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THE STUSnSTT SOUTH;
A BROKEN LINK;
OR,
Strange Man of Carreg-Cennin.
BY EMMA. KIRKLAND,
Author of “Strmtliiuore liiamoMh” and “A Fair Eurasian.’*
CHAPTER X X.
ters and a roll of manuscript written closely l n
—hi .. „ „ .. . | a neat, graceful hand. This he read and stud-
Why will you cllne to him when you know led . Ou the third page he marked out a pas-
it i.« sage, sayine: “Very true, but you do not think
“ On the sixth he erased another, say
that he despises you? What insult have you
not taken from him? You were not married a
week before he began Ins reproaches; as If you
could help being beaiilitul or hide it from ineu.
lie has denounced, deserted, disowned you, and
your child. Still you say you are his wife. You
are uot ; time has separated you. You are tree
to be my wife: My wife before all the world! f
am not ashamed of you. I offered you au hon
orable love in the beginning. He became your
slavish adorer in seetniug. and you tossed my
love aside as if It were a trifle. The honest love
of a man is never a trifle. 1 have loved you all
these years; even when you were his wife. I
could not help it. I did not fry, for I knew it
was useless. I did not tell you so because I
knew that you were too good and pure to listen
to me; but since he deserted you. Mary, my
love, I have looked forward to this time, when I
can offer you a man’s whole heart, tue devotion
of a life, and a home that a princess would not
disdain. I will take you right there in the
Athens of the South as my wife. You shall be
honored, revered, where you were only pitied
before. My kin must receive you, for 1 ..m my
own masiei, not dependent upon the will of a
crauky grandfather or father either. Do you
know that he lias followed that girl to Europe?
They cau marry there; the scandal will never
reach them.”
“They will not. I.ouise Carne is too proud to
make such a sacrifice of herself, I know the
girl better than you do. She will never speak
to him again unless circumstances force her to.
I have no faitn in him, but I have Implicit trust
in her. if she is so unfortunate as to be unable
to forget him, she will not tolerate another word
of devotion from him. She is not like the weak
woman you say you love ”
“Do you love him, Mary, after all you have
suffered? The villain! tue wretch! how cau
you?”
“1 think there must be sometliiog similar in
our characters, Mr. Spencer. You say you loved
me when you should uot, now I love my hus
band when I should not. You say you could not
help It; neither cau I.”
She was sorry she said the useless words;
why hurt liim? He had been her friend. “I am
glad,” she continued, “that you did not tell me
of your love when it would have been a crime
for me to hear it. It would have severed our
friendship aud that Is very dear to me, but 1 can
never love you Mr. Spencer,” seeing a gleam of
hope lu his covetous eyes. “I wisn I had loved
you at first. I think 1 would, bad he not have
crossed my path.” .
“Then you can yet. Love me only a little,
only enough to promise more at the altar, and I
will so feed the tiny flame that it must grow.
Here in your narrowed life, with no pleasures
to think of but those of the past, It is impossible
for you to forget and be happy. Among new
scenes, a different people, in a higher sphere of
life Ilian you have ever occupied, with the man
ifold pleasures of wealth open to you, you will
gradually forget that you ever loved another,
and I will be patient until you do. I will never
complain, for I know the power of the man. He
fascinates men as well as women. On 1 my
darling, X will take you without any love, hop
ing to win it, and if I fall to make you love me,
I shall blame myself, not yon. I have loved
you so long, aud you have been my only love. I
Lave not been basking ln the smiles of another,
as he Is now doing. I have been waiting with
hungry heart for this night, and now you are
like an iceberg—so cold, so unkind I”
He had been kind to her; had seemed a friend,
and now. In her pity, she extended a hand to
him, half unconscious of the act, only wishing
to convince him that she was not cold for lack
of trust, that she did not mean to be unkind.
He seized it and kissed it with such passionate
fervor that she became alarmed aud attempted
to withdraw it, but it was her first condescen
sion, and he could not let it go. Holding it soft
ly but firmly, lie fixed his enraptured gaze unon
her beautiful face aud continued his impassion
ed pleading: “Y’ou ought to feel for me. for you
■ - oonelosslv. t will devote
so now.
lug: “A very just suspicion, but I nave wiped
that out by peisisteut. friendship.” To the next
page he devoted a careful second perusal, then
swept his peneil over it In circles with a smile of
satisfaction. He ran it through a passage on
the ninth page, saying thoughtfully: “And
that tools obliterated by my waiting ibis long,
long time.” A sentence on the last page seem
ed to aunoy him. He frowned as fie read, *‘I
may be wronging Mr. Hpeucer, but I cannot
help it; I cau never trust him entirely, though
he loves my child, and has never said aught to
me that lie should not say to anothers wife.”
He laid the manuscript in the grate aud smil
ed to see the flames destroy it. ‘ Louise, the
proud and beautiful should have been more
careful,” he said, as he read on the charred re
mains of the first page. “A Story of My I.ife,
to Louise.” He stirrul the cinders (o destroy
the letters of fire, and then relired to rest but
not to sleep, until there crept into his windows
the early dawn of a bright, glad day.
CHAPTER XX.
“My Laird Is not in, sir.”
“I bade you carry It to your lady. J know
that your lord Is abseut.”
The obsequious Harry bowed himself ont,
bearing the bit of pasteboard upon which the
name, \V. B. Amugton, was traced in gold-
script. His footsteps were heard dying away
in the distance. A delay of ten minutes and
they were heard returning over the stone floors
of the long balls.
“My lady is not well and hopes you will wait
nntil my lord returns,” was the message sent
“Tell her that I must see her; that I will not
leave the castle until l do; that I called special
ly to see her, not her husband.”
Again the retreating footsteps and a more
rapid return. , ,
“My lady entreats you to excuse her. She is
not well enough !o see a gentleman,” was the
second message delivered with evident satisfac
tion.
