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THE SUNNY SOUTH, ATLANTA, GEORGIA, DECEMBER 3,1892.
3
shall start for Altamont to-morrow.
You shall see her early iu the morning
and tell her everything. But to night,
to bed, to bed! my Lady Macbeth.
The day’s drama is over.”
“No. There is oue more act. You
must go straight and telegraph to
Charley’s counsel that Sybil is alive.
That poor prisoner must have relief at
once. Word the message so tluit it
will forestall gossip. Say this: “Sybil
Andrews is alive and well. She is
here with her uncle, St. (’lair Andrews,
who took her away with him to Eng
land. They will come to Altamont at
once. And sign my name to the mes
sage, addressed to Messrs. Hill and
Sandford, Attorneys, 112 Grand St.,
Altamont.”
“I have taken the message down
verbatim, and now let me send you tip
to your room, where I trust you wiii
be rewarded with the sweet sleep
have surely earned.”
you
CHAPTER XXVII.
AT TIIE ELEVENTH HOUR.—AND ALL
IS WELL.
Certainly sweeter sleep never re
warded mortal than that which de-j
scended upon Ruth’s over-wrought-
brain, when, with the breath of pray«-r j
warm on her lips, her head sank on the j
pillow. |
The sun was shining brightly in ai !
sensitive, has committed the fatal error
that she lias, there is no more happi
ness for her in life. The best tiling
she can do is to die. I think Katha
rine lias realized this!”
She looked at him quickly—struck
by the tone of ids voice .
“Yes,” lie said, in answer to her
look, “I have had one of my strange vis
ions ; it may mean nothing; we shall
soon sec.”
The door of the tall tenement house
opened instantIv iu reply to their ring.
A woman stootf just inside.
“It’s you,” she said, as soon as she
saw Ruth, “I seen you yesterday. Mrs.
Chandler said you’d be back at ten
o'clock, and she asked me to open the
door for you. She had a bead-aehe,
and she took somethin’ to case the
pain, and laid down.”
Ruth looked at Andrews; he nod
ded significantly. A nervous tremor
seized her; and she climbed the stairs
with hurried steps. Neither of them
spoke. Katharine’s door was reached
at iast. No answer followed the knock
upon it. Andrews turned the handle,
and the two entered the silent room
Oue look confirmed their fears. On a
small table lay the writteu sheets of
the confession—and on the bed close
to it lay the woman who had traced the
words‘with the bitterness of despair
in her heart. Poor, restless sinful
heart! it was at pence at last. The
shin hands were cLsjred on her breas-;
her window when she was awakened j the livid pallor of death was on her
by a knock on her door ami a voice
saying that her trunk and other belong
ings had come and were outside the
door.' The gentleman had sent thorn
up. It was comforting to be able to
make a fresh toilet; and Ruth was soon
looking as bright and pretty as if
yesterday with all its doubt, danger
aud excitement had b'-en a dream.
Happiness is a great beautifier. The
little Lakewood 4 Sdiool-ma’am” had
never looked l>vc-ierthan when she
opened the door in answ r to the knock
af her uncle— for had not Shirley An
drews been the hu-baud ot her beloved
aunt ?
He was looking pale, and Ruth real
ized with keen sympathy the sadness
that must always be his; the cloud that
bung over him could never be li’ted.
But he smiled cheerfully as he greeted
her and gallantly complimented, her
on her fresh looks.
“I came to take you to Sybil,” he
said. “.She is up and dressed—and
happier than I have seen her in
mouths. 1 have ha 1 a talk with her,
I have confessed 1113' sins against her
and been forgiven. She is Availing
eagerly to see 3*011, and hear 3*011 con
firm all I have told her about Gra
ham’s grief and bis devotion. Queer
thing it is how persistently a woman
will cling to one particular man, when
there are hundreds as goo I or better
whom she 11183* choose among.”
“Loyally is the watchword of ever3*
true woman,” Ruth answered smiling,
as he led her along the richly carpeted
corridor to Sy'bil’a room—not far from
her owu.
A so r t knock, an instant opening of
Ihc door, and 1 lie two girls w» re In
each other’s arms. Shirley Andrews
•tood looking at them, tears rising to
to his eyes; then he softl3* closd the
door and left the cousins to themselves.
