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»OBSI.\'«-SOOS-SI«HT.
MORNINO.
The shades of mom arc fading
To brighter shades of light,
While dewy drops are lading
The closing veil of light.
NOON.
The globe that marks the night from day;
That warms the dewy dawn,
Now shines the brighter on its way.
Across the Western lawn.
NIGHT.
The shades of eve are watching
The darker shades of night.
While quiet, creeping shadows
Gently steal away the light.
Pherson Feathers.
FAIRIE BEALL;
OR
A Revengeful Romananee.
BT RESA.
CHAPTER VHL
Mistletoe Lodge was a distance of two days jour
ney from Belwood Farm. It was situated in a wild
and romantic spot, and resembled an old ruined
Abbey with its sombre and gloomy aspect, and
looked upon by the superstitious as a habitation,
where ghosts and hobgoblins were wont to hold
their midnight revelries.
After Graham Dunallew's departure to Europe,
the house was closed except a port ion occupied by
the housekeeper and servants. But a man who
sought shelter from a storm, declared he saw a
light between the bars of a grated window, and
heard the screams of a female as if in agony. Ven
turing to enquire the cause he was told, one of the
servants had suddenly become ill, and he was or
dered away as soon as the storm abated. After
this the Liidge was guarded by a fierce blood hound,
a “Cerebus,” which kept off all intruders. The
neighborhood was electrified after the elapse of fif
teen years, to hear that the owner of the haunted
old Abbey, as it was termed, had returned. Crowds
of his former acquaintances flocked there, only to
be informed. “Mr. Dunn Hew was too much fatigued
to receive visitors,” and the female friends of Mrs.
Dunallew had their cards returned, with the intel
ligence that she had died in Italy several months
before. Hence after the expiration of three months
none, save the servants and the master’s legal ad
visers, had ever a glance at the recluse. Curiosity
was at lHiding heat, and there was even a vague
whisper that the owner of Mistletoe Lodge had
murdered his wife and child, and was subjecting
himself to torture as a propitiation for his sin. An
other rumor declared that he was demented, hence
the cause of the terrifying screams.
.s Herman rode leisurely' along, his brain was
jfused and he scarce knew how to act. He want
ed to visit Mistletoe Lodge, but really knew not
how to get there. What pretense could he offer to
the owner for his arrival? He thought of going
boldly and bearding the lion in his den. He had
no proof that would warrant tin arrest of Graham
Dunallew as a usurjier and intruder, and it certain
ly would l»e absurd to attack him on mere suspicion.
Therefore he felt in a quandary, and was debating
what to do when suddenly he heard the cry of
“Help? help!—murder!”
He rode rapidly forward in the direction of the
cry, and saw a man assailed by two ruffians, who
seemed trying to rob and murder him. He was
resisting manfully', but his strength was rapidly
failing him, and could not possibly t hold out much
longer.
Herman rode up just as the villains were prepar
ing to strike a death blow. They saw him and fled
in haste. The man who had been assailed, turned
to Herman, saying:
“Your coming has saved my life, sir. Those vil
lains had nearly overpowered me.”
“Are you much hurt, sir?” asked Herman, hur-
riedly, for the sf ganger had grown very pule,- and
the blood w'as trickling from his arm.
“It is only' a scratch, I hope, but I am very' faint.”
Herman rail t • a brook near by, and bringing some
watermill his hat gave it to him, and he soon ap
peared better. Tearing the sleeve from his arm, a
long and dreadful-looking wound was disclosed.
There was also a gash in his side.
“You must have a surgeon. How far do you live
from here?” said Herman.
“My T mother lives but a few miles. I was on a
visit to her, but I reside at Mistletoe Lodge, am Mr.
Dunallew’s stewart. ”
“At Mistletoe Lodge?” said Herman. “How far
is it from this point?”
“Some twenty miles. I have been in the employ'
of Dunallew for many years. It will now be
sometime I fear, before I will be able to resume
my duties.”
“Ride my horse, I will go with you your moth
er’s, and if you are able, accompany you to the
Lodge,” said' Herman, trying to conceal his eager
ness.
“You are very kind to a stranger, and Ray Far
ley never forgets a favor or a friend. Tell me your
name, if you please.?
Herman hesitated, undecided what to say, for he
did not think it prudent to reveal his name, or to
presume too much on the gratitude of this man,
the hired servant, and perhaps the campanion in
crime of Graham Dunallew. But at last he deci
ded to tell his true name and see what effect it
would have on him.
“My name is William Herman DeLacy'.”
“DeLacy!” said Falvey, starting, and scrutini
zing his features closely. “What was your father’s
name, and is he living!”
“My father departed many years ago, when I
was quite a small boy',” said DeLacy, evasively.