Arrington took a note-book from his pocket
and hastily wrote, “If you value your uus-
bauQ’s good name you will see me. If you can
not see me to-day, I shall take him to Cardiff in
band-cuffs tomorrow.” Folding and directing
it to Mrs. Alice Carne, he delivered it to the
footman, who stared at him as he vanished
through the great door again.
“What does it mean?” whispered Clefa Deane
as she took the note from his hands and ran her
eyes over the address.
“It means that he Is an upstart of an Ameri
can. Don’t you remember him? My lady Is
handsome. She’d be as pretty as Cleta Deane if
ber bair was not red,” with a significant wink
and smile.
“Be you moanin’ any imperdence, zur? I’ll
tell my lady.” said Clefa, with forbidding frown.
“Do, and i’ll tell my lord who meets Clefa in
a certain place,” with a leer. “Go long now,
aud quit your staring. If you can’t read En
glish no belter than you speak it, you will never
make It out.”
She walked down the ball twenty steps or
more, and knocked at the door of the suite
of rooms occupied by the lady of St. Donat’s.
The permission to enter was ln tones that be
trayed unusual emotion to Clefa. The girl
dreaded giving the little note to ber mistress.
The little hand reached out for it trembled visi
bly, aud my lady’s white face became ashen In
hue as she read the address and tne contents.
“I will see Mr. Arrington,” she said faintly.
Clefa left tde room to deliver the message to
Harry, who made a grimace at her indignant
face, usually so placid aud pretty. When she
returned her lady was draining a glass of strong
wine.
“Make me look as well as you can, Clefa,”
she said excitedly, seating herself b ifore a mir
ror.
mv fife to your happiness, if you can come to
me when these golden braids*Jfe silvery white
nn<i smv ‘Mv husband I love you at last, I shall
™teem mvaelt a happy man. 1 will not com-
lil'iin of the time you did not love. You are
good and pure, and this purity will help to put
that nieless love out oi your heart when you
are once nt wlfe It the struggle Is hard and I
“ee t Tw ill not upbraid you. Duly be my w.fe,
my loved and honored wife, the queen of my
beautiful home atid the pride of my life?
She was tempted. This love was real; no one
hard ‘'she'was^tiwdl^'HMaemeets^tbatghUm
mafit iiftbe gay halls of the high social world In
wh'cb she moves, he will tell her that you were
basely untrue to him; that he found your beau-
tvyouronly merit; that the sleeping child there
is not his; he will tell her any tiling to win her,
because he loves her unscrupulously, and she
will believe him because she loves him foolisb-
W as you do. Proud? Yes, she is very proud,
but bride must succumb to love. Love is a coti-
HueL.r a might v one. It IS useless to resist his
s'way whm. we know, or feel, or believe that
the loved one is worthy. Mary, you must be my
was the honest reply.
There were traces of temper 1c TL> ,ace the
mirror reflected, but it was far from being un
lovely, though colorless, save a purplish, piuk
tinge In the lips. TUe hair which Clefa careful
ly glossed and braided was a rich dark red.
The contracted brows and the heavy eyelashes
were the same. The eyes were violet in hue
and tell-tale ln character. Tney Dow revealed
a great deal of auger and no little distress. Clefa
haviug finished the hair by pinning tbe smooth
massive braids close to the small shapely head,
laid out a dark velvet robe aud gems.
“I do uot want that,” sharply.
“What then, my letidy? You lookit best in it.”
“I do not care to look stately or proud,”
stamping her foot and making an impatient
gesture with Doth hands. “Can you not uuder-
derstand? He has come on unpleasant busi
ness aud I must win his leniency, I must induce
him to be merciful. Make me look lovely, if you
can,” impatiently.
•‘It be very easy, my leddy,” said the patient
girl with a smile, selecting a sneeny fabric
richly garnitured with costly lace, with which
to robe her mistress. This done she threw -
ing weight, Arrington began to fear that they
would not examine the whole building before
the lord’s return. The sun was setting when he
turned the key In tne door of tbe dungeon. It
grated in the lock as if it had not been used for
many days. He paused to look at his compan
ion before opening it. Her face, grey and weird
In tbe dim light, betrayed a horrible fear that
there might be something found in the dark,
dark, dismal gloom to condemn tbe mail whose
name she bore. Arrington threw open the
heavy door and she started back as if she had
seen a thing as horrible as ber fears. She strug
gled to free herself when he stepped upon the
threshold. He passed his arm about her aud
drew her in,gently but firmly, saying:
“Do not be afraid. I am not such a barbari
an as 1o lock you in.”
He lighted a taper and examined every part
of the close room, passing round the dripping
walls and crossing it in every direction. There
was slime and vermin, but no remains of a hu
man form or prisoner, save the creeping things
tha< slipped away before Hie light.
“Were you ever here before?” asked Arring
ton.
No; I came to tbe door but could not come
in,” replied the lady, who still clung to his arm
in deadly fear.
That he might close the heavy door, which
jarred and grated on Its rusty hinges, he was
compelled to disengage her hold on his arm.
As sue stood alone peering about her into the
thick, damp atmosphere, a sudden thought tu
tored his Di.fil'd mind and he pulled the door
nearly too, only leaving space tor Ills form be
tween her and the light. She rushed to him cry-
lug frantically:
“For God’s sake do not leave me In this hor
rible place! O, Mr. Arrington, would you
blacken your soul with a lie?”
“Be quiet, or I’ll push you in and close the
door on you. They may find you to-night, or
they may find you afier you have starved to
death. Now answer me truthfully. Do not try
to defend or protect your husband. 1 know him
of old, and I know that he has uot been true to
you; why should you be to bim? Do uot let him
drag you down t» dishonor. Tell the truth and
save yourself. What has he done with young
Came?”
“I do not know—I ”
“No evasion, woman; he has caused me to
wrong one woman, and liislnmy power to make
restitution to one by finding young Carne. 1
may wiu her to my arms again if 1 find mm. Do
you think, then, that I will let trifles stand in
my way? Have you heard of your fair cousin,
Louise Carne?”
