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THE SUNNY SOUTH.
EVEN UNTO DEATH;
—OK THE—
Mvstery of Monk’s Tower.
BY KANE AKHEEIAH,
Of Mon til Carol i nn.
Author of •*His Other Wife,” "The Wid
ow’s Wages,” etc.
CHAPTER XLVT.
THE STA<! AT BAT.
Beside the Hakim sat the eunuch Fru'ien-
tarius, silent, and maintaining upon hi? sable
features the immutable calm that no changes
of events nor extremity of situation seemed
ever to rutile. The passage of human affairs
around him npjieared to have no more in
terest. for this creature than had the moving
of caravanserai for the Great Sphink. If
passions, or needs, or emotions existed in the
breast of Frumentarius, they never showed
themselves by the faintest ripple on the dark
surface of his countenance. He obeyed the
touch of the Hakim’s hand upon its springs.
Op|Hisite these two men sat Abbassa Mirza,
enveloped in a long and almost impenetra
ble white veil, motionless and apparently
breathless, so utterly slill she was. Near her,
and sitting very close to the temporary couch
whe"re the “White Slave” lay, the form of
Zobair presented a striking contrast to each
of the threestrange pel's' n ; just describe 1.
Intense animation, and even tremulous ex
citement, was visible not only in the flushed
cheek and brilliant topaz coloured eyes of the
minstrd, but his whole frame ipiiv red un
der some strong internal agita'ion, as his
look turned from one to another of his silent
statue-like companions, and then it shifted
between the lessening walls of the palace
from which they lied and the nearing sails
of the yacht to which they were approach
ing so sw ftly.
These alone of Abda’lah’s household ac
companied his departure. Of all who re
mained in the palace, not one possessed a
morsel of information that could harm the
fugitives. Aboard his vessel the wily ltaolfo
had taken care to store so much wealth in
coin and jewels as would serve to re-estab
lish him in whatever state he might choose t
assume in new place of residence, under ;
new character.
Meantime, if he elected to sojourn like t
sea-king in his ship for months upon the path
less deep, there was ample provision for mag
nificent comfort made in the luxurious ap
pointments of the vessel, whose crew was
formed of Algerine sailors—desperate adven
turers who were bred to perils in every shape,
and whose consciences recognized only a gold
en rule.
At a signal given by the eunuch when with
in a few hundred yards of the vessel, prepa
rations were made to receive on board tin
arriving boat and its passengers.
From that side on which the yacht cast it
shadow over the water, the boat’s live freight
was taken noiselessly upon the deck, and al
most instantly the vessel put to sea under a
favouring wind.
By the tierce-looking sailors the couch on
which the unconscious countess lay was car
ried below into a sumptuous saloon, as regal
ly fitted up as Cleopatra’s galley. The rich
est of Eastern fabrics and the costliest of
Oriental decorations abounded here, as if ti
enchant the senses of some voluptuous sul
tana, while black slaves, male and female,
moved about in tunics and turbans of snowy
stuffs.
'■’he litter-bearers stopped with their bur
den at the door of a large state-room that
corresponded in richness with the saloon, and
here the countess was removed to a couel
nil draped with glistening white silk and
precious charge to the care of the Moorish
woman and the two dark handmaids iliat
stood like odalisques on either side of the
couch.
As he passed out from the state-room as
signed to the countess, ltaolfo beheld the tig
ure of the Persian boy leaning against a col
umn in the saloon, and gazing sadly toward;
the apartment where the countess lay.
“Do not be troubled, Zobair,” said ltaolfo,
half soothingly. “She only sleeps, and soon
will wake again to call for thee and th v song.
Watch near her chamlier if thou wilt.”
The boy made an obeisance and a gesture
of grateful acknowledgement.
ltaolfo passed on. and re-ascended to the
deck of the vessel, not heeding that Zobair's
glance followed him with an expression half-
contemptuous, half-exultant.
Not a creature was to lie seen as ltaolfo
stepped out upon the trim upper deck of his
swiftly sailing yacht. Faster and faster she
vanished down the stream, passing the light
ed city like a bird. Only the lofty observa
tory that crested the roof of his palace re
mained in sight, and the charlatan smiled as
he saw, in imagination, the foiled hunters
wildly roving through its deserted chambers
seeking their prey in vain. What if they
should even chance upon the secret trap-door
by which he had effected his escape 1 Would
not the 111*01 Nourmahal lie faraway ere they
discovered the place or the means of his
exodus i
His dark eyes looked forth upon a trackless
expanse cf moonlit waters, upon whose
breast no trace of the fugitive barque would
be left, and all who knew of her existence
were safe within her liosorn.
Reaction, after all his late excitement, was
stealing over him. He felt warm and weary.
The heavy folds of his silken turban and false
long hair oppressed him. He lifted them
from his brow, and casting them upon the
divan by which he had stopjied, let the cool
sweet wind from the open sea play through
the black silky curls that now rippled about
his forehead and temples, as if glad of their
freedom from imprisonment under the Orien
tal head-gear. The luxuriant silver lieard
likewise removed, and once more the delicate
jetty mustache curled almut his scarlet lips.
The dark satanic beauty of Raolfo’s face
showed with a strange vividness in the clear
moonlight; and set off as it now was by the
long flowing garments of purest white samite,
girdled with jewels, one might have fancied
him an artist’s conceit of Lucifer before the
fall, while yet the livery of the angels cloth
ed his limbs, and the gleaming, gem-studded
scimitar that hung suspended from his daz
zling girdle the sword of flame wherewith the
arch-reliel led his followers to their fatal war
fare against the hosts of heaven.