“His name was William DeLacy'.”
“Did you ever visit the Lodge?” said Farley, at
length, as Hetman was walking by his side, he
having mounted the horse.
4 ‘Not since 1 can remember. You have lieen in
the service of Mr. Dunallew so many years, I sup
pose you went with him on his European tour?,’
“Yes,” said Farley.
“I suppose his wife and child died in Italy.”
'‘They say so. But here weara at my mother’s,”
as they neared a neat and comfortable cottage.
Herman assisted him to dismount, and knowing
something of dressing wounds, he applied bandages
to his arm and dressings to his side. Farley soon
fell asleep, but his slumber was troubled. At
length becoming delirious, he stared at Herman
and called him William DeLacy, asking where he
had been so many years, and why he now came to
upbraid him for past injuries.
“You have heaped coals of fire on my r head, by'
your kindness, but I will lie y r our friend hereafter,
and undo my damnable act "by confessing the for
gery of the will,” he cried.
At length he became rational, but seemed to fear
he had revealed something in his ravings.
“You are kind, sir; too kind to be a stranger, of
whom you know nothing. I hope to be able to re
pay your goodness,” he said to Herman.
“You can serve me, Mr. Farley,” exclaimed Her
man, earnestly.
“How, in what way, name it,” said Farley, “I
am only too willing to oblige y'ou.”
“You say you are Dunallew’s servant, and have
been in his employ for many years. Perhaps you
can tell me the fate of my father, William DeLas
cy?”
Farley’s face became ghastly pale, and his eyes
had a frightened look, as he gazed at Herman as if
he had been a spectre, and at last sullenly ex
claimed:
“What have you got to do with William DeLacy?”
“I have told you he was my father. He was once
the rightful owner of Mistletoe Lodge, but sudden
ly a will was produced of a later date than the one
bequeathing the property to my father; we were
satisfied it was a forged one, and consequently his
home and property was wrenched from him and he
left destitute. After several years he went in the
direction of his former home, and has never re
turned. I wish to learn his fate, and - if possible to
regain the property I feel is justly mine. I have
trusted to your honor and gratitude in revealing to
you my designs. If I am deceived in you, I shall
act independently and without your assistance.
You may betray me to my fathers enemy and my
plans lie hwartod.”
•‘You do me great injustice, by supposing fora
moment. 1 would betray a friend, and he, too, the
F reserver of my life. But if you will listen to me
will tell you of the supposed fate of your father.”
CHAPTER IX.
“I knew William DeLacy when he was the owner
of Mistletoe Lodge, but he was a man that repelled
almost every one by his stern and cold demeanor.
I was a young man', wild and thoughtless, with a
mother and several sisters to support. My means
were limited, I often could not keep the wolf from
the door. When Graham Dunallew lived there
with his grandfather, though his station w T as far
above mine, we were companions in many plots of
mischief. It was an act of depredation on our part
that caused him to be disinherited. He censured
me as being the cause, and vowed revenue, unless I
bellied him to recover the property. I knew his
disposition so well, I was satisfied that he would not
hesitate to take my life, if necessary to carry out
his plans. And by the promise of handsome re
ward, and a yearly' income for my family, I con
sented to assist him, not knowing, till too late, the
extent of injury I had done an innocent man After
he had gained his suit, he, with his beautiful wife
and only child, lived in their splendid home in un
interrupted ease; but I knew they were not happy.
I had witnessed much bickering between them.
She was proud and passionate, and he was cold and
overbearing. One day Graham Dunallew being ab
sent, a gentleman arrived, whom I afterwards
learned was William DeLacy, but I never saw him.
When Mr. Dunallew came home I was employed in
the basement. I heard a fearful scream from his
wife, and a scuffle in their room above. I ran to
the do: .r to ascertain the cause, but the door was
closed and all was still as death; knocking, I was
informed by Mr. Dunallew in a strange tone he did
not need me then. About midnight I was sur
prised and alarmed to see him standiug over my
lied, with a drawn knife in his hand, pallid face,
and a strange gleam in his eye. He asked why I
came to his room, and what I had heard. I told
him I simply went because 1 heard him return, and
thought he might need my services. I feared to
tell him all, of the scream and the noise. He bade
me arise and assist him to prepare f >r he was going
on a long journey. Quickly preparing her port
manteau and outfit we were ready to start by
day.”
“His wife and child were going with him,” in
quired Herman.
Farley was seized with a severe pain at that time,
and taking a sip of wine, continued: “We had
travele 1 all over Europe, whan 1 was greatly star
tled, yet pleased, one day by' his informing me he
was going to return home.”
“How old was the child when it died?” again
asked Herman.