A strange expression crossed her white, set
face. Ho could not even guess at its mean
ing.
“She is fairer than ” He stepped close to
her shaking form aud whispered a name in
her ear. She looked at him Imploringly. “Do
you think now that 1 will let miles stand In my
way? ’ he coutiDued, pressing her back into the
darkness.
“Sir, do you call it a trifle to shut a woman in
this horrid place to die?”
“We estimate things by comparison. It Is a
trifle compared with the suffer iug I have en
dured, or the wretchedness of Louise Carne.
She is dyiug of grief and remorse, because she
luduccd her brother to come to this accursed
country. Whose death should I prefer—yours
% hers? No one saw us come dowu here.
ey will hardly guess where you are until it Is
too late. Will you tell me. madam, where I can
find Donald or Bruce M< Donald?”
“1 know nothing of Donald, but I know that
Clefa sees Bruce occasionally, beyond the limits
of the castle. You know why be is afraid to
come to the castle?” clinging to him and glanc
ing back Into the shadows, which assumed fan
tastic shapes in the thick atmosphere.
“Madam, when young Carne left the castle
with your husband, you cautioned him, bade
him lake care of himself. Wuy did you do this?
Did you know that your husband bated him?
Did you suspect treachery? Yes, or no!” push
ing ber from bim aud drawing tbe door towards
tli0 lock.
“Yes! ’ she screamed, forcing her delicate
bauds through tbe crevice in such reckless lear
l bat they were cut and torn by the hard stones.
He tbrew the door wide open aud snatched her
out. She was half-mad from fear.
“There,” said he, in the soothing tone we use
when calming a frightened child, “it is all over
now, and you are safe, perftctly safe. No one
shall know what you have told me. if 1 cannot
make use of It myself, it shall uever be used at
all. It was like a good wife to try to save him
by concealment, but you could uot do It aud
save yourself. He does not deserve such de
votion from you. I wonder bow you cau luve
one whom all else bale. It is a sin that he
should have so lovely a wife. The law will free
you aud—
“Sir, have you not been cruel enough?”
“Too cruel, but you would only yield to force.
It pains me exceedingly to puuish you farther
by continuing these investigations. 1 wish 1
knew that your obstinate resistauce was prop
er, wifely loyally, aua not m the least due to a L
! AMENITIES OFTHE ARMIES.
The Amicable Side of the Late
Civil Conflict.
Good-Natured Soldiers fixeliingc
Friendly Offices While on
iicket Duly.
Ludicrous and Tragic Phases of Oat-
post Traffic.
[Murray ln Washington Republic.]
The old veterans doubtless bear ln mind that
in the early days of the war in Virginia, before
the volunteers on either side bad settled down
to their work, so to speak, and gained some ex
perience ln the realities of warfare, the practice
of firing on pickets commonly obtained, and
many a man lost his life under this unsoldlerly
and murderous system. After the first battle of
Bull Run, the Confederate army under Gen. Joe
Johnston was picketing along the lines in front
of Washington. The vicious system above re'
/erred to was then in full blast, aud not only did
the pickets, when tbe opposing lines were es_
tablished witbln rifle range of each other, keep
up a fusiiade whenever a head was shown to
shoot at, but there were scouts on either side
who were accustomed to creep up on the unsus
pecting pickets and shoot them down in the
most barbarous fashion.
The generals got tired finally of this sort of
guerilla warfare and Issued orders to stop it
but tbe troops themselves, as if by tacit agree
ment, recognized the absurdity and barbarity
of this mode of fighting, which did not advance
the interests nor cause of either side. And thus
it came to pass that after the first year of the
war the outer line of videttes, unless advancing
for battle, were accustomed to lounge in full
view of of each other without thinking of firing
a hostile shot.
in fact, long conversations were held, the op
posing troops chaffing each other in a good-na-
bank of the Khappahannoek, immediately at the
point where Burnside’s lower pontoon bridge
was laid. Tbe river here Is two or three hun
dred yards wide, swift and deep up to tbe
banks. Two Federal cavalrymen came down
to tbe opposite bank and shouted to us that
they had lots of coffee and sugar which they
wanted to trade for tobacco. They were
told to come over, as they said they had
a boat. They came across, and after the
trade was completed they started back.
Now the men were dressed in their heavy
overcrals, with capes and high cavalry boots
and spurs. Tbe boat was a small plank scow
and we saw when they came over
that it was leaking badly. They bail
ed It out before the; started on the re
turn trip. When within forty yards of tbe op
posite bank. In spite of tbe frantic efforts of the
men to paddle to shore. It went down under
them, and, dragged down by their weight of
clothing, they sank like plummets of lead lu
full view of their comrades, who were unable to
render the sllgbest assistance, having no other
boat.
It appears, then, that we had some fun in the
armies that were contesting in tbe late war be
tween the States, even though we were bitter
contestants.
beautiful and delightful development is gradu
al ; and to have uo mterval between tbe experi
ence of a cnild and that of a wife is as it a green
bud should burst at once into a wide-open rose,
and so miss Its exquisite, maidenly, half-blown
outlook upon the earth aud into the heavens.
Let girls marry young If they will, but not so
young as to lose the sweetness of gazing quietly
out Into life, through the fresh dews of‘‘maiden
meditation, fancy free.”
Lucy Lakcom.
lured manner. It will be readily understood
that such pleasant interchange of talk was not
observed when the lines were closely drawn up
iu what might be termed a contiuuoiis battle—
for instance, at Yorktown, Spotsylvania Court
House. Petersburg, etc. At those places
IT WAS ALMOST CERTAIN DEATH
for a soldier to expose himself for an Instant
above the iutreuebments, and much of the fir
ing on both sides was done by thrusting ihe ri
fle over the breastworks and quickly withdraw
ing it.
