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THE SUNNY SOUTH. LOST MAN’S LANE Si Second Spisode in the jCife of Simelia Lutterworth BY ANNA KATHARINE GREEN. Author of "The Leavenworth Case,” "Behind Closed Doors,” "That Affair Next Door,” Etc—Copyrighted 1897 by the Author, and Printed in “The Sunny South” by Special Arrangement. Chapter III.—I Succumb. That night the tempter had his own way with me. Without much difficulty ho persuaded me that my neglect of Al thea Burroughs’ children was without any excuse; that what had been my duty toward them when I knew them to bo left motherless and alone had be come an imperative demand upon me now that the town in which they lived had become overshadowed by a mystery which could not but affect the comfort and happiness of all its inhabitants. 1 could not wait a day. 1 recalled all that I had heard of poor Althea’s short and none too happy marriage and immedi ately felt such a burning desire to see if her delicate and espiegle beauty—how well I remembered it—had been repeated in her daughters that I found myself packing my trunk before I knew it. I had not been from home for a long time—all the better reason why I should have a change now—and when I called together Mrs. Randolph and the servants and told them of my intention of leav ing on the early morning train it creat ed quite a sensation in the house and no little surmise. But 1 had the best of explanations to give. I had been thinking of my dead friend, and conscience would not let me neglect her dear and possibly unhappy progeny any longer. 1 had purposed many times to visit then}, and now 1 was going to do it. When I came to a decision, it was usually suddenly, and I never rested after having once made up my mind. My sentiment went so far that I got down an old album and began hunting up the pictures 1 had brought away with me from boarding school. Hers were among them, and I really did ex perience more or less compunction when 1 saw again the delicate yet daring fea tures which had once had a very great influence over my mind. What a teas ing sprite she W'as, yet what a will she had, and how strange it was that, hav ing been so intimate as girls, we never knew anything of each other as women! Had it been her fault or my fault? Was her marriage to blame for it or my spin- sterhood? Difficult to tell then, impos sible to tell now. I would not even think of it again, save as a warning. Nothing must stand between me and been cailert to- them again. ~ ¥ I did not mean to take them by prise—that is, not entirely. The invita tion which they bad sent me years ago was still in force, making it simply nec essary for me to telegraph them that 1 had decided to make them a visit and that they might expect me by the noon train. If in times gone by they had been properly instructed by their moth er as to the character of her old friend, this need not put them out. I am not a woman of unbounded expectations. Ido not look for the comforts abroad 1 am accustomed to at home, and if, as 1 have reason to believe, their means are not of the greatest 1 should only be provoked at any extra effort to make me feel at home in the humble cottage suited to their fortunes. So the telegram was sent and my preparations completed for an early de parture. But, resolved as I was to make this visit, my determination came near re ceiving a check. Just as 1 was leaving the house, at the very moment, in fact, when the hackman was carrying out my trunk, I sav- a man approaching me with every evidence of haste. He had a letter in his hand, which he held out to me as soon 5s he came within reach. “For Miss Bntterwortb, ” he said. “Private and immediate. ” “Ah,” thought I, “a communication from Mr. Gryce,” and hesitated for a moment whether to open it then and •here or thrust it in my pocket and read it at my leisure on the cars. The latter course would be far the easiest, for my bands were cumbered with the various small articles I consider indispensable to the comfortable enjoyment of the shortest journey, and the glasses with out which I cannot read a word were in the very bottom of my pocket under some other equally necessary articles of smaller size. But something in the man’s expect ant look warned me that he would nev er leave me till I had read the note, so with a sigh I called Lela to my aid, and after several vain attempts to reach my glasses sncceeded in pulling them out at last and by' their help reading the fol lowing hurried lines: friends to expect me, and only a great emergency would lead me to disappoint them. I will be glad to receive Mr. Gryce on my return.” And without further parley I took my bundles back from Lela and proceeded at once to the carriage. Why should I show any fail ure of courage at an