no attention to him, wildly exclaiming that she was dying with the tever. Mr. Handlie says that from what he can learn Mrs. Harper belongs to a respectable family, and that her husband was quite a prominonf plumber and gas fitter of Mem phis. Something should be done for the woman as to continue in this way will only prove to be her death or total destruction of her mind. Columbus died at Valladolid in the 71st year of his age, and by his own request the ohains with whioh he had been ao unjustly confined were buried with him. He was a tall, well-formed and muscular man, dignified and grave of