The troops of both armies, I think, had, be
fore the close of the second year of the war, in
spired each other with mutual respect, and on
the occasions for burial oi the dead, as at An-
tletam. Fredericksburg, Second Manassas, etc.,
they were glad to nnet each other and discuss
amicably the features of Ihe battles. It was
particularly observable on such c ccaslons that
the most scrupulous courtesy was exhibited,
aud if battles or campaigns were referred to it
was with the kindliest expressions of recipro
cal respect. The braggart or tbe bully had no
place in sucu a scene. By tbe way, of all tbe
experience of a soldier’s hard lot, to be detailed
to bury tbe dead Is the most disagreeable ex
cept to those ghoulisn natures—and tbey are
found ln every army—who anticipate a harvest
of valuables from riflmg the dead bodies. Even
to this day, sometimes in dreams, I imagine my
self upon tbe field of slain, and I can smell tbe
sickening odor of blood and hear the groans
aud cries of the wounded and dying.
After the first battle of Fredericksburg it was
no uncommon sight to see an ambulance driven
along with the white flag flying and acrompan
ied Dy a detachment of blue-coated soldiers
with shovels and picks to dhiuier the body of
soma officer or soldier who had fallen in that
bloody fight. Frequently tbe widow of tbe dead
man sat ln the ambulance in ber sable weeds,
and, as the funeral cortege passed, tbe Confed
erate soldiers on tbe roadside, to a man, would
lilt their hats in token of respect. You see we
all recognized the valor with which the Feder-
als bad
tnoij
WHEN SHOULDGIBLS MABRY
Are Early or Late Marriages
the Best.
Sire Think what it means, my darliug. Not a i scarl of delicate piuk silk about her shapely
run nine away from friends aqu a secret mar- shoulders. “That give you color. Be not tak-
r are but one here In this metropolis of the ln „ it ofT,” she said, v/itn a smile of admiration,
.ho.,sands to witness it if you wish, with ..y ou |,„,Kit young an’ lovely as the lady who
came to the castle a year ago.”
A spasm of pam coutorted the lady’s delicate
features, depriving them momentarily of their
beautiful regularity. Ouce more lu repose they
were hard aud stern, aud the violet eyes were
burning like blue fires. Thus she entered the
room where Will Arrington awaited her
coming with a feeling of dread. Small
wonder that he flinched as those burning
eyes flashed upon hts face. She merely bowed
on entering. He swept his eyes over her love
liness aud then steadfastly averted them. How
could she know that her resemblance to Louise
weighed m her favor? that Ihe man's heart
smote him for what he was about to say.
“Madam,” he began.
“Why madam, sir?” sharply.
“You wisu me to come directly to the point.
Very well, X will without further delay. The
true heir to this estate has mysteriously disap
peared. My cousin, Maud Arlington, should he
the Lady o£ St. Donat’s. The world knows oi
this disappearance. It also knows that you
were very poor before your husband inveigled
himself into possession ot this noble inhe rit
ance. It is aware of your prlue and of the tact
that the heir could hardly be made way with
without your knowledge or co operation.”
“lirum ii.m1i vou do not mean sta
everv accompaniment hi<» bo ,
cure Then I will take you to mv friends and
Sav ‘Behold my beautiful wife.’ There will be
nrMiiore dark suspicions attached to your name.
This marriage will wipe them all out, for they
know that 1 have known you all along; that I
would not care for you if you were not good aud
^ He waited for a reply, holding tne hand and
triuuirtiv if snftlV tenderly, wtlll liiS HVl'S Oil llCT
beautfiu fac*’ wbfie her love struggled with
^mutation ; her great, suffering, useless love.
a the vines tuat covered the window near
win b they sat She made an effort to withdraw
her baud He tightened his hold upon it say-
inJ- “It is only a bird.” with a smile, “but I
ihoiild not care it the ear of tbe world listened
there 1 am uot ashamed of ^iny love for you. It
‘““if'wiu'ArrIngtoV marties the girl, I will be
y< “Why *pht r in *'that'll"roviso ? Why not say, I
will Devour wife tomorrow, any oay, but let it
S soon mv darling. I have waited so ong!”
“Because—oh! I scarcely know why, Mr.
Silencer I do uot hope to be re-united to him.
Do not think so for nue moment. If he were
married I should then feel free to be your wife.
There is nothing else, I fear, that will teach me,
will force me to forget him. He did not wish to
throw me off? you know that he did uot. He
thnoohrme euiltv and I could not prove myself
mrn ^t before he loved another. She is like
tnm. noW is she not?” gently stroking the dark
curl’s of a beautiful child that lay asleep on the
rU "Yes, ll fn form and feature, but .not iu
Es^eyes feU^upon a little deformed hand,
Save dog *"I would beamRUmL” he continued,
“to Slace her where she belongs by right of her
birth and beauty. Frledentbat, will, of course,
do a father’s part by her iu so far as the wot Id
wfff nermit him. He cannot lift her to Ins level
without detriment to bis good name and youis.
Wake up little one, and plead for ®f c aud y°ur-
.wdf with vour cruel mama. She will not, sacri
fice a worthless love even for you. Wake up,”
Blinking her very gentlv. “and beg mama to do
?ight b5 you and me. Sue is unkind. Plead our
Muse with her, Alice dear. Beg sweetly, now.’’
a TUe child caught some of the words and the
P, ‘^i a ale t0 do!mama,’’ r sh n e d said, then relapsed
* D ‘Q *would *b "best for her, I know,” said the
mother bending over agaiu to caress the
puriq j 0 touch the brow, tbe soft cheek and the
Shimied chto that were so like Will Arrington’s.