event that was but a repetition of the very ones which made my visit necessary? Was I a like ly one to fall victim to a mystery to which my eyes have been opened? Had 1 not been sufficiently warned of the dangers of Lost Man’s lane to keep my self at a respectable distance from the place of peril? I was going to visit the children of mV once devoted friend. If there were perils of no ordinary nature to be encountered there, was I not all the more called upon to go if only as a moral support to these young people, who per haps themselves w'ere paralyzed bv fear? Yes, Mr. Gryce, and nothing now should hold me back. I even felt an in creased desire to reach the scene of these mysteries and chafed some at the length of the journey, which was of a more te dious character than I expected. A poor beginning for events requiring patience as well as great moral courage, but 1 little knew what was before me and only considered that every moment spent on this hot and dusty train kept me thus much longer from the embraces of Althea’s children. I recovered my equanimity, however, as we approached. The scenery was really beautiful, and the consciousness that I should soon alight at the moun tain station which had played a more or less serious part in Mr. Gryce’s nar rative awakened in me a pleasurable excitement which should have been a sufficient warning to me that the spirit which had led me through that affair next door had seized me again in a way that meant equal absorption if not equal success. The number of small packages I car ried gave me enough to think of at the moment of alighting, but as soon as I was safely again on terra flrma I threw a hasty glance around to see if any of Althea’s children were there to meet me. I felt that I would know them at once. She had been so characteristically pretty they could not fail to show some hr.x Dear Madam—I send you this by a swifter messenger than mrself. Do not let anything that I may have saiti last night influence you to leave your comfortable home. The adven ture offers too many dangers for a woman Read the inclosed. G. The inclosed was a telegram from Obadiah Trohm, sent during the night, and evidently just received at head quarters. Its contents were certainly not reassuring: Another person missing. Seen to have en tered Lost Man's lane. Never seen to have come out of it. A harmless lad known as Silly Rufus. What’s to be done? Wire orders. F. “Mr. Gryce bade me say that he would be up here some time before noon, ” said the man, seeing me look with some blankness at these words. Nothing more was needed to pull me together. Folding up the letter, I put it in my bag. “Say to Mr. Gryce from me that my intended visit cannot be postponed,” I remarked. “I have telegraphed to my recogn to know me. But while there were two or three country maidens to be seen standing in and around the little pavil ion known here as the mountain station I saw no one who by any stretch of im agination could be'regarded as of Al thea Burrough’s blood or breeding. Somewhat disappointed, for I had ex pected different results from my tele gram, I stepped up to the station mas ter and asked him whether I would have any difficulty in procuring a car riage to take me to Miss Knollys' honsa He stared, it seemed to me unnecessari ly long, before replying. “Waal,”’ said he, “Simmons is usu ally here, but—I don’t see him round today. Perhaps one of these farmer lads will take it ” But they all drew back with a sort of scared look, and I was beginning to tuck up my skirts preparatory to walking when a little old man of very meek ap pearance drove up in a very old fash ioned coach, and with a hesitating air, springing entirely from bashfulness, managed to ask if I was Miss Butter- worth. I hastened to assure him that I was, whereupon he stammered out some words about Miss Knollys and how sor ry she was that she could not come for me herself. Then he pointed to his coach and made me understand that I was to step into it and go with him. It was not an altogether encouraging outlook, especially as I saw the heads of the various onlookers draw together and many curious looks directed at us both and the conveyance that was to carry us. But I was in no mood to be daunted now, and accepting the old cod ger’s apologies with what grace I could I stepped into the wagon and prepared myself for a ride into town. But it seems I was not to be allowed to enter upon this adventure without another warning. While the old man was engaged in bringing my trunk, the station master approached me with great civility, and with a touch of his hat asked if it was my intention to spend a few days with the Misses Knol lys. I told him that it was, and, thinking it best to establish my position at once in the eyes