As he stands there alone, resplendentlv
bathed in the golden rays that no shadow of
the terrestrial objects now obstructs, feeling
himself the proud lord of his own destiny,
and master of his floating palace that holds
the treasures most precious to his life—gold
to gratify his avarice, ami the woman to
crown his heart’s desire—ltaolfo bears a
quick, nervous footfall upon the deck—not
the sandalled step of his minions, but the
firm heel of a man’s loot.
He turns with the sharp challenge, “AVho
comes 1” uttered in his native tongue, that
traps his speech in the excitement of this un
garded nu mei t. At the same instant his
hand draws the glittering scimitar, and lifts
it for action.
“Surrender, or die a dog’s death !” is the
answer that rings out more fiercely than his
own challenge; and fronting him, ltaolfo lie-
holds the one being liefore whom his courage
lias ever quailed, his eye ever drooped, his
fiendish nerve ever faltered. It is the Earl
of Creveldt who covers bis shivering form
with the muzzle of a revolver.
ltaolfo knows that his deadly Turkish blade
is but a useless toy liefore that dull metallic
tube that with the lightest touch from the
finger behind it belch forth the fiery death,
ard, blow the fine demoniac mechanism of
his subtle brain to atoms.
The godlike powers of that dark wizard
brain assert themselves now, and like a fear
less general rushing liefore his demoralized
forces, rallies his confused senses to the point
of a final contest.
Slowly ltaolfo lowers his weapon, and by
a rtiighty effort meets the gathered passions
in Lord Creveldt’s eyes with a look of proud
composure. A smile flits round the white
trenffilif-g lil>s of the false magician, and ho
says in a tone sharpened by excitement, but
t le»r as a chime:
“Don’t trouble yourself to shoot, my lord.
1 have no arms save this bright bauble, that
can do no harm now save to draw the blood
from my own heart, as it shall do, if you
make a step nearer to me liefore I am ready
to hand you my sword.”
While this scene was passing, a tall, white
veiled figure had glided around unseen, and
stood behind Raolfo, motionless, until he had
ultered the last words.
At that instant the glittering scimitar was
from his hand, and a grasp of steel laid on
his slender shoulder.
Raolfo hail not needed this final assurance
that he was betrayed into the enemy’s hand;
but there was a strange accent of surprise
and dismay in his tone when he turned his
face to the veiled figure, and exclaimed:
“Abbassa!”
The thick white veil was cast off to reveal
—not the stern face of the Moorish woman,
but that of the beautiful young marquis,
pale and fierce.
Standing thus disarmed between these two
determined men, the demon spirit of Raolfo
well-nigh forsook its cunning. He uttered
no sound, but bent his head and crossed his
arms. Ills attitude expressed helpless and
hojieless submission.
At a signal from the earl, two powerful
Aralis appeared from within, and placing
each a hand upon Raolfo’s arm, conducted
him below to an apartment, where his person
was searched for concealed weapons or other
means of self-destruction. Nothing being
discovered, the Italian was left to the custody
of the armed Arabs; and the confinement of
this temporary prison aboard the vessel he
had fondly deemed an ark of safety.
CHARTER XLVII
ABBASSA MIRZA AS NEMESIS.
Warned by Zobair of the change in the us-
pect of affairs about the sad captive in
Abdallah’s palace at the moment when the
countess received Raolfo’s summons to pre
pare for the immediate fulfillment of her
pledge, the Marquis of Glencoe felt himself
plunged into the utmost confusion and dis
may. This feeling was increased by the
next intelligence conveyed to him by his spy,
who reported the illness of the countess and
her unconscious state of utter helplessness in
the hands of the wicked Raolfo.
“There is but one alternative,” he exclaim
ed. “/ must enter the palace to keep watch
over her.”
“Are you mad, my lord.”’ cried the youth.
“Know you not that a hundred hired daggers
would surround you within those walls!”
“No matter. Better that each one of them
should taste my heart’s blood than that
But we waste words, child, while she is in
peril. The sentinel at the eastern gate is in
our pay. The hour is propitious—the night
is rayless. Let us go. You have described
the hiding-place which you have thus long
occupied insecurity within the oval chamber
of the countess. Surrender to me. 1 shall
be in no danger of detection unless harm
threatens her. In that case, I am prepared
to deliver both of us from his power.”
“< ill, my lord, if it comes to that”
“Hush, Zobair; I will hear no more. Dis
guised as one of the slaves, I shall pass un
observed, even if we shall not have your
usual luck. Once in possession of the secret
nook, 1 shall know how to proceed; ami with
your invaluable wit and fidelity, all things
are possible to us.”
On their way to the eastern gate of the
pdace. Zobair said, timidly:
“My lord, 1 think we may easily possess
ourselves of an ally in Abbassa Milzi, the
Moorish woman who has charge of the coun
tess.”
“Why, then, in heaven’s name, have you
not bribed her long ago, child!”
“Gold enough to fill the world would not
move her to betray that man. She loves
him /”
“What then, do von mean bv saving that
she now only suspects—namely, that Raolfo
loves and intends to marry the ‘White
Slave’ I feel sure that jealous rage will turn
her fidelity to merciless revenge. He has
made her believe that the countess is held in
confinement from motives of policy only.
His conduct towards his prisoner has been so
closely guarded that Abbassa had seen and
heard nothing to arouse her fears until the
illness of the countess, when the excitement
and anxious solicitude of the Hakim’s devo
tion to his patient caused Abbassa to fix her
attention on every act and look of his. I
have noticed a decided change in the woman
since that time. A new spirit has waked up
in bei breast, and glares out at her eyes.”