He took the caressing hand and imprisoned it
W “I dSuSt ask for your heart, Mary; only for
this hand and the sweet privilege of protecting
vou and her from calumny. You can grant me
that much. It is in your power to do it. You
•• it qppms wrong to give you so little. You
have bleu aTrue, kind friend. Walt. I will be
Sonr wife but I must learn to love you some
before I can take tiie holy vows. 1 love you now
m I friend, but our union would not oe blest
this love in my heart for you.”
will let you know, and you may name tne day
longer?to kiss the lips that promised him
hrnnmnesB but be knew her too well to make a
venture so rash. He could only thank her over
took a
•mall strong box from a trunk, and, uatock-
fS^U, emptied it of its contents-papers, let-
GreatGodl you do not mean ,” stagger
ing towards him and falling at bis teat.
-I mean just what i say, madam; but if you
are innocent you have it iu your power, I hope,
to clear yourseli.” He lifted her from her pros
trate position aud placed her upon a sofa, say
ing: “I am sorry to have this to do, madam;
but I thought it best to give you an opportunity
to clear yourself before making a public accu-
satiou. I: you can prove to me, privately, that
you had nothing to do witb it, l shall not drag
yon into tbe trial. It would give me most ex
quisite pain to have this to do, but ”
“Sir, f swear to you that 1 know nothing of
this Mr. Carne, except that be came here to the
castle, was entertained and went away.” She
shivered and shuddered and wrung her hands
lu au agony of distress. “I could not have
harmed him were 1 a Judas; no one could. He
was gallant aud beautiful and brave, and be
came a favorite on his first day with us. O, sir,
it is possible that he is lost in the sea.”
“And it is highly probable that he is not. We
feel sure of the fact, madam, that we can no
longer delay to ” _
“Wuat cau I do, sir? How can I serve you?”
“Are you sure that young Carne was not
brought back to the castle?”
“Ferfectly sure,” looking as if she did not un
derstand.
“1 am not. Are you accustomed to going
over the castle? Are you acquainted with every
part of It?”
She sat up and attempted to rise to her feet.
“Allow me,” said he, tapping the call-bell. It
was quickly answered by Harry.
“Bring me the keys of the castle,” said the
lady, with an expression of countenance which
Arrington interpreted as relief at being able to
do something to prove her innocence. Tbey
were brought and passed to Arrington.
“How am 1 to know,” said he, “that you will
not have a key turned on me when l step into
the dungeon?” „ ...
“Shall I go with you, sir?” attempting to rise
and dropping back to her seat.
“if you please,” he said sternly, while bis
heart ached for her. He offered his aid and she
accepted it, saying:
“Sir, I have not been over tbe castle since the
day we came here. I do not know——”
••What we may find,” he said, finishing the
sentence for her with a hard smile.
She grasped bis arm with ber other band and
clung to him, trembling, afraid, but anxious to
go ou. There were forty-eight doors to pass
through, long halls to traverse, flights of stairs
to ascend ana descend. Delayed by her cling-
unpleasant task much easier tone assured tuai
so nouoranle and excellent a lady—
“Will you please help me up lue stairs and
then leave me, Mr Arriuglou? My lord has
probably returned from the hunt.”
Tue shock of ihe accusation and fright had
so unnerved her, that sue was compelled to rest
frequently iu the ascent, wnen tney reached
tne lop the sound of a horn flouted in through
tne high windows. It was but a dim light that
sifted down through the shadows, auu he was
loath to leave her there iu her weakened state
so near the d’ingeou aud its horrible associa
tions. “Send Cieta, if you meet her,” she said,
and he hurried away, looking about lnm as he
passed through the mug halls for a glimpse of
the maid. He did not see her, Dut nmt a small
hoy, whom he seat to the lady, giving him a
com to allay bi3 lears wheu the preeiuets ot the
dungeon were named as the locality lu which
he would find her. Fassiug out ot the castle by
its great trout entrance, he heard its loro aud a
party of geuilemeu entering by auother way.
Assured of safety by tue presence of tbe geu-
tleuien, be walked leisurely to his horse, which
he had lelt outside the enclosure. "There Is uo
telliug what a woman will do,” said he, an he
mounted aud rode off, taking tbe read by the
coast. My lady might have changed her miud
alter resimg ou a suaeu couch aud recovering
from her fright. It was genuine, poor thiug,
but Louise suffers that inuuh every aay. So like
her! but uot hall so lair. 1 wonder i had the
Deive to carry out that brutal resolution. What
will uot a uiau do for the love of his hie. Let
me see. Wuat have 1 gained by ll? The tact
that my lady suspects her hubbaud; but we were
almost certain ot tbat beloie. Tue fact that
Bruce McDonald is alive aud visits his Clela
uear the castle. Why did 1 uot make her tell
me when? Also that my lady does uot love her
loid, that she loatus the thought of him; a very
uatural aud agitcable fact. Edad! there is
Clefa now. I wouuer if she knows why Bruce
does not dare to come to me castle, and 11 she
kuew that it was 1 who called on her lady this
evening? Perhaps 1 will see her Bruce sooner
than I expecteo. She must have lelt the castle
suou alter 1 euicrtd ll to have walked this dis
tance. Fernaps my card did not pass through
her hanas. ll not she has hardly ioid him any
thing.”
The girl was hurrying homeward, for It was
late. The stars were sliming aud It was by tbeir
light that he studied her face as he passed her.
He was satisfied that she diu not know mm, and
rode ob, greatly relieveu, following Ihe coast
aud peering over ihe clifls. Coming in sight of
the Nash Cliffs, he could taiutly uisceru a tall,
strong, masculine term ouinued against the
sky. He slopped to watch it aud saw tnat it
peered into me hollows, sometimes kueeling to
uo so, and often looking back over Us shoulder.