of the whole town, added with a politeness equal to his own that I was an old friend of the family and had been coming to visit them for years, but had never found it convenient till now and that I hoped they were all well aud would be glad to see me. He made some sort of reply, showing considerable embarrassment, then pluck ing up his courage said with marked constraint: “Perhaps you have not heard that this village just now is under a cloud. ” “I have heard,” I said innocently, "that one or two men have disappeared from here somewhat mysteriously. Is that what you mean?” “Yes,” he answered. “Oneperson, a boy, disappeared only two days ago.” “That’s bad,” I said, “but what has that to do with me?” I asked smilingly, for I saw he was not at the end of his talk. “Oh, nothing,” he cried eagerly, “only I didn’t know but you might be timid”— did I fail to find it fixed again upon me as we rode by tho little but occupied by the old woman considered so harmless by Mr. Gryce. Perhaps he had a reason for this, as I was very much interested in this hut and its occupant, about which I felt free to cherish my own secret doubts—so in terested that I cast it a very sharp glance and was glad when I caught a glimpse through the doorway of the old crone’s bent form and toothless jaws mumbling "Oh, I’m not at all timid!” I has tened to say. “If I were, I should not have come here at all. Such matters don’t affect me. ” And I spread out my . skirts and arranged myself for my ride? as if the horrors he had mentioned had made no more impression upon me than if his chat had been of the weather. Perhaps I overdid it, for he looked at me for another moment in - a curious, lingering way; then he walked off, and I saw him enter the circle of gossips on the platform, where he stood shaking his head as long as we were within sight. Before taking his seat my driver es cort gave me a furtive glance as he stooped to tear from one of the spokes a bit of rag that seemed to have been caught there. He was evidently prepar ing to make a good impression and to do me suitable honor. My companion, who was the shiest man I ever saw, did not speak a word while descending the hill. I talked and endeavored to make him, too, but his re plies were mere grunts or half syllables which conveyed no information what ever. As we cleared the thicket, how ever, he allowed himself an ejaculation or two as he pointed out the beauties of the landscape. And indeed it was well worth his admiration and mine had my mind been free to enjoy it. But the houses which now began to appear on either side of the way drew my atten tion from the mountains. We were still somewhat remote from the town, were rapidly approaching the head of that lane of evil fame with whose terrible history my thoughts were at this time fulL I was so anxious not to pass it without one look into its grewsome re cesses that I kept my head persistently turned that way till I felt Iwas attract ing the attention of my companion. As this was not desirable I put on a non chalant look and began chatting about what I saw. But he bad lapsed into his early silence, and only answered by a snap of bis whip at the horse whose jog trot needed a little urging. Suddenly I myself grew stilL The houses were growing fewer on the left hand side of the way, and I saw beyond the dark boughs of a pine thicket. We were nearing Lost Man’s lane, we were abreast of it, we were—turning into it I could not repress the exclamation that escaped me. “Where are we going?” I asked. “To Miss Knollys’ house, ” he found words to say, smiting his horse again, but with a sidelong glance at me tim time full of uneasy inquiry. “Do they live on this road?” said I, remembering with a certain s!vH:VMr. UlTL'tr~y- itJuff ' two young ladies who with their tkotliT er inhabited the dilapidated mansion marked in the map he had shown me. “Certain,” was the laconic answer, and, obliged to be satisfied with this, I drew myself up with just one longing look behind me at the oheerful'highway we were so rapidly leaving. A cottage, with an open window, in which a child’s head could be seen nodding eagerly toward me, met my eyes and filled me with quite an odd sense of dis comfort as I realized that I had caught the attention of one of the little crip ples who, according to Mr. Gryce, al ways kept watch over this entrance in to Lost Man’s lane. Another moment and the pine branches had shut the vi sion out, but I did not soon forget that eager, childish face and pointing hand marking me out. as an intruder if not a possible victim to the horrors of this ill reputed lane. But I was aware of no secret flinching from the adventure in to which I was plunging. On the con trary, I felt a strange and fierce delight in thus being thrust into