“Find means to give that spirit a defined
character, and the rest is easy-.”
tain ailments common among the herdsmen.
The girl Abbassa waited and listened,
while ever and again the brilliant eyes of the
stranger wandered to her rapt face, that in
those days possessed the stately beauty of an
Eastern queen. Days went by and still Fie
stranger lingered on one pretence or another.
.Sometimes he sought and found Abbassa
alone minding her flock of goats upon some
green sliqie, anil he stole the secret of her
heart from her shy lips; and still, later on,
he gathered to himself all that was most pre
cious in the maiden’s life, and then he had
gone away, swearing to come again and
claim her.
But years went by in vain despairing
watches, and he came not. Still Abbassa
trusted and waited for him. Meantime, the
old Moor had died and left the secrets of his
art to his only child, who dwelt alone in
their hut, and came to be a renowned sage.
To the wisdom of her father, Abbassa had
added some strange powers of her own.
They called her a prophetess—a seer—in her
native place. She was, in fact, a remarka
ble woman, with a peculiar talent for the
discovery of symptoms and the proper treat
ment for certain diseases. This, perhaps,
more than her skill in medicine, made her
famous.
At last, one nigl t after m ny y ars, Ab
bassa returned from her round of visiting
the sick to find a man seated cm the stone | i
loud cries of watchmen shouting the alarm of
“Fire!”
And she smiles !
Iiench liefore her door, in tlie'Ttt**dtgljt Ins
face was as the face of a spirit that‘had
wandered far and was weary; but she knew
it well.
How should she not, having nestled it to
her breast in the far time ago, when her
heart first thr lied to the music of passion?
“My love, I have waited for thee!” was all
she said, ns she opened her arms to enfold
the lover of her youth.
This man was Raolfo. He had found her
a sweet wild flower in the Euphrates jungles,
when travelling fiist through the East: lie
hid breathed the fresh, dewy perfume of the
blossom’s h"art, anil then gone his way for
getting. But the caprice of Chance had led
him back along the old ways of his youthful
pilgrimage, now when he was seeking lo lose
himself from the knowledge of men. Ho
heard the rumors of Abbassa Mirz i's wonder
ful powers and arts; he was curious to see
what time had done with the plaything of
those idle days lie had spent under the p dm
trees by the river shore. He found her
changed and worn by sorrrowful suspense;
but her heart was the same as if he had left
it but an hour.
He lingered a little, then went__qn.*o ■ th‘*
undreamed-of destiny awaiting him at
Aleppo. Established in the Jew’s palace and
overshadowed by the panoply of a miracu
lous Avatar, he concluded that Abbassa
Mirza would be unable assistant to him in bis
new career. He went back for her, saying
he had at last achieved the end of all his { fe’s
endeavor, and that her place beside him in
his success was now ready. \\ ith the simnle
faith of a fond woman, she followed him not
asking a question. To bo near him was
enough.
That time and toil had made him sterner
and colder seemed to make no difference in
her love. She breathed again the same air—
looked on the same stars that environed tilt
divinity of her soul.
What more had she need of after those bar
ren, empty years!
Nothing had come to trouble the deep
p.*uce—the abject yet sublime devotion of
her life—till that night when she told him
the White Slave’s swoon, and he had accused
her with such frenzied rage of a lie.
The blindest affection must have been di
turbed by that scene, and the feverish anx
iety which characterized his manner after it
while in attendance at Ina’s bedside.
And now it was all clear to her.
That lovely, pale woman was the light of
his eyes, the' desire of his heart, the' h,jj>e of
dupe—his wb'fs' hiail' W.'*V s y, ) i. thjt l |,n Phon< 1,1
Remembering all those fai'hful y’k-trs—
calling back all the passionate ra t ;oiire"f that
early time when earth was gilded with the
eternal glories of Paradise, and then behold
ing the naked truth of the present—what
wonder if the woman’s soul fell from it
throne of loyal, loving, wifely trust, and
writhed in the dust of all bitter and reven
fill feelings?
Zobair had stolen unobserved to her side—
had looked upon the pallid pain that hard
ened her face as she gazed afar and remem
bered. And by sympathy the minstrel’s
heart divined the woman’s.
Taking her han ! the boy said:
“He has wronged thee, but I can give thee
thy revenge a thousandfold. ”
To Abbassa the boy confided all thecircum-
1< mm
Without, upon the streets, a wild rush of
people gathering to the walls of Abdalla’s
p dace, from whose every casement leaps a
lurid tongue of flame.
The gates are all secured and the walls are
high. Ere an entrance can lie effected by
haltering mtssils, the whole palace is wreath
ed with brilliant clouds of fire.
Avast dome of black smoke hovers over
the turrets of the old Hebrew palace. Not a
sound nor a sign of living creature emerges
from the blazing pile—only the deep, awful
roaring of the tire-fi nds breaks the b r ihle
silence^that reigns within those splendid gar
dens. .
‘Where is Abdallah-ben < tmar, while Ins
enchanted castle burns?” is the cry of thous
ands of his worshipers.
No answer comes from out the mountain of
11 one and smoke.
Finally the devouring fires conclude their
feast and the once noble edifice lies within its
engirdling walls, a mound of black and
smouldering ruins.
And no one dreams that amid these ashes
the charred body of a woman rests, or that
the palace of the princely Hakim had served
as a funeral pyre to a b ing as bravo and
shamefully deserted than the famed
ess whose tragic fate she emu-
Syrian
luted.