“Four fellow,” said he, laughing slightly and
dismounting. Securing his horse he crept cau
tiously towaid the chits. Before he could reacn
them the tall fotm lelt them, went down me
coast a hundred yards or more, aud then de
scended to the Leach through a hollow. Arrin
ton approached tue edge ot me cliffs and looked,
over. A suall boat waB moored just below. He
laid down in tbe grass aud looked for the reap
pearance ot the toi m lrom tbe hollow. Not
many minutes elapsed until It came forth and
walked slowly up me pebbly beach, gaziDg up
at me frowning ironts upon whose summit be
lay. lie waited until it reached ihe boat, then
arose, swung his arms wildt; about his head,
and fell, uttering a blood-curdling cry, which
was echoed and re-echoed by the hollows aud
cliffs. Creeping to the edge again, he saw the
tall figure hastily unfasten the boat from Its
moorings, Jump into ll aud ply the oats as if all
the furies were after him. “Egad! he thinks be
has seen a ghost,” laughing and sighing. “It’s
too bad, but any means to a certain end,” look
ing after the figure that he might guess bow to
fiud it ln daylight. “Towards Newton Cot
tage,” said be, as it disappeared roupd a rugged
out-standing rock. “God grant that I may fol
low without being discovered. Bruce McDon
ald, witbout a doubt. Ou! If I cau only be tbe
beloved brother. God grant it, if it is only to
have her forgiveness. That 1 am sure of, If I
cau only find bim. I omy wronged you, my
peerless love, because 1 loved too well.” How
our lives are entangled in this mysterious web I
Who would have dreamed tbat tbey could be
brought together again by any tangle ot circum
stances. 1 think I shall be permitted to unrav
el tnese Intricately woven tnreads, for I certain-
B hold the strongest in my hands. Bruce Mc-
onaldl the beloved, the favored the pride of
old Donald. My hot-blooded Higlander; the
staff of the old man’s declining years.”
[TO BE CONTINUED.!
“The play’s the thing. .
Wherein I’ll reach the so*-science of the k’ng.
And equally true is it that Dr. Fierce’s “Pleasant
Purgative Pellets” (the original Little Liver
Fills) are the most effectual means that can be
need to reach the seat, ot disease, meansing the
bowels and system, and assisting nature in her
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EUOV-N'NC wova-.,- ^
A.^fytry inch of ground was
swept by the fire of our batteries.
Here is what 1 wrote some years ago about
tbe subject of this article, and it is a true expo
sition oi the deportment of the men on the op
posing lines when tbe exigencies ot the war en
abled them to come together in friendly confer
ence:
But there is a bright side to every prospect if
we only look for it long enough. Oftentimes,
when no truce was existing. Ihe solaiers on the
picket lines made oDe for themselves without
saying “by your leave” to tbeir < fficers. Picket
duty Is monotonous work at tbe best, and a lit
tle conversation and interchange of news not
contraband with tbeir opponents was a welcome
relief to both the blue and the gray; but better
tliau all this was the interchange of commodi
ties which the one possessed and tbe other did
not. Now. the Yanks were well supplied with
the best of coffee and sugar, while the Johnnies
were famine struck for the same; but the latter
were well furnished with the best of tobacco,
and the former were famine struck for the
same. Here was a Rood chance for an equita
ble "swap.” One man from each company on
tbe picket line would lay down his rifle, gather
up his own aud his comrade’s commodities in
au oil-cloth blanket, and shouldering it, ad
vance midway to meet his obliging opponent.
Here the trade proceeded rapidly—a pint cup
of coffee aud one of sugar for a plug of tobacco
—ana as soon as the blankets had changed con
tents the messengers would cordially shake
bauds and march back to their expectant com
rades, who had watched the proceedings with
mouths watering. But It was not only on laud
the pickets met; rivers could not keep them
apart. Next iu importance to the coffee, sugar
and tobacco trade came the aesire to read the
opposing newspapers, and
ALMOST ANY BISK WAS RUN
to make a trade therein, although it must be
said to the credit of ihe men that they always
cut from the columns any paragraph that might
give information as to the movements or proba
ble movements of troops. Either side would
have felt contempt for a man who gave intorm-
atUn hurtiul to his army, and a deserter was
heartily despised.
When our command was iu front of Washing
ton, aud the vicious system of picket firing had
been put an end to, as 1 have above stated, 1
frequently met on the oulposts many of my col
lege mates tronr Georgetown University, w'ho
were iu the Umon ranks. They used to twit me
lor deserting my “unionism,” for I used to wear
the red, white, and blue cockade while at col
lege, but 1 got even with them one evening
when a section of my ccmpany gobbled up a
whole line oi Federal pickeis. That was ou the
occasion wheu General McClellan held a grand
review of bis troops beyond Arlington Heights,
and I presume the forward movement we made
was intended by General Johnston to ascertain
whether General McClellan was preparing an
immediate onset ou our lines. At any ratel can
say It now, although It was absolute neglect of
duty, as sargeant of tbe guard who bad charge
ot the prisoners the same night, I winked at the
escape of my old schoolmates, and perhaps
some of them now livit g ln the city recollect tne
matter well. When 1 uad become more sea
soned and disciplined in warfare they would not
have escaptd so easily. Then 1 would have
held my own father, if he had been opposed to
our cause.
A funny incident tbat I recollect—as incident
to tbe topic herein talked of—occurred on the
Randolph river in 18G3, when tbe armies of tne
Potomac and of northern Viiginia were face to
face. At tbat time, having lull confidence ln
the strategy of General Lee, we believed that
we would finally win Ihe fight. And that was
ln spite of tbe fact that
RATIONS WERE GETTING AWFULLY LOW.
But the pickets on either side of the river
tbongbt there was a dearth on the one side of
tobacco, and on the other side of coffee, and In
spite of official ordeis they determined to ex
change commodities. Strict orders bad been
issued by the Confederate generals against any
intercourse between tbe opposite armies, and
in a measure the edict was properly regarded.
But It happened tbat a young leliow belonging
to a Federal regiment, stripped off his
clothes and swam across the ltapidan
to exchange with the rebels on the next Dank.