Half an hour later, when he came to
take them to breakfast, his heart w::s
thrilled be* the radiant happiness in
Sybil’s beautiful face. She put her
irms around his neck and kissed him
tenderly. “I understand how 3*011 fell;
I don’t blame 3*011 dear,” she said,
and be answered “that is very angelic
In 3*ou my love; I fear I have been a
brute, but it is all right now—or speed
ily going to be.”
When the three descended to the
breakfast room, Ruth saw a flue look
ing stranger scaled at tho table they
were approaching.
“It is St. (J^air. He came from’.Phil-
adelphii on the carl3* train,” said
Sybil’s father, “I have been talking to
him. He is ready to go with 3*011 to
the South this afternoon my dear
Sybil.”
Ruth was introduced to Shirley’s
elder brother, who greatly resembled
him. “Brother,” however, was a word
they could never address each other
by in the presence of others. Ruth
found that Sybil’s father was person
ating bis cousin, who had been killed
accidentally while hunting in the
Rocky mountains—a short time before
Shirley’s reported death by suicide.
The 3*oung man was an orphan, who
had been raised by ids uncle; aud be
bore a sutticient family likeness to liis
cousins to pass for him among the
English friends, who had not seen him
Biuce he was a boy.
Ruth did not linger long at the
breakfast table. She remembered the
appointment she had to see Katharine
at ten o’clock. She ran up to her
room, put on her hat and wrap, and
hurried out as the clock was striking
half past nine. As she stepped upon
the street, she saw Shirley Andrews
standing there, waiting for her.
“You will let me go with 3*ou,” he
said, “The visit may not be a pleasant
one; and j*ou have had disagreeables
fact*. The"chloral had done its work
—it had “eased her pain.”
Ruth gathered up the written sheets
and threw them on the smouldering
coals. The woman’s sin was between
her aud her God. There was no need
now that it should bo con
fessed to m;n. She understood now
wbai Kathaiine hod meant when she
said so impressively: “I will not try to
escape. When 3*011 come you wiii find
the confession and you wid find me.”
Shirley Andrews called up the people
who lived in the rooms across the pas
sage and sent for sm underlakerand a
physician. He made all 1 lie arrange
ments r or the burial that took place the
next day—after the coroner’s verdict—
“Death Ivy* an accidental overdone of
chloral”—bad been rendered. Some
of the poor women iu the tenement
house followed the hearse to the burial
ground in the carriages provided «y
Andrews, oi lierwise he and Ruth would
have l*een tne only ones to see that
“one more unfortunate” laid to rest.
Sybil and her uncle were far on their
journey southward. Before she left,
Sybil went to the hospital to see Claude.
Nothing that Ruth could tell him
seemed to make him feel that the bod3 T
he had helped to lay into the wet earth,
uncollmed, on that awful night w.is not
the body of 111** dead Sybil. All these
months that vision of sickening horror
had tilled bis thoughts. When Ruth
had told him the facts again and again
he still doubted. Not till Sybil came
aud bent over him, looked at him with
her lovel3*, happy C3*es aud kisstd his
hot mouth with her fresh, sweet lips—
not till then did the stone roll away
from the sepulchre of his heart, and the
resurrection of his old self take place.
Clasping the band of liis faithful sister,
lie burst into a fl->od of tears—blessed,
relieving tears—that carried away the
clouds from his poor, bewildered brain
and brought the reaction the doctors
had longed tor.
Thenceforward, his recovery was
rapid. Ruth kept from him the knowl
edge of Katharine’s fate until she
1 bought he could bear it. She told
him Katharine had gone into the coun
try to stay until she was bet fer. And so
she bad, poor soul! She had gone to
the “far country” that yet may be so
near for all we know; aud she had
gone to the Great Physician who has
power to make “better” the creatures
lie himself has formed. Ruth remem
bered that Katharine lmd said: “I will
take my chances with God, rather than
with man, any time.”
