Newspaper Page Text
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rortu.sunnyS,,«M s ^
TO M. E. R.
i (lVP . born, you ask me, dear, and why
u'" from all the great world’s folk.apart,
„Xm« : t and meeting, breathe soul sigh for
How was
sigh.
And joy-lille
1. bind us either heart to heart ?
, , the hallowed Law' is far too deep,
Ah.; 1 ';* 1 ;' 1 i \vhv of Love too nobly great;
Tl "' 'n’ t."lover’s mortal mind too weak
Thv w-n^and solve the God-sealed Book of
Fate!
0. dost remember, d
How queenlj '
11,,w houvant sw < c t
lear. when lirst we met—
mis led the starry throng-
the air—O, can’st forget
1 *Tlit ''hosM he 1> 1 oom, tlie mocker’s moonlight
song '■
fair thv native Southland heath,
U rajn i*> " e !'*‘ a rly folds of Lunar-sheen!
How wondrous It
• ; n the pi -- „
tin' blue above; and O. beneath
What draiig
queen
Thv (lain! v hand reached forth to fold in mine,
l icit it-’pulse throb fast beneath its glove—
Ml eager searched my anxious eyes for- thine,
Thev met. and lo 1 my sour gave birth to Love!
Orangeburg, S. C.
James Edwin Kerr.
Betmeen Midnight and Dawn.
By IN A L. GAS&ILIS,
Author of “ Society’s Queen,” etc.
At half-past nine Mr. Westlake, Mr.
Caerlyon and Lady Una Herbert left
Brainblemere for Dingwall, which they
reached in rather more than two hours,
ami at once proceeded to the police
station. The inspector was not a little
surprised to hear what was required of
him. Mr. Westlake did not disclose
identity of the murdered man or of his
wile. He merely stated that informa
tion had been given to him, as a mag
istrate, of a murder committed in
Dingwall Wood, the body being flung
into a deep gully. It would be neces
sary, therefore, to provide strong ropes
ami a carriage to transport the corpse
to Dingwall.
“A gully in Dingwall Wood?” re
peated the inspector; “I’ve never
heard there is such a thing, and I’ve
known these parts many years. Still,
there might be; but the man as did the
murder must have known the ground,
and be a man not easily frightened.”
“Why so?” asked Caerlyon.
“Because if he knew of a gully, sir,
lie knew more than any about here
could tell him. You wouldn’t get the
people of these parts to go through the
wood in the daytime, let alone the
night, since old ’Squire Tollemache
was shot there some fifty years ago.
Some said he was murdered, and some
that it was suicide; but the people will
have it that he ‘ walks.’ There’s a dell
somewhere they call ‘ Dead Man’s Hol
low,’ where his body was found. I
I don’t know where it is myself, and
unless you know the wood, sir, we
might search all day and never find the
gully.”
“This lady,” said Caerlyon, “will
show the way. Of course everything
will be subsequently explained. At
present we ask your assistance, and
your reliance on Mr. Westlake’s state-
that his information is precise and
trustworthy.”
A Chairman of Quarter Sessions and
an eminent Queen’s Counsel are not
personages to be lightly disregarded,
and the inspector placed himself and
two constables at the service of Mr.
Westlake and his friend.
It was arranged, in order to avoid
exciting the idle curiosity of the
townspeople, that the party should
proceed to Dingwall Wood by different
roads, and start at different times. Mr.
Westlake and his two companions
drove by the more direct route; the po
lice, starting about ten minutes later,
took another road, and debouched
within a quarter of a mile of the wood.
They found the carriage that had pre
ceded them standing in the road (for it
was necessary to cross a field and a
strip of moorland beyond to reach
Dingwall Wood), and its occupants
waiting by the stile that led to a foot
path across the field.
CHAPTER XX.
“deep down among the bracken.”
“Unknown facts of guilty acts
Are seen in dreams from God.!’
—Hood.
The search party proceeded at once
to Dingwall Wood, Una reiterating
her assertion that she could find her
way to the hollow she had described to
Caerlyon and Mr. Westlake.
“What’s the place like, Miss?” asked
Inspector Weldon, “Did the party as
told you give any description?”
I na’s picture was clear enough.
“U'll be Dead Man’s Hollow, ^1 be
lieve,” said the inspector, “and that’s
r'ght in the middle of the wood. You
know the wood, then, Miss?”