“It was not wi h them all the time,” said he, bus-
ilvarranging the dressing on his arm. ‘‘I have
tried to do my' duty to my employer, am not nat
urally a villain, ami the part I performed in de
frauding William DeLacy, has ever bren^a thorn
in my flesh. I was tempted, and yielded to the se
duction of golden promises. Graham Dunallew is
getting old, is broken down by sorrow and remorse,
his wealth proving a curse. I cannot think he will
survive many years. He does not know that Wil
liam DeLacy had offspring, but should he know it,
he would will his property to the vilest wretch on
earth for a the mere mention of DeLacy, he 1 in
comes almost a raving mamac.”
“Who are the other witnesses to the forged will?”
said Herman, raising his head from his hands.
‘•John Wills and Peter Stokes. But they are
both dead. I am the only surviving witness. You
will have to accomplish by stratagem, what you
are unable to do by force, for Graham Dunallew is
a man to be feared.”
“1 scarce knowhow to proceed. If 1 could man
age to get to Mistletoe Lodge, perhaps something
might transpire that would aid me in my under
taking.”
Herman seemed in deep meditation. At length
Ray Farley said:
‘‘I will not be able to perform my duties at the
Lodge for sometime. I will send a written recom
mendation by you to take my place if you are will
ing.”
“The very idea,” exclaimed Herman, springing
to his feet.
Farley continued: “You must have an assumed
name, and be prepared to humor even, - while, for
he is iVliildish and ^tiish, and'above all, be very
cautious, for suspi< ion is his second nature, and
you will lose your position the first thing that dis
pleases him. It seems I am betraying Mr. Dunal
lew, but I wish to make amends for my foul act.
If you gain the property you will still let him have
a home in his old age.”
“Yes, if I am so fortunate as to recover the prop
erty he shall have a home at the Lodge as long as
he chooses to remain.”
“Thank you, sir, notv hand me writing material.”
It was done and he feebly penned a few lines to
Graham Dunallew, informing him of the attempt
on his life, and the timely rescue by William Hu
man, also recommending him as a fit person to fill
his place until he was sufficiently recovered to re
sume his duti -s. Thanking his new acquaintance
for his kindness, receiving a few directions as to
the route, Herman proceeded to Mistletoe Lodge,
with much inward trepidation. It was past noon,
when, living fatigued from his vigils of the prece
ding night, and iiis long ride, he dismounted and
allowed his horse to graze, while the threw himself
on the carpet of autumn leaves and was soon asleep.
He dreamed again of seeing Fairie Beall, carried off
by some fieree-looking being, ami hercry seemed still
ringing in his ears, when lie awoke with a start.
There standing a few feet from him was a woman,
her face the color ofalalnster, her cheeks sunken
and wrinkled, her eyes hollow, and burning with
maniacal fire, her thick long hair, white as snow,
was decorated with bright leaves and berries. She
held in one talon-like hand a r ed, with wild flow
ers pinned here and there upon them with thorns.
“What! sleeping thou sluggard in the presence of
her Majesty, the Queen!” said she in a shrill tone
and frowning. "1 sentence you to be banished
from my court.”
“Your pardon, on Queen!” said Herman, drop
ping on one knee before her, and bowing as if in
deep penitence, “l'he beauty of your forest court
was so liewitching, 1 yielded to its charms and
siient a few moments in the land of dreams.”
“I pardon you now, but wo unto you should you
repeat the offense.”
“But you are not on your throne, and where are
your subjects?”
“Where are my subjects! Y'ou dolt! Do you
not see these lofty l rees that bow so defferentially
to mi-? Do you see these beautiful leaves and flow
ers, that bloom to please my eve, and the little
birds that sing to charm mv ear? NoQueen ever had
such devoted subjects. I rule them all with a sin
gle wave of my sceptre,” and she flourished her sup
posed sceptre with a majestic air. “But one of my
subjects has strayed or been stolen from my king
dom. A little white lamb of the flock. I left her
in the cave of the birds and flowers, while I sur
veyed my court, when I returned I found they had
been faithless to their trust and she was gone.—
Soon war was declared, and the artillery of heaven
was poured into my fortress, and the Queen was
made a prisoner and for many years they kept
her in their dungeons. But I have made my escape
and now I resume my scepter and renew iny search
for this little white lamb of the flock. Oh, sir! can’t
you help me find her? But that ring! that ring!”
and throwing down her sceptre she sprang eagerly
towards him as she caught sight of the dia
mond ring ujioii DeL tcy's finger. “Oh, sir! give
it to me. I have searched for it so long. Give It
to me," she pleaded, falling on her knees and hold
ing up her hands imploringly.
“You are mistaken, my lady, I have had this
ring all my life,” he said, moving back.