the very heart of this mystery which I had only ex pected to approach by degrees. The warning message sent me by Mr. Gryce had acquired under it a deeper and more significant meaning, as did the looks which had been cast me by the station master and his gossips on the hillside, but in my present mood these very tokens of the serious nature of my undertaking only gave an added spnr to my courage. I felt my brain clear and my heart expand, as if even now before I had so much as set eyes on the faces of these young people I recognized the fact that they were the victims of a web of circumstances so tragic and in comprehensible that only a woman like myself would be able to clear them away and restore these girls to the con fidence of the people around them. I forgot that these girls had a brother and that— But not a word to forestall the truth. I wish this story to grow up on you just as it did upon me, and with just as littlo preparation. The farmer who drove me, and whom I afterward learned was called Sims bury, showed a certain dogged interest in my behavior that would have amused me or at least have awakened my dis dain under circumstances of a less thrilling nature. I saw his eye roll in a sort of wonder over my person which may have been held a little more stiffly than was necessary and settle finally on my face with a look I might have thought complimentary had I had any thought to bestow on such matters. Not till we had passed the path branching up through the woods toward the moun tain did he see fit to withdraw it, nor over a piece of bread she was engaged I in eating as we passed her. “Mother Jane, ” explained my com- I panion, breaking the silence of many minutes. “And yonder is Miss Knollys,” bo added, lifting his whip -and pointing toward the half concealed facade of a large and pretentious dwelling a few rods farther on down the road. “She will be powerful glad to see you, miss. Company is scarce in these parts. ” Astonished at this sudden launch into conversation by one whose reserve even I had found it impossible to penetrate, I gave him the affable answer he evident ly expected and then looked eagerly to ward the. house. It was as Mr. Gryce had intimated, eminently forbidding even at that distance, and as we ap proached nearer and I was given a full view of its worn and discolored front I felt myself forced to acknowledge that never in my life had my eyes fallen upon a habitation more given over to neglect or less promising in its hospital ity. Had it not been for the thin circle of smoke eddying up from one of its bro ken chimneys I should have looked up on the place as one which had not known the care or presence of man for years. There was a riot of shrubbery in the yard, a lack of the commonest at tention to order in the way the vines drooped in tangled masses over the very face of the desolate porch, that gave to the broken pilasters and decayed win dow frames of this dreariest of facades that look of abandonment which only becomes picturesque when nature has usurped the prerogative of man and taken entirely to herself the empty walls and falling casements of what was once a human dwelling. That any one should be living in it now and that I, who have never been able to see a chair standing crooked or a curtain awry without a sensation of the keenest discomfort, should be on the point of deliberately entering its doors as an in mate filled me at the moment with such a sense of unreality that I descend ed from the carriage in a sort of a dream and was making my way through one of the gaps in the high antique fence that separated the yard from the gateway when Mr. Simsbury stopped me and pointed out the gate. I did not think it worth while to apologize, for the broken palings cer tainly offered as good an entrance as the gate, which had slipped from its hinges and hung but a few inches open. But I took the course he indicated, hold ing up my skirts as well as my pack ages would allow and treading gingerly for fear of the snails and toads that in- cumbered such portions of the path as the weeds had left visible. As I went on something in the silence of the spot struck me. Was I becoming oversensi tive to impressions or was there some thing really uncanny in the absolute lack of sound or movement in a dwell ing of snch dimensions? But I should not have said movement, for at that in stant I saw a flash in one of the upper windows as of a curtain being stealth ily drawn and as stealthily let fall —■ A . ise of some sort qf greeting there was a furtiveness in the action that was so in keeping with the suspicions of Mr. Gryce that I felt my nerves braced at once to mount the half dozen uninvit ing looking steps that led to the front door. But no sconer had I done this with