In two weeks, Ciaude was well enough
to drive to the depot with Ruth and
Andrews to meet Sybil and her uncle
on their return from the South. They
did not come unaccompanied. Gra
ham was with them, and Sybil was bis
wife, looking so happy and beautiful,
that, when she brought face to face,
the two she loved best on earth, Shir
ley Andrew’s cynicism deserted him,
and his prejudice melted iu the warm
hand-grasp of his daughter’s husband.
They had begged Charley Carroll to
come to New York with them ; but
the pale prisoner, freed at the eleventh
hour, preferred to take his happiness
more quietl3*. He had stood so near
to death that its shadow seemed still to
hangover him. He had solemnly d
termined to die by his own hantr as
soon as the new trial should result—as
he knew it would—iu confirnialion of
the former verdict. Only two days
!ay between him and death—death iu
his prison cell—whejailuth’s wondrous,
incredible message, came to him
across the Wirt’s. Then came Sy’bil
herself to msfke it true, and to tell him
how much he owed to Ruth’s devotion.
llis joy at his delivery was tinged
w|m solemnity*. He went back to his
with her, but she added: “I don’t fear
anything disagreeable. I am feeling
so glad to think that I can life a
load of remorse from that unhappy
souk”
“Unhappy indeed,” be said, “When
I woman like Katharine, proud and
ennusli of late.” with solemnly*. 1-re wem um-K w
She readily assented to liis going. Borne and bis old father, who wept and
prayed in liis arms. His friends
thronged about him, trying remorse
fully to make amends for their doubts,
and in may cases, their desertion. He
received them with quiet dignitj*. The
fearful ordeal he bad passed through
bad deepened and enriched his nature,
He had learned to hold himself in re
serve. No more would be be known
as “every liody’s friend.” He would,
“Give Hie warm hand and the fnnile.
And the gene o> s favor, now and
lint the sanctuary heart that few'should win,
Keep holiest of holies * vor more;
The crowds in the aisle might WNteb the door,
The priest alone might enter in.”
Tbe high priestess of Ids heart
would ever be her whose friendship
had shone brightest in the dark night
of his distress. Her lei ter, which Sybil
had brought him, was more to him
than tbe restored esteem of the world.
Its few sentences of joy and thank
fulness for bis deliverance were sweet
er to him than the grand ovation with
which the citizens of Lakewood wel
comed him back to his home.
In Ruth’s letter, she told him of
Katharine’s death, but her generous
charity prompted her to screen the
faults'of the dead, even from him.
She left him to infer that the overdose
of chloral was accidental. She said
nothing of that wild deed in the
woods which had produced such
tragic results. She told him that
Katharine bad been held in esteem l»y
I he people she lived among in New
York, and that her life there bad been
hard working, self-denying and pure—
save for her relations with Claude.
One more letter did Carroll receive
from Ruth liefore she sailed for Eng
land with Claude, at the earnest re
quest of Shirley Andrews and the en
treaty of Sybil. She was their guest
for nine happy, busy months. They
went to Paris to see Ciaude established
as a student of art whir bright prom
ise for the future. They were back
a am when the London season opened
in M;«3*. The two beautiful 3*onng
American women were much admired
aud sought after in society*. Heads
less calm might have been turned;
natures less deep and sweet been
spoiled by* the homage they received.
But these two had learned wisdom
through suifl ring; and each heart
held iu its inmost shrine a saving
charm—ft love that had been conse
crated b\* tears.
Ruih, aft«*r quietly refusing two ex
cellent offers, went back to her native
land and her old home. She had bus
in ess reasons for going to Lakewood,
she told Shirley Andrews, in answer
to hi* teasing quet3*. Tbe purchase
mouey for lur home was still unpaid
in part. To herself she said that the
graves of her dear dead were there;
and there, too, were many living
friends—one dearer i ban all—who could
not leave his aged, failing father to
come to her; yet he wrote
that though fortune was again shower
ing her favors upon him, his county
having chosen him almost by* acclama
tion as ?‘s representative in tho Stale
Assembh , yet honors weie worthier
uud life a barren desert, without her
presence.
One week after her return to Lake-
wood, she was married to Charley*
Carroll, hi the old ivy-covered church
where her parents had worshipped.
The venerable father of the bridegroom
performed tbe servic *, bis fine, sweet
old face radiant wiili content as lie
gave to bis only son tbe wife lie had
chosen for him so long ago. Never
did wedded pair begin life together
with more earnest good wishes for
their future, or with luller promise of
a happiness that should last to the end.