“It is my ring, I lost it and he was killed. I will
have it,” she screamed, her eyes becomingasballs of
fire, and she sprang fiercely towards him. He
rushed towards his horse, and leaping upon his
back, galloped swiftly away, leaving the poor ma
niac screaming and trying to follow him.
Reaching Mistletoe Lodge, he rang the bell which
was answered by ihe grim old housekeeper, who
partially opening the door, inquired very earnestly
what was his bu-iness.
“I wish to see Mr. Dunallew,” replied Herman,
“on important business.”
“He is ill, and cannot see visitors,” was the re
sponse.
“ I must see him; I have an important letter to
deliver.”
“Remain where you are until I return.” Closing
the door, she left DeLacy in a fever of suspense.
Returning at last she bade him follow her; leading
him to a large old-fashioned and sumptuously-fur
nished apartment, where reclined in dressing-gown |
and slippers, Graham Dunallew, in a large easy
chair, his grey hair in striking contrast with the
dark covering. His face was haggard and care
worn, more from sorrow than care, though time
and age had left their traces on his brow. He
turned his keen grey eyes and gave our hero a
searching glance as he entered the room, inquiring
coldly:
“Your name and business, sir!”
. “*y. name is William Harmon, sir. I bring a
letter from your trusty servant, Ray Farley.”
“Ah! Give it to me,” and extending his hand
Grahiun Dunallew eagerly clutched the letter that
as Harmon presented it. After reading it he gazed
thoughtfully into the fire for some time; then giv
ing Harmon another searching look, said:
"Where do you live, and how long have you
known Ray Farley?”
“I once lived near here, but moved to a distant
city. Kay knew father well;” for Harmon would
not tell a falsehood.
“Your age?” enquired Dunallew.
“I am in my twenty-second year. I would like
to fill Farley’s place—I aiu out of employment. I
have a widowed mother to support, and am willing
to try and please you.”
“If you enter my service, William Harmon, you
are to have no communication with the servants,
and none at all without the precincts of the Lodge.
You are to attend to my personal wants, do my
writing and transact all my business. I will pay
you well if you suit me. If you cannot comply with
these terms I tell you not to begin. I will stand no
negligence or treachery.” His eyes h^l a fierce
gleam that made Harmon shudder.
“I will do all in my power to please you,” he said.
He was at once taken into employ and performed
the orders given him that afternoon so well that
Graham Dunallew was much pleased, notwith
standing he was so whimical and hard to satisfy.
CHAPTER X.
When Herman retired he was in such a state of
excitment as to be unable to sleep,and took sometime
in examining the quaint old furniture and hang
ings. He thought of his parents, who had once
been the owner of these time worn walls, the place
of his birth, from which he had been driven and
robbed of all luxuries, by the hand of the man in
whose employ he then was. He tried to devise some
plan for future action, but overcome by the effort
and the fatigues of the day, he fell asleep and
dreamed that a strange figure at Mistletoe Lodge,
lieckoned him away and directed him to a spot
where he was told, lay concealed a great treasure.
He was digging for it, when a large serpent stung
him on the finger. The pain was so great, he
awaked and was alarmed, to see the window and
blind opened that reached the ground from his room.
He sprang to it, and peered into the darkness only'
to see, a form glide swiftly away, while a
low laugh sounded in his ear. His finger was pain
ing him, and he was horrified to see the blood oozing
from a small wound, and to find that his ring was
gone.
“It was the lunatic," he exclaimed, “the ring
seemed to have a strange fascination for her. Well,
one link I thought of great service to me in unrav
elling the chain of mystery is gone. It does not
seem very propitious for my success.”
He was about to close the window, when seeing
a dark form steal from the house, he lieing in a
spirit of adventure, determined to follow it. Throw
ing on his clothes and seizing his pistol, he stepped
out the window and moved after the supposed
phantom. It suddenly paused after entering a di
lapidated summer-house, and pressing a smooth
stone, a trap door, was revealed with stone steps
leading from it, which the figure proceeded to de
scend leaving the door open. Herman followed
determined to unravel the strange manners of this
unknown person. He found he had entered a sub-
teranean vault. Suddenly a light was produced
and Herman discovered the features of Graham
Dunallew; and pressed himself closely to the wall
for fear of detection. Dunallew advanced to the
centre, and placing the light on a rude stand, drew
from his pockets several bags as of silver and gold,
depositing them in a rust eaten iron chest, found in
a corner. At last closing and fastening it with
ponderous locks, he slowly opened a stone door and
entered another apartment, Herman following him.
Stopping by another chest resembling the first, he
said in sepulchral whispers.
“I wish to see if his ashes are so. 1 ' , I feel as if an
avouger is near" y. Jsp,
“Aye! there is,” sail a steruvoiee near him.