what I am fain to thing was my best air than I suddenly collapsed with what must have been a movement of sudden and to me quite comprehensible fear, for, while I do not quail before men and have a reasonable fortitude In the presence of most dangers corporeal and moral, I am not quite myself in face of a rampant and barking dog. It is my one weakness. I can divulge that much now, and while I usually can, and un der most circumstances do, succeed in hiding any outward manifestation of my umer trepidation I always feel that it would be a happy day for me when dogs would be banished from the affec tions and homes of men. Then I think I would begin to live in good earnest and perhaps enjoy trips into the country which now, for all my apparent bravery, I regard more in the light of a penance than a pleasure. 1 Imagine, then, how hard I found it to retain my self possession or even any appearance of dignity when at the mo ment I was stretching forth my hand toward the knocker of this inhospitable mansion I heard rising from somewhere I never rightly knew where the howl of a dog so keen, piercing and prolonged that it frightened the very birds over my head and sent them flying from tho vines in clouds. It was the unhappiest kind of wel come for me. I did not know whether it came from within or without, and when after a moment of indecision I saw the door open I am not sure whether the smile I called up to grace the occasion had any of the real Amelia Butterworth in it, so much was my mind divided be tween a desire to produce a favorable impression and a very decided and not to be hidden fear of the dog who had greeted my arrival with such an omi nous howl. “Gall off the dog!” I cried almost before I saw what sort of person I was addressing. Mr. Gryce, when I told him of this later, said I could not have made a more significant introduction of myself to the Knollys mansion. Chapter IV.—A Spectral Home. The hall into which I had stepped was so dark that for a few minutes 1 could see nothing but the indistinct out line of a young woman with a very white face. She had uttered a sort oi murmur at my words, but for some rea son was strangely silent, and if I could trust my eyes seemed rather to be look ing back and over her shoulder than in-, to the face of her advancing guest. This was odd, but before I could quite satis fy myself as to the cause of her abstrac tion she suddenly bethought herself, and throwing open the door of an ad joining room she Jet in a stream of light by which we were enabled to see each other and exchange the greetings suit able to the occasion. (( \Better the Feet Slip ' Than the Tongue.” Slips of any kind are y to be deplored, but there is one slip Nature never forgives. It is the carelessness that ig nores the signal that the body is in danger of wreck. It may be that the kidneys or the stomach or the head gives the warning sign. But remember, the blood feeds every organ of the body. Make no slip, but first tone up the system through the blood, and health will surely follow. Hood’s Sarsaparilla is the best preparation man has devised to make pure, life-giving blood. It never disappoints. Scrofula — “ I was almost bedfast with scrofula and catarrh. Had no appetite. Hood’s Sarsaparilla soon made me stronger and later all the sores disappeared and catarrh stopped.” Nellie Osmeb, 414 Lyon Street, Des Moines, Iowa. Rheumatism—Rheumatism is a dis ease of the blood, and the acid must be neutralized to effect a cure. “ I was troubled with rheumatism so badly that I could not walk. Hood’s Sarsaparilla cured me.” Mrs. Mitchell McDermott, Southbridge, Mass. Malaria—” I was very low with malaria. My doctor did not help me and scolded because I would not stop work. Took Hood’s Sarsaparilla and got sound and well. Can eat, sleep f«id work weli.” Mrs. Julia Stockibg, Bath, N. Y. Eczema — “ My mother’s face was covered with eczema, face, hands and feet were swollen. Hood’s Sarsaparilla cured her. We keep it on hand and recommend it highly.” Rev. E. E. Jenkins, 407 Govern or Street, Evansville, Ind. sick Headache — “ I am now 22. Since I was 8 years old I suffered constantly with impure blood, biliousness and sick head aches until I took Hood’s Sarsaparilla by doctor’s advice. I owe my life to it.”' Elvira A. Rumkill, Claremont, N. H. Catarrh—“I suffered from childhood with catarrh. Was entirely deaf in one ear. Hood’s Sarsaparilla cured me and restored my hearing.” Mbs. W. Stokes, Midland, Tex. “Ob, no!” she said, but there was no heart in her voice. “I had almost forgotten those days, ” I proceeded, seeing I must keep up the conversation if we were not to sit in to tal silence, “till I happened to hear the name of Althea mentioned the other - day. Then my whole early friendship with your