A HASTY CONCLUSION.
He assured her he had Nothing to Do
With It.
From the New York Sunday Mercury.
Wife (to husband who had just re
turned home). “What’s tins new
from town ?”
Husband. “Nothing.”
“Of course not. Oh, well, there is
never any* news fora woman unless sin*
finds it out for herself.”
After a long silenci the husband
breaks in with: “It does seem to me
that people ought to be more careful.’
“What about?”
“I was thinking of something that
occurred last night. Jack Baxter and
liis family* sat out iu the garden un
quite late, and when Baxter got unrind
went into liis room he noticed that hi-
prankisli little son had slipped away
just as Laxter stepped into his room
he heard something under the berl—in
fact, saw something—and thinking
that a robber bud seereted himself
there, he seizedX pistol aud fired under
the lied, andr^*’
“Mercian goodness! and shot his
little sori?”
owf.osaid he shot Ills son !
1 said his sou went under the
_jd.”
“I didn’t.”
“What did you say?”
“I said that he did not notice his son
when he went into the room.”
“And wasn’t the boy under the bed ?”
“No, a cat was under the bed.”
“You are the most hateful man I
ever saw.”
“ Why so ? Just because the boy did
not go under the bed and get shot? 1
had nothing to do with it, I assure
you.”
father Dubious.
Brown—Do yon think there will be
enough pumpkin pie for Thanksgiving?
Mrs. Brown—Yes, unless Johnny
finds out we went out aud left the pau-
try unlocked.
OPINING OF TBE BOSK-JAB.
It was late December. Yet roses were
still blomiog in blithered nooks down in
Alabama gardens. On tbe table in a soft-
lighted, warm little music room six fresh
ly-gathered rorcs nodded their pallid,
Beautiful faces from tbe xim of a heavy-
cut glass rosa bowl.
“They are the last I shall gather this
season, l fancy,” said Eiith Maybree.
touching with lur strong, young rose-tint
ed finger-tips the cool fresh biotsnrns.
“1 fear so,” said her sister, Mrs. Dar
ling.
They were wonderfully alike, these two
aisle;s. Alice, the eider, possessed in her
lovely face the garnered sweetness of msnv
summers, while over her brow had fallen
the light frosts ol thirty-flvo winters. Her
high-pillowed silver strewn locks were
very quaint and fetching above her face
still young and beautiful. Eiith, the
yonoger held all the glow* of youth in hoi
charming countenance.
Hugh Darling sat in a grrat arm chair,
his hand on tbe gilded arm of the wicker
<»»:>t wherein Lis wife was gracefully rn
sconced. His attitude was inexpressibly
alert, Ids face was young—very young—
too young to be a fitting companion-pi^ce
to the maturer beauty or his wife’s sweet
countenance, but the uusuitnbieness ol
the two faces never seemed to make its*if
felt to one or the other of the little house
hold of three. Only at times the vennz
husband displayed even more than thV
wonted restlessness of his disposition, no
outcome partly of a desire to grasp whollv
iu his y oung hands, to hold lully withir.
bis owu heart ail tho memories* all the
wider field of experience—all the ten year*
of life that Lis wife held over and above
bis own share cf like possessions.
“Pshaw!” he said, ‘how those fresh
roses smell! I cannot bear such crude
sweetn^is ”
“Wbv, their odor is charming, Hugh.”
objected Edith.
.“But it is painfully sweet—to me,” said
his wife, “for I recalled as soov as then
odor made itself perceptible, a December
twelve years ago, when I was agurstai
the house of that woman in whose bril
liant, mind all the history of Alab.mafo,
go d three-quarters of a century spa ikied
us brilliant coloring sparkles at the heart
of an opal. We talked of a thousand things,
or rather she talked and we listened en
tranced. Among those of ns w ho listened
w as young L sad way II ech. I remember
'Linking especially that evening how bril
liant was the future that lay Ire fore him,and
that linked so closely with our State’s
brilliant pest, f r lie was the sole living
representative <f four of our mest not-d
families—’’ She, stifling a sigh, leaner;
over tho table and plucked off arula
from oue of Hie subtile white n scS. “Ou
tho wry tohta home that night he some
way got entangied in a fetnet brawl, it
making of wr,ieh he had no part, and Lt
was killed ”
A troubled little silence fell cn the
group of three.