“^o; hut I can show you the way.”
l'he reply was puzzling. The in
spector glanced at his fellow, a glance
n °t }ost upon Caerlyon. Una was
vi alking a little in advance with Mr.
estla^e, the two policemen bringing
e r ^ar with Caerlyon. As they
„ nn ance( I the latter observed a house,
PJ? are , ntl y about a half a mile distant,
and asked whose it was.
“That’s The Larches, sir,” replied
the inspector, “Squire Tollemache’s
place. But nobody’s lived there for
years. The squire and his son between
’em ran through all the property, and
when the squire died nobody ’ud take
the place. Tqey say there was awful
goings-on there.”
“The son, then, is dead?”
“Died abroad, sir, in some drunken
row, as I’ve heard say. He robbed his
father, and committed forgery beside*,
and had to run for ir. They were a bad
lot. them Tollemaches.”
They had reached the wood, and the
next moment were under the deep
shade of the beech-trees. Caerlyon
now stepped forwards to Una’s aide,
Mr. Westlake falling ba< k a little.
Caerlyon noticed that the path though
in parts very narrow, was by no means
difficult to follow, especially for any
one accustomed to country life. “You
could make a short cut through this
wood from the racecourse to Dingwall,”
the inspector told Mr. Westlake; “it
would take off a good mile.”
Presently Una turned off from the
path, and began to lead her companions
through the thickness of the wool.
Here progress was not so easy. It was
often necessary to put aside inter
vening boughs and bri-ak down under
wood in order to effect a pas.-age.
Scarcely a word was spoken among the
party, till ►uddenly Caerlyon, who was
here leading, in order to clear Una’s
passage, observed a large branch of
bramble lying in his path. He stooped,
and picking it up looked at the siem.
where it had been dissevered from the
parent bush, then showed to Una. “It
has been recently broken off,” he said.
They paused till the inspector came
up, and the branch was shown to him.
“Some one’s been this way, for certain,”
was his comment.
Search was made for any footprint,
but the dry moss kept the secret.
Farther on, however, there were some
more broken brambles, and in one
place a large bough of a tree had been
pushed aside and remained caught
among the underwood.
“Lady Una!” Caerlyon said to his
young companion, ‘your husband must
have been decoyed into this wood, and
lost his way, or was led astray. Was
he, when he attended races, given to
drinking freely ?”
“No; certain'y not to the extent of
drunkenness. I never saw in him,
when he came home, any traces of ex
cess.”
“What he drank at Dingwall must,
then, have been drugged.”
He gave her his hand as he spoke, to
assist her over the straggling roots of
a huge beech-tree. She was looking
straight before her, through the leaves.
“That is the Hollow,” she said, under
her breath.
Two minutes more and they all stood
in a wild dell, closed in on every side
by close-growing trees and thick
underwood, a delicious leafy solitude,
more suggestive, in the morning sun
shine, of stol-n meetings and lovers’
vows than of murder. Una shivered a
little as she looked around her—that
was all; otherwise she was strangely
calm.
“It’s Dead Man’s Hollow, sure
enough,” said the constable. “I’ve
been here once or twice when I was a
boy, but never heard of no gully.”
Una moved forwards, and then, fol
lowing her gaze, as she paused,they
all saw the signs of some heavy body
having been dragged through the fern.
They followed the gruesome track till
they came to the side of the Hollow
where the underwood grew thickest
and the trees seemed almost impene
trable. Here an examination of the
branches showed them broken and
crushed, and further disclosed the fact
that there whs a ditch or gully, though
of what depth could not be ascertained,
as the overgrowth made it impossible
to see even half way down the de
clivity. Clearly, therefore, anything
lying at the bottom would be com
pletely hidden from the bodily eyes.
The two policemen looked at each
other. It was not a pleasant task to
descend to unknown depths. There
was a minute’s dead silence, Una
stood perfectly motionless, deathly
white, but strangely calm. Max
Caerlyon first spoke, turning to the in
spector—
“Give me the rope,” he said. “I will
descend.”
“No, sir, no,” the man answered,
“that’s my business.” •
The rope was fastened round him,
and his fellow and Caerlyon carefully
lowered him from the top, Lna waiting
and watching with bated breath, and
hands tight clenched over her heart.
Suddenly a cry came up from the
leafy depths. The policeman at the
top bent forward eagerly.
“Have you found it?” he called
“Aye ” was the answer. “He is lying
on his back, with his arms spread out.”
Una sprang nearer to Caerlyon.