Horror stricken and almost wild with fright, he
turned and lieheld Herman DeLacy, with a pistol
pointed at his heart.
“Do not murder me,” he gasped, and the light
would have dropped from his grasp had not Her
man caught it.
“Who are you sir?” he cried, the perspiration
starting from every pore.
"1 am Herman DeLacy, the son of William De
Lacy, whom you so foully murdered fifteen years
ago, after having roblied him of his lawful rights.”
You are in my mercy, the slightest pressure of my
finger, would send your black soul to give an ac
count of your atrocious deed-, and this gloomy
vaut. will keep the secret of your death as silently,
as it has the remains of my murdered father. ' I
now command you if you value life, give me a
written confession of your fraud and the murder of
William DeLacy. But first open that chest and let
me see if I am right in conjecturing, it is his resting
place. ”
“Oh spare me!” shrieked the miserable and terri
fied mail, “In the name of heaven spare me.”
“You would not spare my father, Graham Dun
allew. Not satisfied with robbing him of his in
heritance you deprived him of his life. But proceed
to undo that chest.”
With trembling hands Dunallew raised the lid
disclosing a skeleton that Herman felt to lie chat!
of his father, and with a low gurgling sound Dun
allew fell by the side of the chest. Herman turned
away with a sickening sensation, and the lid fell
with a loud, matallie ring, causing the vault tu re
sound with echoes. Dunallew raising his death like
face, and cried piteously.
“Do not leave me Herman DeLacy, to die in this
ghostly dungeon.”
“I do not desire your life if I can obtain my
rights without it. Y'ou know you are in my power,
give me a written confession of the robliery of my
father and his murder, then you shall go free and
have a home if you desire it for life. If not, by
Heaven I will leave you here as a companion for
your murdered victim. Decide quickly if you ever
wish to see the sun shine again. I give you five
minutes to decide,” and again the pistol was point
ed at his heart.
“I will—I will” came from the lips of the fright
ened man.
“At once?” said Herman sternly.
“At once; come with me into this room.” Her
man accompanied him into a small ad joining room,
where Dunallew seated himself at a table, and
taking s eets of paper from a drawer, began to
write with trembling fingers, while Herman stood by
watching him. At last he signed his name to what
he had written, and turning round handed it to
Herman. The yung man was amazed at the
change the last few moments had produced in his
father’s murderer. Ghastly and hollow-eyed, he
looked like a dying man. Herman hurried him
from the damp vault und helped him to his room.
Hardly had he tottered to his bed when he fell into
strong convulsions. Herman roused the servant
and sent for a physician. He then mounted bis
horse anil rode rapidly away, determined to bring
the lawyers of Graham Dunallew.
As he was passing through a thick portion of
woods, some distance from the Lodge, he heard a
cry as from a female in distress. He bent his ear
in a listening attitude, when it was again repeated,
and turning in the direction whence it came, he
saw the prostrate form of a woman, with wildly
streaming hair, and disordered dress. Riding close
to her, he recognized Fairie, his own betrothed, who
darted away withascream of fright as she saw him.
He started m pursuit, soon overtaking her, he ex
claimed—
“Oh Fairie! my darling why are you here? oh I
what has happened, that you should be so far from
home and all alone in the woods?” She recognized
him, and wildly exclaimed.
“I was stolen by the Gipsies. Oh Herman take
away, they will soon overtake and will surely kill
me, and fell fainting into his arms. He placed
her on his horse, and springing tiebind her, he gal
loped as rapidly as possible, to Mistletoe Lodge.
All was confusion there. The servant’s alarmed,
and excited, the doctor had arrived and declared
Graham Dunallew could live but a few hours.
Herman conveyed the unconscious girl, into the
house and ordered the housekeeper to prepare her a
room.
“But who have you there?” said she.
“A girl whom I found in the woods. She had
been stolen or lost from her home. Tell the physi
cian to come quickly.” The housekeeper catching
a glance of the girl’s face, clutched a chair to keep
from falling.
“For God sake, what is her name,” he cried.
“Fairie Beall,” replied Herman, “Have you ever
seen a face like her’s.”
“Oh heavens! Yes there never was but one more
like it,” said she leaving the room with faltering
steps.
Fairie soon revived. As the doctor was adminis
tering a cordial, she exclauned in feeble tones:
“Give me something to eat doctor, I’m starving.”
“What mystery is this?” said he in surprise.
Herman briefly informed him of what he could
gather from Fuirie’s incoherent expressions in the
woods. Fool having lieen supplied her, Fairie
soon fell into a peaceful sleep.
When Herman entered Graham Dunallew’s room,
he could scarce refrain from uttering a cry of dis
may, at his altered condition. He was sitting in
lied supported by pillows, his eyes were dull and
the dews of death were on his brow. As he saw
Herman enter his room, a glance of hatred flashed
from his glazing eyes.