‘ U«ib,” exclaimed young Darling; “it is
the eiu-ril oi these roses tiiat makes us re 1
m*-n»her these things.”
Young Beech had graduated at our
S f ate University j 1st seven years before
Dari ng enfc-r-d iu the junior, and ail the
coll, g s, as Hugh entered tbe University,
were lull still cf stories of Beer lr’swon-
•leif 11 ruccefses. But of these stories
finch did not rp ak.
“II r was handsome. Leadway Beech—
was he not?'*
E iili leaned eagerly across the table
and the bowl ot roses as she asked the
question.
“Very handsome,” s»hl her sister, then
with a qni. k, biirht look into her hus
band's handsjurest face; “he was almost
the handsomest man I ever saw.”
“And tell U9 of Hath Brown,’* pursued
E rith eagerly.
“Ah, well,”sighed Mrs.Darling; “Load-
way lov» d her—and she was so beautiful,
so grandly beautiful. Women hardly pos
sets uow at 01 ce the air of high-bred re
pc»se, of command, of—almrs'—ot hauteur.
tcg<*1her with tbe air of utter dependence,
ol almost childish helplessness, a combin
at ion that constituted Ruth’s chief
charm—”
“No,” interrupted Hngh ; “women ol
to-day are t o— too independent—it is al
most. a ganclrerie—"/
“Each to his time;” murmured Alice.
“But Ruth—?” questioned Edith, not
noting, rearing for tbe matter ol Hugh’s
iat« rruptiojn
1 Wbrnriluth knew that he was dead
she wen’ mud, absolutely, horribly mail,
»«f us—not even he—it was said,
„ e\v before that she loved him. As h>
often the w*y with those cornmandirg,
grand w.inen, she was wonderfully re
ar rv.«!—and very shy over her emotions
It was dreadful to see her still beautiful,
y«t so unlike herself in all tbe unreserve
of madness—’’
“Bab, it is the over.fresh smell of there
roses that makes u*talk of these tilings,”
exclaimed Hugh. L >yiug his hand lightly
ou his wife’s shoulder, hr said: ‘Darling,
my dari ng—go get your rose-jar that we
til ed last .luue—open it cere and let its
rich, mellow perfume blot out this crude
odor.”
Tho gilded bit of Tok'o wars was
brought, outlines of birds floated over its
loose designs rtf fl.wers, like shadows of
lost swallows out of dead summers of loug
ago.
‘‘Let 11s open it,” said nngh eagerly,
pushing aside tbe roses to give the chief
piece on the table to t he sealed jar.
Holding a lighted taper here and there
alMurt the sealing, Edith loosened the va
se’s top. Leaning her eager young face
right in the taper’s light, one might have
noted that her bright, vigorous, clear as
th* bl&z3 of the wax glowing iu her
hands.
Hugh, who had no eyes for Edith’s
fair young face, yet looked eagerly to note
her success, with the light task in which
her hands were engaged, and now, voting
that the. sealing wax was giving way un
der the heat and glo vof the taper, he
reached out his slender, e*grr hand, and
lifted the vase's first cover. Out o* the
Elided perforations left beneathroset.be
perfume of last summer’s sweetness, tbe
richms* of many spices, all the garnered
wealth of the gardens of the south, and tbe
added richness cf the spice-groves of the
East.
“Ah,” breathed H igh. Laying a light
touch on bis wife’s too-early silvered hair,
he asked: “Is it not delicious ?'*
While the taper had burnt d about tbe
crimson sealing of the j ar. Alice's eyes had
worn their most foreign expression—an ex-
t ressl n of questioning, of almost fearful
ness, lurked in the depths cf those eyes
where deep sweet patience aud the glow of
ot tender lave wontedly engulfed all other
expressions; tbe patience flirt soothes
restlessness in ethers, that holds tbe af
fection of those under it* infi renca as with
drains of moat fine gold; the tender love
that is grateful at all seasons tr ;the recip
ient.