“Tell him to search for the. knife,
she exclaimed excitedly. “It is among
the long grass close by.”
Caerlyon cally called down, “Have
you found the knife ?” . >}
“I am looking for it, sir.
moment later, ‘Here it is.
There were awful moments of delay
Then a
r 0 rpse r and 9 with some difficulty it was
drawn up and laid on the grass almost
at the young wife’s feet, for she had re-
fastened round the
sisted both Mr. Westlake’s and Caer-
Jyon’s entreaties to quit the spot.
“No,” she said, “let me stay here. I
shall not fait or weep.”
But she hid her face from the glare
of the wide open eyes, and then fell on
her knees with an agonized whisper,
“I tried to save you! I tried to save
you I” while the men stood bareheaded
in the presence of the dead, awestruck
and silent.
The inspector and the constable had
both recognized Grantley Herbert. The
latter had seen him at Dingwall races,
and presently whispered to his chief,
“The young lady be his wife for certain.
I’ve heard as' he married a lord’s
daughter.”
But how came the wife to know, not;
only that her husband was murdered,
but where he would be . found—in a
place unknown even to most natives
of the district where the crime was
perpetrated ?
Not without difficulty the corpse was
carried through the wood, and placed
in the carriage that had been brought
for the purpose, and the party returned
to Dingwall. Una sat the whole time
perfectly still, leaning her head on
Robert Westlake’s shoulder, her eyes
closed, her breath'coming in quick,
irregular pulsations. She never move
or spoke once, till the carriage stopped,
and then she .opened her eyes and
raised herself. She was calm and com
posed in an instant, ready to do what
ever was required of her.
It was not likely that Inspector
Weldon had ever been called upon to
take down so singular a statement as
that made to him by Lady Una Her
bert. Whether he believed ic or not,
however, it lay beyond his present
duty to do more than record it, and in
form the lady that she would, of course,
be required at the inqrn st, which would
be held as soon as possible. Meanwhile,
it was arranged that Una should re
turn to Ercildoune with Robert West-
lake, who would telegraph for Evelyn
Barrington, while Caerlyon remained
at Dingwall to do all that a friend
could do for Una.
The news soon spread through the
little country town, and crowds as
sembled to see and hear—nothing 1
It was ascertained, however, that
sundry persons had seen Grantley
Herbert at the races; two or three had
seen him in company with another
man, and one had seen him walking
along h country road, very late, and
evidently not sober. Swiftly the
wires flashed up to London all that
was as yet known, ami big black head
lines in the evening papers announced
to friends and foes and general public
alike the “Supposed Murder” of Mr.
Grantley Herbert.
The news was read by Laurence
Desborough in his chambers in Grafton
street, and an hour later he was en
route for Br imblemere. It was read by
Mr. Harry Avenel in his club in Pall
Mall, and, a* the paper fell from his
hand, a friend called out to him—
“Avenel, by Heaven! this looks
deuced strange after what you’ve just
been telling us.”
And half an hour later Mr. Harry
Avenel was closeted with a grave
elderly gentleman at Scotland Yard.
CHAPTER XXL
A TRUE FRIEND.
“If you have fifty friends, it is not enough; if
you have one enemy, it is too much.”—Italian
Proverb.
Laurence De ^borough did not reach
Bramblemere till near 1 midnight. He
waited, therefore, till about 10 o’clock
the next morning before he presented
himself atRosemeath and assed to see
Mr. Westlake. He was immediately
ushered into the*old man’s presence,
and Mr. Westlake saw that his visitor
was deeply moved, though he put a
strong control upon himself. He ex
plained that he was anxious to learn
all part culars of the murder, and
could not, of course^ intrude upon
Lady Una Herbert, and, even if he
were permitted to see her, he could
not ask her any questions. The ac
count in the papers last evening had,
necessarily, been very bald. Ic was
surely a mistake that Lady Una Her
bert had indicated the place where her
husband’s corpse would be found I
Mr. Westlake told his visitor all he
knew of the circumstances, and Des
borough listened attentively, to some
portions of the relation somewhat in
credulously. A dream! a vision!
Was it possible? And Lady Una had
minutely described the murderer! But
it was no one she knew. He (Des
borough) had certainly never se^n
Grantley Herbert in the company of
any man answering to the description
given; but he had not known Herbert
very long, and doubtless the latter had
many friends of whom his wife knew
nothing. How came Herbert in the
woods at all ? Possibly the inquest
might throw some light on this part
of the matter. When was the inquiry
to be held ?