“Hah! you have come to view your work, and
mock my helplessness,” he cried, “I will curse the
detested name of DeLacy in my grave. Hate, hate,
eternally hate.”
“Mr. Dunallew.” said the minister, who had been
brought to the dying man’s bedside. “It is an aw
ful thing to meet the frown of an offended God.
Do not I beseach you go before his Divine presence,
with that bitter feelling in your heart towards a
fellow man. Try, oh try to repent, and pray for
forgiveness.”
‘ ‘ W hat would it avail now, I who never took God’s
name on my lips except to blaspheme? I thank
you sir, but go preach repentance to those who
have done some good, and not to an hardened sin
ner like me.
“I came not to call the righteous but sinners to
repentance,” said the man of God reverently.
“These are the words of our blessed Saviour, and he
forgave the dying thief as he hung upon the cross,
and his power is the same now to save you, even
you.”
“No! No! there is no hojie forme, but if it will
lighten the burden of sin that is bearing me down
to hell, I will heartily ask forgiveness of this
young man for the wrong I did him through his
father.”
“I came not Graham Dunallew to mock vour
helpless, or scoff at you in your dying hour. Iam
here willing to forgive > ou the great wrong you
did ine and mine, and may God lie as merciful.
But I beg of you liefore you die, to relate in the
presence of these witnesses that story that was given
me last night.” Graham Dunallew’s face was dis
torted with passion and contending emotions, for a
moment, but this soon past away and he spoke
calmly.
CHAPTER XI.
“The hand of death is upon me. I have been a
wicked man all my life, perhaps had I have been
blessed with a mother’s love, and not left to follow
my own wild inclinations, my nature won lc^ have
had a different mould, but tho little good that was
in me was poisoned by dissipation. My parents
dying, I went to live with my grandfather, whose
sordid mind, worshiped no God but money. I was
taught to believe that I would be my grandfather’s
only heir, but having displeased him sorely,
he never forgave me, but totally disinherited me,
willing his entire property to William DeLacy his
other grand son.
I was infuriated, and raved vengence against
him forever. But my schemes were in chaos, and
I could give them no definite shajie. Before my
grandfather’s death I left for an adjoining state,
and there met Anita Clifton. She was the most
beautiful woman I ever beheld, but as false as hell.
We were married and remained in her native state
more than a year. When on a plea of traveling I
visited Mistletoe Lodge, wishing to see, if I could
learn anything to help me in my plot, which was to
produce a will of a later date than the genuine one,
and claim the property. To do this I must obtain
the one made by my grandfather, and imitate it in
all the particulars, except substituting my owh, for
the name of William DeLacy. Being familiar with
the old place, and an opportunity presenting during
the absence of ! ’rf i< y. 1 found «. copy 'of wie win
among the papers of my grandfather’s, and soon
preparing another, obtained the signature of wit
nesses by bribing, feeling sure then of success.
I had noted well the strange agitation of William
DeLacy and Anita my wife, as they unexpectedly
met each other, the night, of our arrival. It aroused
the green eyed monster of my nature and caused
me to lie suspicious and watchful, though I endeav
ored to appear natural Anita went to her room
early on the plea of indisposition, but did not retire
declaring the scenery was so enchanting she had
rather remain at the window. I feigned sleep anil
she stole from her room, I quickly following found
her and William DeLacy in low and earnest con
versation. I gathered enough to know she loved
him and only married me thinking I would inherit
my grandfather’s wealth.”
“My rage knew no bounds, and it was with dif
ficulty I refrained fn >m striking them Ixitli dead on
the spot. 1 did however, but I vowed revenge on
the man who had roblied me of my birth right, and
possessed the heart of my wife. A few days after
wards I noticed the ring I gave Anita the day of
our marriage was gone. I firmly believed Wil
liam DeLacy had it, and confronted her with her
perfidy. From that day our domestic jieace was
gone. She with many tears confessed her love for
him, but denied giving him the ring or knowing
anything of its disappearance. I refused to believe
her story, and coldly told her my confidence would
never be restored till it was found.
“You all know 1 gained the suit, took possession
of the property, and William DeLacy was reduced
almost to beggary. He went away and I never
heard from him for several years. When our babe
was born, she formed a binding link between Anita
and me, and our hearts became more united, and
we would at last have been happy, had I not re
turned rather late one evening and bearing voices
in my wife’s private parlor, proceeded softly to the
door, and found my wife in tears, and her hands
clasped in those of my hated foe William DeLacy.