He had pretty nearly gotten through with his
• dicker” when tbe brigadier-general of the Con
federates came along, and tbe Yank hid be
hind a clump of bushes. The general knew
his men and their practices, aud, forcing bis
horse behind tbe bushes, he discovered the dis
comforted Federal. The Confederate general
agreed to release the illicit trader on condition
tbat he would “do so no more.” But apart from
tbat, there are tragic circumstances brought
to my mind. I have seen many episodes ln the
war between ihe States, but 1 have never seen
one that enlisted my sympathies more than the
incident 1 will attempt herein to describe:
On a cold day in the latter part of December,
1862, the wtiter’s company was picketing on the
The Opinions of Some Loading Ladies
My reply to the important question, “Wuen
shall our young people marry?” is from twenty
three to twenty five, as few girls are ready for
the duties of married life before then, either
physically or mentally. Many are never fit, ow
Ing to the serious defects in our modern educa
tion and inherited Ills
When shall our young men marry?” i3 a still
more important question, to my miud, because
the sius of the fathers visited upon the children
are too often tbe cause of tbe feebleness which
is usually attributed to the mothers. When
youug people are wisely prepared for marriage,
and taught its sanctity, It will cease to be the
leap in the dark it now is to both parties, and
the beauty aud vigor of youth will make it what
it should be—safe and happy. As teacher,
nurse, author, and confidante to young and old,
1 have had many opportunities of looking be
hind tiie curtain, and am convinced that books
on the health of our boys are much more needed
than any additions to ibe library of advice our
poor girls aresupplied with. Begin at tbe right
end, gentlemen, aud do uot visit upou Eve's
daughters the sius of Adam’s sous, makiug it
unsafe to marry at all.
Louisa M. Alcott.
I am old-fashioned enough to believe tbat mar
riage, provided it be based ou pure, st roug a flec
tion, is better for a woman, even under tlie
worst circumstances, than a single life under
the best; and I think, therefore, that the time
for a girl to marry la when she meets a man who
heartily loves her and whom she heartily loves,
If sbe is old enough to be a helpmeet to him, ana
not a dead-weight.
Rebecca Harding Davis.
As to any particular age, it seems to me tbat
a young woman of twenty must have seen
enough of tbe social atmosphere in which sl:e
lives to be able to discriminate wisely, and if
she will only let ber tastes and inclinations be
measurably guided by parents or guardians wbo
are disinterested, she will not be likely to make
any serious mistake. Yet, at an earlier period
than twenty, total inexperience of the world
makes any choice dangerous.
Madeleine Vinton Daiilgren.
I do not believe in early marriages. The
most suitable age seems to me from twenty five
to thirty years. The grave responsibilities
wblcb attacb to tbe marriage relation require
enough of age to enable one to discriminate and
judge of tue character ot a possible married
partner, and also to rear and guide children
wisely. There are, of course, many cases where
earlier maturity warrants earlier marriage.
But tbe divorces which come from the want of
age to give ability to judge of character, aud the
death rate air.oug children of intxperiencea
mothers, are • qfsrmsr signals,” wuin_ ; against
the losses “
If one must generalize as to whether early or
late marriages are preferable, I should certain
ly say that more girls are capable of a wise
choice at twenty-five than at twenty; and tbat
nine-tenths of our girls would doubtless be
happier should tbey wait until the maturer pe
riod. Two considerations would Influence me
to a preference for a marriage late rather than
early. In the first place Is tbe certainty that a
girl of any brains would know a great deal bet
ter what she really needed by way of compan
ionship through life at twenty-five than she
could possiblv know at twenty. In the second
place, I would fain secure to girls the natural,
healthful delights of girlhood; that rime when
the bud has uot quite opened to the sun, and
hold at heart the morning’s freshness. •
In the two very happiest marriages I can just
call to miud. one wife married at tne age of
twenty-eight, Ihe other at that of thirty. And
these marriages seem to be ideally perfect.
Quiet, unauibitous country folk, iu districts
remote from innovation, may marry at a very
early age wub safety. At the other extreme of
tne social scale, also, early marriages seem
reasonable aud desirable. Wiieu people have
been born into an atmosphere of luxury and
cull tire, when both parties to the marriage con
tract have inherited the traditions of gentle
breeding, neitln-r is likely to shock or outgrow
the other as time goes on.
I he terrible danger is m tbe early marriage
of people lu a transition state, wheu, before the
wings have sprung Corn the shoulders of Pega
sus, be may be matedali unknowingly with tbe
plodding plow-horse. Unshared aspirations,
unshared tastes, unshared acquisitions—these
are fatal to conjugal hanniness. 1 know, for
instance, a man m High official position, educat
ed larg-ly by contact wirn tbe world, by the
every day’s experiences, whose pretty, empty-
headed wife must shock him by her very accent
every time she opens her lips. He does his
duty manfully, this man—bur. does any one
suppose he would uot be happier with a differ
ent wife?
I kuow women, also, of keen intellect and
of both scholarly aud social culture, who are
married to men whom time has uot improved
nor enlarged—women who think their own
thoughts and live their own solitary lives in a
world of which the man, whom they married
before they knew themselves or their own
needs, does not even know the language. Short
of crime, I think the world holds nothing sad
der or more tragic than such uneq jal mating.
Loutse Chandler Moulton.
—Brooklyn Magazine.
Trnly, we live in the days of Aladdin. Six
weeks after the ground was broken in Sec
retary Whitney’s garden in Washington for
hi* ball-room, the company assembled iu
a magnificent appartment with Hated gold
ceiling and crimson brocade bangings,
bronzes, statnes, and Dresden candlestioks,
and a large wooden fire at one end, in whioh
logs six feet long were burning—all looks as
if it were part of an old baronial castle ot
the Midle Ages.