It is not for us to know the judgment, pre
pared for these poor souls, that with a terri
ble cour ige cleave aside the barrier and
enter unbidden the land that God has walled
in with darkness and silence. What we do
know is that the pain which scourges them to
this fell rashness must surpass all finite con
ception, as far as the pity and the goodness
of the Almighty surpasses the cruelty and
the wickedness of men.
Having reached that point where suffering
takes the form of madness, the mortal crea
ture knows no law, remembers no command,
and has passed beyond the pale of all laws.
It is the first, not the last act in such like
tragedies for which the poor s utler will be
held to account; and alas, how often the
threshold of crime is wreathed with flowers
that lure the careless foot to pass over it!
[To be continued.]
APPLES0rS090M
by Lint;.
CHAPTER XI.
THE SACRIFICE.
■ than this hath
man; that In
“What a sage thou art, my little one!” ex
claimed the marquis, with delight. He had, ! stances <>f the ease, and the probable i
perhaps learned something of the capacious i talse Abdulla,
powers ami endless uses of a woman’s jeal-
ousy.
“But what form of proof can we bring to
her notice?” he asked.
Zobair drew from the folds of doublet the
scroll which Raolfo had written in Italian
and sent to the countess by the hand of
Abbassa.
“This 1 found by accident in the apart
ments of tlie countess after she was taken
ill. I recognized its appearance to be that of
the scroll which had caused her to turn so
pale and look so ill the eveniug she sent you
by my hand the despatch. It may contain
something needful to our purpose. If you
understand the language in which it is writ
ten, you will be able to decide.”
The marquis eageily took the scroll from
Zobair’s hand, and stepped back to a street
amp to examine it.
“Nothing could lie more, explicit. We
shall leave Abbassa no room for doubt,” he
said, hurrying onward.
Their entrance to the palace was dexter
ously effected, and before twenty-four hours
had passed, the dark gaze of Abbassa Mirza
ha 1 plombed the secret of Raolfo to the bot
tom.
“Dost thou remember this I” asked Zobair,
handing Abbassa the papyrus scroll when
they were alone together iu the oval chamber
the next day.
•‘Yes; ’tis the same I bore to the White
Slave from the master’s hand. What of it?
And how earnest thou by it?”
“1 found it where the White Slave had
dropped it there under her prie-dieu. Const
thou decipher it?”
“No, it is written in a language that I
know not.”
“Whose hand inserilied it?”
“The master's, curious lioy. What is it to
thee ?”
“Didst (hou see him write it?”
“Mostcertainly I did; but if I had not seen,
I know the characters are his.”
“Shall I translate them for thee?”
Const thou?” asked Abbassa, with a bright
ening eye; for her soul waxed eager to un
ravel the mystery that enshrouded the pale
woman, over whose couch Abdallah watched
sleeplessly all the previous night.
“Listen. But first swear thou wilt net bo-
tray me, or thy knowledge of what is here.’
“I swear. Read on.”
Zobair, who had learned each line by heart
from a translation written for him by the
marquis, read slowly through the scroll—
noting, but seeming not to see, the brooding
tempest that gathered in Abbassa’s heart.
Before the last words of the scroll had been
read, the woman rose to her feet and turned
her face away, that its passionate pain and
pitiless wrath might be bid from the boy’s
sight. Drawing her veil around her with
great dignity, Abbassa stood for a time mute
ly gazing out from the balcony near by.
Perhaps her thoughts travelled up the dark
windings of that ancient river to a hamlet
where years ago the vision of a beautiful
young god, with raven locks and eyes like
midnight suns, first greeted her dreaming
sight.
“A weary traveller” he had called himself,
and he asked a night’s shelter in her father’s
hut. It was Abbassa’s own deft bands that
dad spread for him the frugal evening fare
of goat’s milk, cheese, and bread, and while
he ate of it she stood apart in the shadow,
watching him till it seemed that his rich,
Trust all to me, conceal not the slightest
point of information you can gather, and
leave to my hand the execution of a scheme
that will surpass the wisdom of a hundred
men.”
Thus it had come to pass that the earl,
who had travelled with a des|ierate speed,
was put in possession of the vessel by means
of Abbassa’s cunning manipulation. She it,
was who bribed the eunuch to carry out her
design against the imposter. By her sug
gestion the marquis, disguised in her veil and
apparel, had accompanied the fugitives,
while she remained to receive the ofli-ials
and explain to them all that had transpired.
From the lofty watch tower of Abdalla’s
citadel Abbassa’s lone figure stood watching
the gleam of tic* departing sails that bore the
false Hakim and the false lover of her youth
to meet the just reward of all his crimes.
Not once during the formation and execu
tion of her feli purpose had the woman’s
frozen heart thawed to pty for the man
whose punishment she prepared with nil the
stern justice of outraged law. But now.
when his doom was an accomplished fact so
far as human contrivance could arrange it—
now that the elements divided him from her,
and not the wildest shriek of her despair
could reach him across the moonlit space of
air and water that lay between his false
heart and her own that had been so true—the
woman once more triumphed over the
avenger. She thought of all that was in
store for him when he should appear before
the law’s tribunal to answer for his deeds.
She thought of the howls of execration and
derision that would rise round his enchanted
f ialaee when it should be known that Abdalla-
•en-Oinar, the mighty magician, was, after
all, but a wretched juggler—a fugitive from
justice—a thief and a murderer.
And was her tongue to utter the word at
which all this fairy fabric must crumble!
She had given him up to the terrible hand
of Justice. SHould she also give his name to
the scoff and the fury of the populace, who,
but a day ago, had looked up to his palace as
to the temple of some potent divinity?
Should the story of her own shame be min
gled with the fragiue ts of his reputation
that the mob would scatter to the winds?