mother recurred to me, and I started up—as I always do when I come to any decision, my dear—and sent that telegram, which I hope I have not followed by an unwelcome pres ence. ” “Oh, no, ” 6he repeated, but this time with some feeling, “we need friends, and if you will overlook our shortcom ings— But you have not taken off your hat. What will Loreen say to me?” And with a sudden nervous action as marked as her late listuessness she jumped up and began busying herself over me, untying my bonnet and laying aside my bundles, which up to this mo ment I had held in my hands. “I—I am so absentminded, ” she murmured. “I—I did not think—I hope you will excuse me. Loreen would have given you a much better welcoma ” “Then Loreen should have been here,” I said, with a smile. I oould not restrain that slight rebuke, yet I liked the girl, notwithstanding everything I had heard, and her own odd and unac countable behavior there was a sweet ness in her face when she chose to (Continued on Page Nine.) EPILEPSY or falling Firs. A member of my family having: been cured in a wonderful manner of the ter rible disease, I will, for the benefit of humanity, gladly make known the reme dy. free of charge, to any one addressing MRS.H.JONES, Box 606. Philadelphia. Pa. JtocdS St Rood’s Pills cure liver ills, the non -irritating and only cathartic to take with Mood’s Sarsaparilla. “Mias Butterworth, my mother’s old friend,” she murmured with an almost pitiful effort to be cordial, “we are so glad to have you visit ns. Won’t yon— you sit down?" What did it mean? She had pointed to a chair in the sitting room, but her face was turned away again as if drawn irresistibly toward some secret object of fear. Was there any one or anything at the top of the dim staircase I could faintly see in the distance? It wonld not .. do for me to ask nor was it wise for me strange one. Stepping into the room she pointed ont to me, I waited for her to follow me, which she did with mani fest reluctance. Bnt when she was once ont of the atmosphere of the hall, or ont of reach of the sight or sound of what ever it was that frightened her, her face took on a smile that ingratiated her with me at once and gave to her very delicate aspect, which np to that mo ment had not suggested the remotest likeness to her mother, a piquant charm and subtle fascination that were not un worthy of the daughter of Althea Bur roughs. “You—you must not mind the pover ty of your welcome, ” she said, with a half proud, half apologetic look around her, which I must say the bareness and shabby character, of the room we were in fully justified. “We have not been verv well off since father died, and mother”—again that look, this time one of unmistakable fear, bnt she soon checked it and smiled again, though without any show of piquancy—“and mother left ns. Had yon given us a chance we would have written you that our home would not offer many induce ments to you after your own, but you have come unexpectedly and”— “There, there,” I put in, fori saw that her embarrassment wonld soon get the better of her, “do not speak of it. I did not come to enjoy yonr home, but to see you. Are you the eldest, my dear, and where is yonr sister and brother?” “I am not the eldest,” she said. “I am Lucetta. My sister”—here her head stole irresistibly back to its old position of listening—“will—will come soon. My brother is not in the honse. ” “Well,” said I, astonished that she did not ask me to take off my things, “you are a pretty girl, but yon do not look very strong. Are you quite well, my dear?” She started, looked at me eagerly, al most anxiously, for a moment, then straightened herself and began to lose some of her abstraction. “I am not a strong person, ” she smiled, “bnt neither am I so very weak either. I was always smalL So was my mother, you know.”. She seemed to think she must talk of her mother, though I noticed that the word gave her pain. As for me, no topic coaid be more agreeable save one. I therefore answered her in a way to pro long the conversation. “Yes, your mother was small,” said I, “but never thin or pallid. She was like a fairy among us schoolgirls. Does it seem odd to hear so old a woman as I sneak of herself as a schoolgirl?” “AMONG THE OZARKS." The Land of Big Apples, is an attrac tive and interesting book, with views of South Missouri scenery. It pertains to fruit-raising in that great fruit belt of America, the southern slope of the Ozarks. and is of interest to fruit grow ers and to every farmer and home seek er looking for a farm and a home. Mailed free. Address. J. E. LOCKWOOD, Kansas City — — — — Missouri. ^.LIMITED DRAINS' DOUBLE DAILY SERVICE , ATLANTA EAST. $3 SAVED* BY THE SEABOARD AIR LINE. 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