“To-morrow,” Mr. Westlake replied,
“at twelve o’clock, at the Town Hall at
Dingwall. Mr. Caerlyon has seen to
everything-, and will watch the case
for Lady Una.”
“I wish,” Desborough said, as be
rose to take leave, “that I could see
her; but at such a time it might be
best nor.”
“Nay,” said Mr. Westlake, “you are
a friend; she has always considered
you a true friend to her husband. She
misrht be pleased to see you.”
Desborough wanted lit tie persuasion
to induce him to call upon Una, and he
was fully convinced, though he had
said the conrrary, that she would be
more than glad to see him.
He drove over at once to Ercildoune
and was shown to the drawing room
Ir was a bright day, but the house
looked funereal wi ll all the blinds
drawn down, and even the footman as
sumed an air of sepulchral gravity
suitable to the circumstances, and
stalked on before the visitor like
mute. A cynical smile hovered <
Desborough’s lips as he followed, re
flecting how difficult it is to distinguish
m the outward signs of mourning, be
tween genuine grief and its semblance.
Here were lowered blinds, and crape
and solemn whispers, and hushed foot
steps for a man whose death was a re
lief to the household over which he
tyrannized. ......
True, his violent and terrible death
had produced a feeling of horror which
for a time, did duty for regret. Those
who have least cause to love a man are
disposed to think the best they can of
him when he perishes by an assassin’s
hand; but grief there was not, and
could not be. Still, t here was the same
“pomp of woe” as for the man whose
death left a blank no other presence
could fill.
What cursed folly it all was, Lau
rem e Desborough said to himself as he
paced nervously too and fro the great
drawing room, for the silence and
gloom oppressed him. He had as little
as a man can have of the awe of death.
Yet he glanced around him now and
then, almost expecting to see the well-
known figure of the murdered man ad
vancing towards him with wide-open,
glassy eyes, as Mr. Westlake had de
scribed them. His longing for Una’s
presence was not entirely the desire to
to see her; he would have welcomed
any one just now.
Presently the door opened, and Lady
(Jna came in, advancing towards the
visitor, with outstretched hands.
“This is ki nd of you, Mr. Desborough,”
she said, earne'tly. “I had not hoped
to si-e you so soon.”
It was hard to meet her as a friend
only, when, too, she was so evidently
pleased to see him. Desborough had
not the fineness of nature that would
regard as almost saereligious any hint
of more than friendly sentiments to a
two days’ widow; but he had a man of
the world s knowledge of the fitness of
things, and would not, in any case,
have betrayed his feelings to Una—yet.
So he met her, not, indeed, without
emotion, but it was that of grief for the
dead man and of sympathy with her;
and Una inwardly rebuked herself be
cause h-r invincible repugnance to the
man neutralized the gratitude she felt
was due to him! Prrhaps, for that
reason, her manner was more earnest
than it would otherwise have been;
and he, misunderstanding this, read in
it signs of a deeper interest in him
than any mere friendship.
“Kind of me?” he repeated, “rather it
is kind of you not to regard my visit at
such a time as an intrusion. I had not
dared to come, but Mr. Westlake bade
me do so.”
“He did right,” said Una. “I should
be ungrateful indeed to resent a visit
from you. If Grantley had only listen
ed to you ”
She broke off abruptly, and moved
away a little, shuddering.
“I cannot speak of it!” she said, in a
low tone; “the horror of it all is on me
still.”
“I only marvel,” Desborough said
gently, that you are able to bear up as
you do.”
“I must bear up,” answered Una;
then she added a little hurriedly, “You
have seen Mr. Westlake? Has he told
you all?”
“Yes.”
“And you know nothing?” the girl
went on; “you can throw no light on
this mystery?”
“I wish to Heaven I could, Lady
Una. The man you describe may have
been some chance acquintance picked
up on the race course. Mr. Caerlyon,
will, perhaps, succeed in tracing him.
Was nothing found on your husband
which could afford any clue?”
“Nothing. But we shall go back to
the race course, and trace him from
the beginning. It was by no chance
he got to Dead Man’s Hollow; he was
decoyed there, and his murderer knew
the wood.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Because the dell is unknown even
to many of the people about Ding
wall.”
“Caerlyon is at Dingwall, seeking
for evidence? Of course I shall tender
mine, although what I have to say is
of so little value.”