No. Whatever might choice win ■ min
•* distant laud towards w tic i those flying
sails were bearing him, nere at least she
would envelope his name in a cloud that no
human eye should he able to penetrate—no
mortal hand tear away.
Quickly descending from the top of the
palace, she summoned all the retiuue of the
Hakim within his “Chamber of the Cloth of
Gold.” _ She distributed tiie contents of his
remaining coffers among the slaves, and bade
them fly instantly from the palace if they
valued their lives.
“It is the Great Master’s command,” she
said, and the vassels obeyed her and vanished
every one.
Abbassa Mirza alone remained in the
splendid solitude of that gilded palace. She
disappeared from the “Chamber of the Cloth
of Gold” for a while, hut soon returned wear
ing a strange snnle. Ujion the scarlet couch
where so often she had seen the lithe form of
her heart’s beloved reposing—where some
times she had knelt beside him in his s ifter
moods and kissed his hamls—Abbassa now
stretched her own limbs.
With surpassing dignity she flung around
her tie costly mantle that had wrapped his
•‘Greater lev
lay down li is life for anoth
It was a cloudless, moonlit night in the
summer of I862. Dr. Grey and Elsie after a
weary day in the crowded hospital, were re
turning to their temporary home. It was on
the outskirts of a little village in the moun
tains, a beautiful green nook 111 a deep gorge,
witli one of the many hill torrents rushing
and foaming down its rocky sides. The hills
around rose steep and sombre, their sides
dark with pine and cedar; a bubbling stream
ran through the deep ravine, and the bridge
with its unpainted arch rose over it, quaint
and gray; and deep in the centre, between
the lines of hills, the white village nestled like
a swan settling herself to sleep upon her
reedy river nest.
Tiiey had almost reached the cottage when
a sound of sobbing arrested their attention.
A few yards before them stood a large tulip
tree, and the moonlight streaming through
its branches revealed a knot of soldiers gath
ered around a wounded comrade. A little
apart stood a boy, a mere child he seemed
with his soft rose-red 1 hecks and sunny curls.
Hu Kc'r 'el mill moaned with a pitiful, heart
tlie nand lie Hived. I tie uocuir 11..-!» _*,„■
reins and lifted Elsie from the carriage. She
went up to the boy, laid her hands softly on
his curls, and asked him why he wept.
“Oil, Lady! Captain is dying—Captain
Norman—lie is dying—dying for me—and 1
—oh! I cannot go with him!’’
“Who is Captain Norman ? Your broth
er !”
“No, no—ray Captain—my protector—my
only friend. We were out to-day and were
caught in an ambush—a cavalryman rode at
me—Captain Norman rushed in between and
took the sabre cut that was aimed at me.
And he is dying—dying for me—and I—oh,
Goil! I cannot die with him!”
She stooped and caressed him, trying in
her sweet, womanly way to comfort him.
Suddenly the dying man’s voice rang out in
the night air:
‘Whose voice is that ? Is Elsie coming ?
Bring her to me—tell her she can come now,
for 1 am dying.”
A soldier came towards tier, lifted his cap,
and said sadly:
“Lady, will you come to him ! Ho is sink-
ng fast.”
Who is this ! What fleeting, mocking
host of long ago haunted her in this mail’s
face ? Before her lies the bronzed and beard
ed face,the strong, athletic, sinewy frame of
a man of thirty. Surely she has seen that
face and heard that voice before. He is
wounded unto death, but his voice is strong
and his chi ek flushed, for the fire of delirium
•urns in his veins. He snatches her hand,
■and looks wildly, appealingly up into her
ton for five years. I was with the Texan
Rangers. Get Dr. Grey to try and get Char
lie’s discharge and persuade him to go home
—tell him 1 asked it. His mother will die of
anxietv now he has no one to care for him.
And Elsie, my best friend, make me one
promise—Sybil is very frail—if she should
die, take my boy—my only one—the rest, are
all gone.”
She laid her lips on the burning brow a d
gave the solemn promise.
Dr. Grey stood beside hitn. He laid his
hand on the feeble,flickering pulse and wiped
the death dew from the clammy brow. He
looked up with pleading eyes into Elsie’s,
and raised his arms feebly. She bent her
head upon the pillow, laid her check to his,
put tiie weak arms about her neck. The last
words came gaspingly:
“Pardon—oh, my own— for the heart I
made ilesol>*t>‘! If there is .another life—will
you come to m • ! Like p tor Carstone, I am
going to begin the world.”
The lips sill* laid on his were white and
cold as the ones she kiss *il. Like poor Rich
ard, lie had begun the world; “not this world;
oh! no; but tin* one that st Is this right,”
He sleeps under the spreading boughs of a
giant sycamor. ; the river sings be-i te him.
I tli
fragrance over hi-
light in upon h s :
soft moonbeams v
g water fillies fling their
1. Let no glaring sun- j
e, or history. L-tonly !
his resting place, cover- |
fear now. Khe threw the door open and
called in the humbled servants, assuring them
that the danger was past. They were hear d
ly ashamed of their cowardice,and would have
blushed a “celestial, rosy red,” as she loo!;*' 1
at them with an amused smile, if they could
only have commanded the necessary fluid.
All that day and night she sat beside hie,
laving his throbbing temples and folding h:s
burning bands in hers. The fever raged with
unabated fury, but her power over him was
from that moment complete. In his wildest
delirium one look, one word, one touch of
her hand, would calm him and he was obedi
ent to her gentlest command.