“I seemed instantly to become insane, and ere I
was aware of it, I seized him in an iron grasp and
plunged my knife into his heart. He fell at my feet
a quivering heap, the blood gushing from the
wound. My wife uttered a scream, that even now
seems ringing hi my ears. I took her in my arms
and removed her to her own room, quickly return
ing I locked the door to keep the servants from en
tering, and about midnight when I knew the house
hold had retired, I took the body' and placed it in
the vault known only to myself. Returning to my
wife’s room, I was greatly' surprised and puzzled to
find her and our babe gone, but quieted my fear by
supposing they had gone to another portion of the
house.
I felt I could not remain in such close proximity'
to my murdered foe, nor with the wife that had
been false to her vows; and leaving written instruc
tion to my lawyers and my servants, I left that
night for Europe with my steward who had lieen
partially my abettor, intending never again to visit
the place where th'-re were so many unpleasant as
sociations. But. aft-r the lapse of fifteen years, I
very suddenly determined to come home, wishing
in my heart to see my chdd again. I would have
but little communication with any of my servants
during my absence, and in my letters to ray law
yers, 1 spoke no' of my wife or my child. On my'
arrival here I found my wife, a raving maniac, con
fined in our own house by my servants, but her
babe, my little daughter, the one cause of my re
turn was gone: supp.i ed to have perished in the
siorm the nignt 1 committed that dreadful deed
w hen my wife fled. The babe bad never been
found. My ill gotten gains have never procured
the happiness I so much coveted.”
Harman had left the room softly, and returned
I bringing Fairie on his arm.
t “Mr. Dunallew,” said he approaching his bed.
j The old man opened i is eyes with a start, and
gasped for breath as he beheld tbe lovely girl before
i him.
, “Am I dreaming? Oh God! do I again behold
Anita Clifton. Who are you? said he as if
supernatural strength, he sat upwright with clasped
hands. “Girl, for mercy’s sake who are you?”
1 Mr. Dunallew fifteen years ago, this young lady
then a helpless batie not more than two years old,
was f- iuna in the woods alone, by a gentleman living
only a few miles from here. She had this locket
around < er neck,” said Herman handing him the
locket as Fairie placed it in bis hands. Taking it
and touching a spring, two miuatures, a gentleman
ami a lady were displayed to the astonished gaze of
Graham Dun Hew, who turned with a soft and
loving look to Fairie and said:
“This locket was on the neck of my child the day
she was lost. I had just procured the pictures taken
and my initials engraved the day liefore. Oh God!
I thank thee I have lieen permitted to see my child
ere I die. My daughter, come to me. Would you
mind kissing me and calling me father, though I
feel I am not worthy to be called such a sacred
name.”?
“My father,” said Fairie as she imprinted a kiss
on his pallid brow.
Great confusion was in the hall, and a piercing
shriek was heard from the housekeeper as Herman
turning from the bedside, saw the maniac whom he
had encountered in the woods. An eager light
shone in her once wild and frenzied eyes. She
sprang towards the lied, and said in a joyful tone.
“Oh Graham! I have found the ring and our lit
tle Daisy. Y'ou will love and have confidence in
me now, won’t you Graham?”
“Oh! my darling Rubie, my little sister, said
Fairie,” as she caught sight of the little creature’s
pale face bom in the maniac’s amis, who wildly
exclaimed
“Graham see, I found her, where the birds had
placed her for me. Oh I am so weary from search
ing for her and the lost ring,” and she sank on Gra
ham Dunallew’s breast.
Herman gently removing Rubie from her arms,
and turning to Fairie, said—
“My darling you have found your parents.”
“The Holy Virgin defend us,” cried the house
keeper. “The poor crazy soul escaped from her
room a week ago and we thought her dead. And
tliis is the little babe,” said she turning to Fairie,
“that I have carried so often iff these arms. But
what little creature is this, the poor lady has found
for her own!”
“It Is the foster sister of Miss Daisy Dunallew,”
said Herman turning to Fairie.
“Doctor, come here,” cried the minister. All
pressed around the bedside of the dying man, from
whose form the minister had just lifted the uncon
scious maniac. “She has only fainted; but he is
dead,” said the physician. But the swoon proved one
from which the poor exhausted lady never wholly
revived. An hour after she too breathed her last.
They were buried with all the ceremony liefitting
their wealth, ami once high station in society. A
dispatch was immediately sent to Arnold Beall, in
forming him of the recovery of his lost children,
also to Mrs. DeLacy who soon arrived at the mag
nificent home that would soon be her’s again. Her
husband’s remains were removed from the secret
vault and inti rred in the family burial ground.
Arnold Beall wept like an infantas he clasped Fairie
and the little emaciated Rubie, in his arms thank
ing God for his great and tender mercies.