“I wish this pain could be spared
you,” said Una, “but it is not in my
hands.”
“Do not think of me, Lady Una.
Have not you far more to bear?”
Before the girl could answer there
was a knock at the door, and a servant
entered and handed his mistress a tel
egram.
It was from Caerlyon.
“I shall be with you within two
hours of this reaching you.”
Una looked up. “Mr. Caerlyon will
be here soon,” she said. “He says no
more than that.”
‘owl bope ” sald Desborouffh
that he has obtained some clue And
Vh 0,d i n * ° Ut hi < hand~“good-
bye. Jhank you tor letting me see
friendship.” 0 gFatefUl f0r mark of
Una did not seek to detain him
going was, indeed, a relief to
while lie telt more certain than
that he was dearer to her than she was
aware of herself.” was
[to be continued.]
his
her.
Depth of the Ocean.
A dispatch from Victoria, B. C., says
the United States steamer Albatross re
ports having made deep-sea soundings
off the coast of Alaska, reaching a depth
of 4,500 fathoms, which, it is added, ‘ is
the greatest depth ever reached.” If by
that is meant the deepest soundings
every made in any ocean there must be
a mistake in the figures reported, or the
claim is not correct. The depth of
27.000 feet has been exceeded three
times. In what is called the “inter
national deep,” near the island of St.
Thomas, one of the West Indies,
independent soundings were made by
American and English officers, and
a depth of 27,366 feet established.
In 1874 the British ship Challenger
found a depth of 27,450 feet near the
Ladrone Islands, in the Pacific ocean,
and in the same year the United States
ship Tuscarora, under command of Cap
tain George E. Belknap, sounded to the
depth of 27,930 feet near the Kurile Is
lands, in the North Pacific. This is the
lowest point yet reached, being over
five and one-fourth miles, or nearly equal
to the height of Himalayas. In the
days before scientific deep-sea sound
ings there were reports of depths of
7.000 to 8,000 fathoms having been
reached, but these are now conceded to
have been apocryphal. The Tuscarora’s
record of 4,561 fathoms stands without
rival as yet.
The Theology of Childhood.
The theological and religious life of
children has been investigated in
large numbers of children. These
studies show that the sky is the chief
field for religious ideas; that God, an
gels, heaven, are very distinctively im
agined, connected with stars, clouds
and thunder in the most material way.
For example, God is a big blue man
who pours rain out of buckets, thumps
clouds to make thunder, puts the sun
and moon to bed, takes dead people,
birds, and even broken dolls up there,
distributes babies, and is closely re
lated to Santa Claus. This infant
philosophy, although intimidated and
broken through at every point, and on
the ebb at the beginning of school life,
is very persistent, though as hard for
an adult to get at as for an electric
light to study shadows. Barnes found
that from 7 to 10 years of age there be
gan to be occasional vague question
ings and doubts about early concep
tions which had been hitherto accept
ed without question or comment, that
doubt grew with age and culminated
at the age of 13 or 14, when criticism
was more severe than ever.—President
G. Stanley Hail in the December Forum.
Manetho flourished in the reign of
Ptolemy Philadolphus, about 260 B. C.
He was keeper of the sacred archives
in the temple of Heliopolis. He wrote
a general history of Egypt, now lo^t,
and drew his factsthe sacred
columns of Trismegistus. He has
also had attributed to him a poem,
which is praised, and a work on the
rites and ceremonies of the Egyptians.
The first almanac was printed by
George von Purbath in 1560.
Notice.
I want every man and woman in the United
States, who is interested in the Opium and
Whiskey habits, to have one of my books on
these diseases. Address B. M. Woolley, Atlanta,
Ga., box 278, and one will be sent to you free.
Mr. Iu B. Hamlen,
Of Augusta, Me., says: “I do not remambsv
when I began to take Hood’s Sarsaparilla; it
was several years ago, and I have found it does
no a great deal of good in my declining yean.
I am 91 Years
S months and 26 days old, and my health Is pap i
fectlygood. 1 have no achea or pains about m*.
Hood’s Sarsaparilla
regulates my bowels, stimulates my appetite,
and helps me to sleep well. I doubt if a
preparation ever was made so well suited to
the wants of aid people.” L. B. HamIiHT,
Kim Street, Augusta, Me., Sept. 26,1891.
HOOO’8 Pills ars a mild, gentle,
•ate and sflclsat cathartic. Always raliabls.