The battle with death waged dong and
fiercely, with no opposing forces save the un
tiring watch fulness, the persistent patience,
I tiie quick perception and the wondrous
1 strength that lay in one little woman’s h -art,
and hand and brain. These with youth and
I a powerful constitution, triumphed at las’.
I But his convalescence was slow and attended
1 by many backward steps, and it was three
| months before tie was able to leave the house.
! In July a branch of the “grapevine” came
j cautiously “creeping, creeping where no life
| is seen,” and found its way into Fair Oaks,
,11111! delivered to Alice a very dirty missive
: written upon brown p iper, the then fashion-
I aide stationary of the Confederacy. It ran
thus:
k and flu'
whispered
ith their silver haze each II
of his fitful life. Let only this 1
of him:
“Greater love than this, hath no man; tl
he lay down his life for another.”
CAAPTER XII.
TIIE DEVIL OF OPPORTUNITY.
r—’twill betr
‘Trust not i
ym
vourown sun
tellflll f<
And, waiting tie
lay y
The lnrkini
■ each fleck and flaw will
right moment; rend, and
Devil, O.iporlunity."
Four Oaks, April 12, IS63.
Dear Archie:—
His effort to serve us has nearly cost poor
Don his life. List night about midnight I
was awakened bv a volley of musketry in
front of the house, followed by the savage
yells of some Yankee cavalry. I ran to the
front hall doer and in the moonlight I eoulil
see a body of mounted men, and in their
midst, something lying on the ground. Of
course I thought it was you—I think every
thing and everybody is you, that seems to be
in danger—so 1 ran out and found Dun lying
iu the road, with Skylark standing over
him, looking as grief-stricken as it lie liml
been human. The men saluted nn* with oaths
and cruel jibes—not worth repeating. As i
bent over tlie body one of the men sprang
down from his saddle, caught it up with a
savage jerk, threw it across his horse, and
mounted in front of it. I plead for it as best
i could, told them it was an old and dear
friend, that the body would only delay and
tr nible them and could do them no good, and
besought them to leave it with me and let
me give it Christian burial. At last the
lieute’*;*"’ mmlri crulllv. Iliiig it down, i>id
no use L
ild butternuts, an i then
glowing beauty drew her soul from her f° rm —with a fond ecstaey she rested her
breast, and the music of his voice came to cheek against the silken cushion that hail
her as the song of one in Paradise calling her pillowed his head.
spirit to rapture. Late into the night the T There she lay with closed eyes—waiting,
stranger sat and talked with her father, aa | “ was drawing near to the hour for the offi-
old Moorish mediciner, famed for his skill ill i c ’ak to arrive.
curing the diseases of cattle, as well as cer And now she hears from afar the hoarse,
“Are you Elsie ? No, no—she would not
ome to me. I went to her—when was il
Yes—yes—it was—before tlie grave of hope
was dug, and the coffin lid of despair closed
over me—I went to her then—and implored
her to save me from that living death—that
yawning hell—and she would not. She spoke
cruel words that sealed and scorched me;
and she left me—she has not given me one
word, one look, in all these weary years. Off!
do not touch me with that cruel "hand that
would not save me! do not look at me with
thnSe merciless eyes that only mocked my
pain! do not speak to me with those lips that
denied my prayer and sealed my ruin!”
Dr. Grey laid his hand on her shoulder; his
voice was calm and steady:
“Elsie, we must take him home.”
She looked up with a wild questioning In
her eyes.
“No, my child—there is no hope; but he
can lie moved; it will not harm him; and he
must die at home.”
“Yes—we must take him home.”
Her lips were white and her voice was low,
but its firm tone spoke a courage that no
peril could daunt; an endurance tbat would
never falter or fail.
“Drive on home, dear, and get everything
ready.”
A littpr of boughs was soon made. Dr.
Grey walked by liis side with his hand on the
wild, bounding pulse, and they slowly bore
hit” on to the cottage. Everything was
ready; he was laid on the bed, cooling lotions
applied to the wound and all done that could
be to soothe the anguish of the dying hour.
The Lieutenant iu command spoke to the
doctor:
“We must report at headquarters now, sir;
we were out on important service, and it is
of great moment that we should reach camp
as soon as possible. Gan we leave the boy ?
I will take the responsibility; I have not the
heart to force the child away from hitn now.
He is the only child of his mother, and she is
a widow, He was wild to come up with the
regiment; his mother could do nothing with
him. Captain Davenant promised her to
care for him as if he were his own son. And
he did. No father was ever more loving to a
son, living—none could do more than die for
one.”
“Yes, yes, Lieutenant; let the boy stay; it
will not be long; he will not live to see the
day ”
Elsie sat beside him, one hand on his fore
head, the other hand in his. He opened his
eyes quietly. The delirium was past, the
death shadows flitting over his face. He
spoke. The words were slowly u’tered, hut
distinct; the peace of death was already up
on him.
“Yes, my own, I know you now. How it
happened is no matter—you are here and I
die content. I must say what 1 can while I
have strength. I have lived a sad, wasted
life—profited no one. Well, it is over now.
Write to Sybil. You will find her address in
my breast pocket. We have been in Gal res
onant spoke gruffly, “Fling it down, L!
se packin’ it; there’s no boot in th,
greasy old butternuts, an i themd d rim
ers is after us, with shot melti d ill hell. Fling
it down and be d d to ye.” He threw it
down, striking me as it fell, and they gallop
ed off. taking Skylark with them. 1 wa- a
little stunned at first, but when 1 receveicd 1
sat down in the dust and drew his head duo
my lap. I thought l would take oil hi - coat
and lay his heal on it, and then go to the
cabins and wake some of the bo}s to tairy
him into the house.