He immediately carried them to his own
home but not liefore Herman had obtained his
consent to his early marriage with Fairie. The
Gipsies’ cave was explored, but they had absconded
to parts unknown. Little Rubie soon recovered
from her mistreatment and suffering during her
captivity, looked fresh and blooming, the night
Herman and his beautiful and blushing bride to the
altar.
Herman DeLacy with his wife and mother occu
pied the old Lodge, and not forgetting the valuable
services of Ray Farley, he placed him in his old
position as Steward of Mistletoe Lodge.
The End.
A FUTURE KING.
An Obscure Young Man who May Yet be
King of England.
[Boston Advertiser.)
The English people have but just awakened to
the fact that the elder of the two sons of the Prince
of Wales is a probable heir to the throne, and that
he is, as such, an interesting person. At the same
time they remember, with a mixture of amu-ement
and amazement, that they know almost nothing
about him. In fact they are rather puzzled, when
it is necessary to speak of him, to know how he is
to tie called. He is, in full, Princ * Albert Victor
Christian Edward. He used to be styled Prince
Albert Victor of Wales. Popularly he has been
known as Prince Victor. \\ hen he was studying
on board the Brittania he was called Prince Ed
ward. Gut of the abundance of titles it is nut ea. y
to make a choice, and the British public seems to be
as much “at sea,” metaphorica'ly, as the Prince
now is literally, in attempting to discover anything
interesting or gossipy about one who, if he lives
long enough, will be the ruler of a vast emp re.
The Prince was born at Frogmore Lodge, Windsor,
on the 8th of January, 1864, and ha-, therefore,
nearly completed his sixteenth year. He was born
and has lived—that is all the English people know
about him. Occasionally he has accompanied his
parents in their travels here and there, and his
features have excited some mild interest in the
family photographs. But, iu general, his history
and his person are unknown, and his life has lieen
alni'ist as obscure as that of any boy iu the king
dom.
What has now drawn attention to him is his
sailing in company with his hi other, whom all
English folks know as Prince George of Wales, on a
voyage round the world. The two princess have
been trained oil board the Britannia, and now
they go as cadet midshipmen on the ship Bacchante,
which sailed from Portsmouth harbor 011 the 18th
of September, and proceeded to Portland, wdience,
after a week spent in drill, the ship was to depart
for a short cruise in the Mediterranean and to pass
the winter in the West Indies. Of course very little
will be heard from the young princes while they
are absent on this voyage, and they will return, a
year or two hence, tall striplings, one of them just
coming into manhood. As they are the only sons
of the Prince of Wales, the succession would pass,
in case of their death, to the daughters, and once
again the British throne would be occupied by a
woman.
The Journalistic Knack.
[H. V. Redfield in The Commercial.]
It has been remarked that very few who get into
journalism start out with such intention. They
drift in accident My, and are promoted as they
develop capacity. Money, wealthy parents and in
fluence are of no sort of service in getting a young
man a place on a newspaper. There is no business
that is so independent of all these considerations as
this. A wealthy farmer can easily get his son a
location to read law, or medicine, or push him for
ward in almost any walk of life he may select, but
he is utterly powerless to do anything for him in a
journalistic way. To lie sure he may buy a news-
paper, and set up his hopeful in that manner, but
unless there is something in the youth called jour
nalistic knack, a natural knowledge of what to
write and how to write it, he will lie a failure in
that line, and all the money an I influence of weal
thy and perhaps powerful relatives will count for
nothing.
Some fond parents educate their sons with espe
cial view to making journalist s of them; but it is
rare that we hear of these young men after a few
years. Meantime some scrub, born among the hills,
having nothing but a common school education,
and perhaps a very common one at that, and tbe
knowledge scraped up in a country printing office,
will advance to the front rank in the profession.
He has the journalistic knack, and forces recogni
tion because he has it. He gets a place, not because
he has wealthy parents to influence the proprietors
of leading newspapers, but because he knows what
they want. His articles go in lieeause they supply
a demand, while perhajis the elaborate essays from
the pen of a man educated on two continents with
an especial view to journalism, are cast into the
waste basket.
The Italian papers report a case of bigamy, just
tried before the law courts at Salerno, which is re
garded as another of those instances seeming to
show that the institution of trial by jury is not
suited for all human beings alike. The offender
admitted the two marriages, which were otherwise
proved, and the judge summed up for a verdict of
guilty, but the jury decided in the negative. The
Judge, dismissing the prisoner, said: “Signor Musi-
tano, you assert that you have married twice, but
the gentlemen of the jury have declared that you
have married neither once nor twice; consequently,
I set you at liberty, and you may now marry a
third time.”
Am Indiana paper says that, during a trial in
Lawrence court, a young lad who was called as a
witness whs asked if he knew the obligation of an
oath and wlieie he would go if he told a lie? He
said he supposed he should go where all lawyers
went.