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thirty, aud noVaiaha before Iweniy-five. Tne
girl who has dremfnj.l of lovers since she could
walk alone, anC who marries at seventeen or
eighteen, has bud uo discipline to form charac
ter, or make her in the faintest degree ready for
the ordeal of marriage. It is true that experi
ence may come, and marriage teach self control,
forbearance, patience, aud all tbe virtues that
are the foundation ot real living. But this is
seldom the fact. Illusion euds quickly, and no
deep reality is there to take its place.
Helen Camdhell.
Circumstances alter cases.” Maturity is a
matter of temperament and condition rather
than of years. One glri is older at twenty, or
even at eighteen—that is, wiser, more patient,
aud with more of the “sweet reasonableness”
that will fit her to rule a little kingdom well and
wisely—than auother at thirty. One 11 >wer
blossoms iu May, another in August. Straw
berries ripen in June, aud pears iu September.
Probably, as a ruie, between twenty and twen
ty-live is the best age for a girl's marriage. But
tnere cau be uo positive statements as to sucu a
matter. Julia C. K. Dorr.
There are many reasons why marriage of girls
from eighteen to twenty-one would seem to
promise the happiest union, always provided
that true love was the foundation, aud the right
one made his appearance in due season, and
was uot himself much older. Tue first year of
married life will, ot necessity, bo the most try
ing, because tbe husband aud wife are learning
to know and understand each other, aud if
young and truly loving will be quick to avoid
collision. But alter twenty-five years of unre
strained freedom this cannot be so easy. Tue
will is hardened, has become more resolute and
unyielding ou both sides. Uaoits are termed
which are quite independent of the wishes and
comfort of a second party. Those who delay
marriage until their habits become too lirm'.y
fixed to yield kindly to another’s wishes or pe
culiarities, have not so sure a prospect ot a
pleasant aud harmonious liie. But all must, in
this matter, be a law unto tber.iselves. Wheth
er married early or late in life, each should
strive, iu all gentleness, to bear one another’s
burdens audsoimfill tbe law of Christ.
Eunice White Beecher.
Without favoring very late marriages, I re
gard immature marriages as a Iruulul source of
unhappiness. Circumstances being equal, uo
girl should marry until she is fully mature in
Body and mind, with tastes sufficiently termed
to enable ber to make an intelligent choice of
the companion of her future life. Furthermore,
it is desirable that before marriage sbe Simula
have au opportunity to see something of the
world aud to partake ot the amusemeuts of her
age, that she may not afterward be pursued with
regret for having been defrauded of the eujoy-
ment of her youro. To fix a precise limit ol age
is impossible ln a case wuich varies wilh each
individual. Mary L. Booth.
The old adage, “Marry in haste, and repent
at leisure,” reserves ils keenest barbs for
many of those who have embarked early aud
thoughtlessly upon the voyage matrimonial
“What does a girl of eighteen know ol uerself,
or of the man she marries?” is often bitterly
asked by the young wife before ten years or five
vears or fewer even, have passed over her pre
maturely sobered brow, her unnaturally bur
dened heart and brain. The young husband
mav find that he, too, has made a pitiable mis
take but the weight ol domestic trial usually
falls most heavily upon the wife.
Tbat early marriages are sometimes the bap-
Diest, everybody must acknowledge. Into suen
unions tD© cl0m0Dt of tli© roimmtic ©nt©rs, hda
what are love and marriage without romance?
Youth and love beloDg together, like June aud
roses • it Is as useless as unwise to try aud k eep
them aDart. Still a little wisdom ought always
to be mingled with romantic love, ln order to
prevent its effervescence from settling down too
soon Into dull insipidity.
There is so much to he le&rned Id these ojiys
before a girl can feel herself established in an
intelligent womanhood, well equipped for the
demands of home and social life, years of prep
aration seem requisite, to say nothing of the en-
lovments of youthful study and observation,
which must usually be foregone with early mar
riage, before sbe can willingly or conscientious
ly assume matronly dignities.
But here again may intrude one of the strong
est arguments for early marriage. If a young
woman thinks too long and observes too close
ly she may find the comparison between ber
own self-reliant lot, with Its duties and its pleas
ures and its freedom, and that of former com
panions whose identity seems now well nigh ex
tinguished in matrimonial absorption, altogeth
er in favor of single life. It will i»t be strange
it sbe makes up ber mind not to marry at all.
But perhaps the strongest argument against
early marriage is that almost no loss can be so
great to a girl as the loss of her girlhood. Every
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For seven years I suffered with a cancer on my
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grew, finally extending into my nose, from
whTCh came a yellow discharge very offensive in
character. It was also intiamed, and annoyed
me a great deal. About eight months ago I was
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Mus. Joicie A. McDonald.
Atlanta, Ha., August 11 1885.
I have had a cancer on my face for some years,
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menced using Swift's Specific iu May, 1885, and
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and restoring my general health. W. Barnes.
Knoxville, Iowa, Sept. 8, 1885.
For many years ! w T as a sufferer with cancer of
the nose, and having been cure i oy the use of
8. S. 8., I feel constrained by a sense of duty to
suffering humanity to mak^ this statement of
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for several months there has been uo appear
ance of a sore of any kind on my nose or face,
neither is my nose at all tender to the touch. I
have taken about two doz n bottles S. 8. 8., and
Kin soundiy cured, and l k? ow that 8. 8- S. ef
fected the cure after every known remedy was
tried and had failed, Robert 8medley.
Fort Gaines, Ha.. May 1,1885.
I had heard of the wonderful cures of Swift’s
Specific, and resolved to try it. I commenced
taking it in April, 1881. My general hedth was
much improved, yet ihe cancer which was in my
breast continued to grow slowly but surely. The
bunch grew and became quite heavy. 1 felt that
I must eitner have it cu or die. But it com
menced discharging quantities of almost black,
thick blood. It continued healing around the
edges until February, when it was entire y heal
ed up and well. Betsy Wood.
Cochesett, Plymouth Co., Mass., July 13,1885,
Swift’s Specific is entirely vegetable, and
seems t«> cure cancers by forcing out the impu
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