As 1 began to draw off the left sleeve, 1 put
my hand on his heart. I thought l detected
a faint pulsation. Just then 1 heaid the g.il-
lop of horses. I thought those savages were
coming back for him, and I grew desperate.
I sprang up, lifted him aiul dragged him into
1 ini." t locked thi’Tiilrn"a.v.h'iw .1 du! it, bpt I
Indy in the darkness, until I heard the horses
gallop past; it was evidently our boys in pur
suit. When the noise hail die 1 away I lit a
lamp, woke Mammy and Uncle Lewis, and
we tried all our resources, ( which
more scanty pattern than 1 would approve if
1 had my choice), and after about two hours
of hard work and anxious waiting, we, as
uncle Lewis puts it, “fotch him till.”
This morning I sent Sam (with much cau
tion) over to old Dr. Wellford’s, and he came
(cautiously also) and extracted the ball, and
gave me what assistance he could. Tin* bull
passed through the right lung, tearing a
frightful wound. His fever is’ high this
evening a.ul the doctor says the result is very
doubtful. I must manage the best I can with
Mammy and Lewis, for you know the doctor
can’t come often. We have no “loyal” neigh
bors, heaven be praised! so 1 don’t think there
is much danger of our being betrayed, unless
some of the neighbors’ negroes find it out. I
will be as careful as possible. I have left
Mammy with Don while l write, because
Turner Elilridge goes back to camp to-mor
row, and I must send this by him. Do try
and find a “grapevine” and send me word
what is to be done, both in regard to secrecy
and treatment. If I only had a little mor
phine and some ice!
Birdie is well and grows like a brier. Do
write and advise Your perplexed
Ali*
Camp near “Hide and Seek Town,” June 20th
I >kar A LICE:—
The bearer undertakes to deliver this to
you. “by hook or by crook,” (principally
crook), as is our fashion nowadays. Don’s
letter e ime safely and be says lie will In* able
to report for duty early next, month. You
must, pick up wee Birdie and come with fiitn.
It is too unsafe, I cannot allow you ro stay
there any longer; the dangers to which I
knew you were exposed during the past the e
months have unfitted me for duty. Dr. Grey
is stationed here and Miss Elsie is with him.
They have rented a cottage near the hospital
and they promise me a room for you, and
both are very desirous that you should come.
When we are ordered off you and Miss Elsie
will be of great assistance as well as protec
tion to each other. 1 must leave the plan of
travel to your ingenuity and Don’s, but I
think you can accomplish it. Don is a trump
anil a gentleman, core through: trust every
thing to him. lv ss Birdie, uml come as soon
as you can to Your
Archie.
How this long and perilous journey was ac
complished with many adventures “by fl ol
and field,” and many scenes both comic and
tragic, can only be imagined by those who
struggle 1 for life through the “hot sixties,
away down in Dixie.”
CHARTER XIII.
“the valley of the SHADOW ”
i throbbing brain,
racki ig pa!a,
All is
The letter was sealed and addressed to I)r.
Archie Melville. As Alice laid it down mam
my opened the door.
“For the Lord’s sake. Miss Alice! Mas’
Don dime gone ’stracted anil we'll ali be
killed.”
Alice rose quickly and went out, crossing
the gallery towards the chamber where her
wounded guest lay. A young mulatto girl,
blanched almost white with fear, and two
stout men, were standing near the door. The
girl caught her arm and attempted to draw
her back.
“Rlease Miss Alice, don't go in dar—he'll
kill you. He's been up and gut your pistol
outen de drawer (maybe you lef”it in de little
table drawer by de bed),,‘an’ he call me, an’ 1
went in an’ he pinted it right at me, an’ cuss
me an’ swore he’d kill me."
Alice looked at the trembling trio.
“Henry, have you been in ?”
Tlie boy looked confused, and the girl
spoke:
“No, no—dat he ain’t! I can’t let him go
in dar, to git shot.”
“For shame, Ann! I didn’t believe I had
sueli a set of cowards about me.”
She wrenched her arm out of the girl’s
grasp, opened the door, went in and closed it,
before she fully realized her danger. Don
Campbell lay on the bed opposite tlie door, a
powerful athletic man with a murderous
frenzy in his glaring eyes, and the fire of
lelirium seething in his veins. In his right
hand he held the pistol that Alice had left in
the drawer of a small table beside the bed.
How well she knew the little weapon with
its delicate hair trigger; and the thought
Hashed over her -“If he aims it at me, even
the shaking of his arm may fire it.”
He raised himself from the pillow, support
ed himself on his left arm, raised the right
and pointed the pistol at her forehead, his
teeth clenched together, and his eyes glaring
with a madman’s fury.
“Back! you hell hounds! back! I tell you
I will go to to her. Back, Isay! The first
one of you that moves an inch farther is a
dead man!”
What was to be done ? There was only the
breadth of a room between them, and she
knew if she turned he would fire. There was
short space for thought. She moved a step
towards him, caught his eye, and held it
steadily without flinching. " As she walked
slowly towards the bed she spoke in a firm,
steady tone:
“Dob, put that pistol down! It is Alice
that speaks to you. ”
The color began to fade fiom his cheek, the
eyes lost their demoniac glare and grew dim
and filmy, his hand trembled and fell, drop
ping the pistol. It struck the side of the lied
and fell on the floor, and as she laid her little
hand on his sinewy shoulder, the furious
maniac cowered, whimpered and fell prone
upon the pillow, sobbing like a child.
She picked up the pistol, went into the ad
joining room, laid it in a wardrobe closet
locked the door and put the key in her
pocket.