But now the sealing was broken, the
sweetness of past-June had proved itself
sncaesefully garnered; tbe < tie who of all
others on earth she loved host ha 1 express
ed his ceaseless preference for that richer
perfume even over the fresher,cooler odors
of fairest fl iwers; the tender and lovely
expressions had returned to her warmly
lit, deeply-tinted brown ey< s.
“Indeed,” she said, letting her glance
linger like a soft caress on the happy, ra
diant face of her husband: ‘ indeed. Hugh
yon do prefer the treasured sweetness.”
“A thousand times! A thousand
times!” reiter. ted Hugh.
“I find it j 1st a little heavy*—just a lit
tle,” suggested E iit la.
“Heavy?” *jrculat*»d Hugh. “NVverl
It is most rich, I grant you. but these
spices, this hint of a sal volatile, all give
to the rose-odor wings. It is inspiriting,
invigorating. It sets all one's best facul
ties alive and alert. Opening this rose jar
is like loosening a caged bird, yet it is as
if the sweet bird had learned to Jove its
prison, for, see it is here ttiil, ever ready
to be loosened a'rah to beat aheu 1 ; this
room those wings weighed with all pleas
ing aromatic odors.”
“I dare say,” murmured E iith with a
half suppieased yawn.
“It is so, yet I should never without your
your words have seen it so,” breathed his
wife softly, her sweet ey< s f ill of interest.
“It is like periect sympathy, potent to
unloose everv boat energy a man posses
ses,” spoke Hugh, as he h unt over his
wile, anxious that she enjoy to the lull ail
*hat was nleaaing to him.
“Stiii, Hugh, the heavier p •rfnm , » does
not altogether b ut out the lizh’er odor of
trie fr*sh tl >w*rs,” suggested E.iilli.
“No, i see. Tnat ov.-r-new odor—it is an
interruption, is it uoi ?”
“A pleasant oue,” smiled Iris wife,
reaching cut to lace her slender fingers
in the strong, firmly-fleshed fingers of
the young girl’s hand that jn*.c no-v
was fai-.I on the back of her gilded wicker
chair.
“Yet, with your leave,” said Hugh,
with a codrt ; y how for both women,
tnd without werii'g for reply from
lither, lie gathered up the voses with a
dngle swift movement of his ever alert
hands and laid tin in on the grate of ruddy
coals.
“Ab! why?” fxcia’med A!i e.
“They are so perishable; they would
*oon have faded anyhow,” said High,
browing himself on tire rug at his wife’s
fret *
■^Bnfc to see snvildng young, beauti
ful. vantah,” sighed Alice, looking with
hiving eyes into his young, beautiful
face.
“Never mind, a million more will
bloom n*xtspring,” s«i l Eiith.—Martha
Young, iu T;ie Home Journal.
Mrs. Anna Sutherland
Kalamazoo, Mich., had swelling in the neck, or
Goitre “^40 Years
great suffering. When she caught cold could not
walk two blocks without fainting. She took
Hood’s Sarsaparilla
And i3 now free from it all. She has urged
many others to take Hood's Sarsaparilla and
they have also been cured. 11 will do Y ou EQ° d *
Blood
Builder
Nerve
Tonic
8«ndfor
descriptive
p&iuphlet.
Dr. WILLIAMS’
MEDICINE CO.,
Schenectady, N.Y.
and Brockviile, Ont.
jc-urj-rJ ut li-.tme with-
S out niiin. Bouir oi ;>a-
J m ^ w *- g{ ti rs ST V t & St iiJ®.
|e«RWSKns»*u R . \Vt ;01, L K-V i>.
’ AI S " r i’> < :*I>; ^ •.Vr- .trtiaM Sfc
fill ■*€% <&vvs». *''’•**
ftifl I* \ oure uM.dilvs.S.fwions*: r.u
I (I LJ 00 salve* noca^-Nisi&cir>. A vicois tt,e*
™ w te vain evei> v-suwvH osr orscsji’.rmi *
vimpnveere. wtrien ee wil; t»*u<eu. Jus f»;;ow *1:-.
»**-jwi>4&As’’Jiiaua*« vwkuu.iM.