When she came back, he started up again
his eyes glaring as before; but she had no
■r! th"
ireliing flame and tli
Ami the tortured spirit's m'.air.
But on Du* river dentil I glide.
Over its darkly rushi* g tide,
On to the silent land 1 ride
A lone.
Alice sat upon the Avar of a little white-
curtained chamber in the cottage at “Hide-
aml-Seek Town.” Her soft, round cheeks
were as rosy as the ‘sunny side of a peach,”
her blue eyes danced with mirth and her
short, boyish curls were tumbled about in
beautiful confusion, as she joined with baby
Laura in a “splendid game of romps:’’ Elsie
came in from her hospital rounds and sat
down, looking pale and weary.
“Alice, an old friend of yours is lying
very ill in the hospital. He has but a few
days to live, and is very anxious to see you.
If you will go with me to-morrow it will
give him great pleasure.”
Alice looked up in surprise. “A friend of
mine? Who?”
“An old and I judge a very dear friend,
Morgan Fontenelle.”
Tim round, rosy cheeks grew white and the
words came in a whisper: “What is it? a
‘ ao, it is a case of consumption—hered
itary I think, but the exciting cause was
lung-continued exposure in the trenches last
winter. It began in March with a severe
hemorrhage from the lungs. Now he Is al
most a shadow. He has but a very few days
to live. When he was brought here, about
the first of May, he handed me a sniali
clasped table and asked me to put it on the
littik* table by his bed, and not allow any one
to move it. To-day, in arranging the table 1
took it up and opened it. To my surprise 1
found your name on the fly leaf I asked
him if you were a f riend. ‘More—far more ’
he answered; ‘she is the only woman I ever
loved. And when l told him you were with
me and 1 would bring you to see him, the
smile that broke over his face was like bril
liant sunshine.”
The little figure sat white and still upon the
floor; only a low whisper came:
es, we will go to-morrow.”
A wan and wasted shadow of what was
once the gay and gallant Morgan Fontenelle
lay upon the hospital bed. ()ne cheek was
leadly pale, the other dyed with a deep
scarlet flush, and a wasting fire burned in the
large grey eyes.
A itee sat down beside the bed and laid her
little hands on his. Ik looked up—the white
pinched face was irradiated wiLh a light like
sunshine breaking over a still pool lying in
shadow. He clasped the hands feebly, and
tears stood in the tender grey eyes. He only
said softly : “At last!” as he closed the tear-
I11I eyes with a snule of measureless eonten’
She sat beside him all day. They talked but
little, for he was already entering the vallev
of shadows, and the grey mist of its twilight
was closing around him. Only once lie
alluded to the old, dead (lays:
“Alice,” he said in a broken whisper “I
wrote you once that I had burned your’ let-
t*rs-. I deceived you. I kept a few—only-
half a dozen—I could not give upall I know
it was wrong—but—may I keep them’”
“Yes Morgan.”
That was all.
She left him at dusk with a promise to re
turn early ill th<> morning. Elsie sent an old
and trusted servant of her own to watch with
him through the night. I11 the grey of the
dawn she returned and yvent into Flsie's
room. s
“He done gone Miss Elsie-Mas’ Fontenelle
—died bout two hours ago.”
“Did he suffer much, Hunt Lina”’
“No, none ’tall to speak of—jes went fcn
sleep at de las’. Was drowsy all night an’
slep in snatches and didn’t- seem jes at him
se f when he waked up. Talked queer ke
1 d neber heard linn talk afore. SW* it was
de death stroke on him made him go back in
his nun’ to ole times. Didn’t kn"w„m „
of the time call me Alice a“
sweetheart names, an’ talk lines of „ 0 ’ r ..
like hv mus it c.imp-meetiu\ on’y ? twas -ill
bout sweethearts an’ not ’bout UodT An* call
an’ de tide, like he thought he was wid 1,1
body on de sea shore, f,ul hehadhur^W
some way and was sorry an ,l wild like ‘ 1
somehow couldn’t make it right RnV Ut
before de end come he open his eyes ,, . n f
me and say. “Yes, aunt LinaW all
I m groin now.” TW . 1 n £ht;
m goin 7 now.” Den he feel j 1A r \&kt;
for something but was too C k t1 e « P ' U ° W
an I look an’ git it, an’ it wI!rtlrtu M ,t -
ob letters and he ask me to give eil"to M f ‘ e
** an, .}, ask her " hen dev dress ffimf
coffin, will she put dem in "de bres’ dXw m
his coat herself, and nut de bil.u i ^ ^ °h
when dey fob fern on
him, an’ den he sav ■ “Thank vmi 1 fl mise
in dat sweet, nice way oh his'n aiGmV' 1 ' 1 ®’”
awhile, an’ den open his eves nn’ <• le
ban, an’ I take it'in rnffilfaXhe
em all good by, mammy ’ an’ den’h T e
’em again anu jes go ’wiv 1L-Jv * he sh ut
sleep.” J K w,ly ,lke he gone to
They stood beside the open
and Elsie, Archie, Don an,/The fX-tor t*'™
the only mourners; and not a d™ 7i r,>
blood ran in the veins of either d £ '° f h hls
service was read, and Don and a , short
up the spades and threw the firsWrth 6 ‘ 00k
the coffin lid. Alice stood ,.n,.i!T.i u P°n
arms, white and tearEXXaw‘* ^BUtoVi
eyes and bewildered s-nsfs' whiliTVh T‘ ld
men who loved her best l.i,..' i v thB two
Morgan Fontenelg outot &l£h" hat
JdTri^ uTX V‘ Ulte i «-d,
" V [Tb barontinued!]' 0 ltseterna *