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VOLUME I. THE INDEPENDENT. MTtBDIT, J.UniARV *4, IST*. J. C. GALLAKER, Editor and Proprietor. Publt.lusl Wklr t M O* pr Annum In Ad v a arc. Mingle Copies ft cent*. COMPANIONS. They are ntxrat uh ever, I’iweeu by mortal eye, Friend* whom death canuot sever. Links of eternity. And oft-time* in the watchoa Of BtiU and lonely night, The weary spirit catches Glimpse* of celestial light. M of ftnnihar Hagers, w of parting smilk Imprest of kiss that fingertip Our muoioric* beguile. Ah, may it not be that thev Who shared mr„fondia*t lovo Are still with us when we pray, blessings from above— Companions watching o’er us With anxious yearning eye, Fri**nls who have gone before us To welcome us on high ? To whom the task is given, A guardian angel’s care, To lead our souls to heaven, To greet those loved ones there. ONE WHITE LIE. Without, the wide park was growing rapidly dark beneath the curtain of gray cloud which, hiding the winter sunset, was fast overspreading the sky. Within, firelight already glowed warmly in the long picture gallery; and ns the fitful gleams fell on the pictured wall, faces of dead L'Estcnnges shone out with sud den life. She had curled herself up com fortably on one of the broad window seats, and pressing her cheeks against the cold gliiss, watched—for what was best known to herself. Soon she became a subject of speculation among the merry group whom slio had deserted; who had clustered them selves round one of the large fires which blazed *4. either end of the gallery. ‘‘Gertrude, why are yon sitting out in the cold ?” “Gertrude, have we offended you ?” “Miss Melville, do come back." “Gertrude, what are you looking at ?” “Miss Melville, shall I come and help yon ?” Such were the questions they tossed over to her; but few of them were answered. Only now and then she fired hark a sharp one :—“What does it matter to you ?” “I shall get cold if I like.” “Leave me alone. ” And so nfter a time they did. ami their laughter and gay voices rang unheeded on her ear. She never stirred or moved her •yes from |lie white carriage road, which grew less and less distinct every moment. Notv ti e wild began to sigh amt moan ' through the lingo branches of many a i forest king; and a flake of snow came tint- 1 teriug down with a wavering, lingering motion, followed by another, and another, until the air was full of them. Then, i through the rising storm, Gertrude's oars caught the sound of horses' hoofs coming along at a rapid, swinging trot; her heart , leaped up. and the color deepened; while a light, not of the dancing blaze, shone in j her dark brown eyes. ' She strained her gaze through the thickening snow, and j the last glimmer of daylight showed her a map on horseback at the door below. ! Then she made a midden movement, as if she would Join the others, but a second I thought stopped her and she returned to I her old position; hut the eager eyes were | satisfied, and, the ear was strained now to j catch that footstep with such music in its , fall. The door opened and it was there. ‘‘All, Miss L’Estrange, how cheerful you look. How do you do ?” A tall man, with brood shoulders and a deep voice, with a strong Scotch accent in it, had found the group at tlve fire. Every baud was ready to meet that of David Gower. , v ‘‘Cold ?- 1 should think so i A regular snowy Christmas.” And then his eye began to rove; jhp missed something from the circle round him. “Gertrude,” called Eva L'Estrajigc, “here’s, your ' portionlur friend.’ Come out.of the cold, child." j; His bright blue eyes. lightened, and went straight, as an arrow to the place where she was sitting; then he folio wed them. “In ttyq,,eold ?” he said, and his voice softened exquisitely. “I’m not cold, Mayn't I Watch the snow if I like ?”. , “No; little one. Como to the fire.” i And she came. “A little one” indeed, lieside his. height and breadth. As the firelight shines on her face, let ns sew. what it is like. Slot strictly beautiful by ] any ..means, opmpared with Miss L’Es-J trange’s regular features, but very fair to j look upon, thought David Gower. The nose was not straight, but it was delicately shaped. The imperfect mouth | was always either bewitch ingly merry or seriously sweet. I lie brown ,hair and eyes., were soft skid bright; the low,, broad brow as pure as ivory. Women invariably called her plain, but rSosttnen thought her pretty. To David Gower she was beau tiful. The circle opened to let her in, but she was not a fgyorite with them. She was i too easily offended and sharp with her answers for the girls, and too distant and independent for the men. ,! But David was her particular friend. ! He had lately become a large landholder in the neighborhood, and farmed it himself. Extremely clever in agriculture, he became j Mr. ILEstrauge’s right hand man in such j matters, and grew so popular with the., ppople that Mr. L’Estrange, who hoped to be returned for the county at the coming election, fpuud in David Gower a man of ; great powei' and influence, and cultivated him accordingly. All that was known of hip parentage was, that his father, who was now dead, had been a Presbyterian min ister. David became a great favorite at the Hall, and nearly everybody called him by his.(/hristian name; it seemed to come, so naturally,,.perhaps because he was.so simple, honest, and straightforward in iris ways. And so it was that Gertrude Mel ville. coming to stay at her uncle’s house, had taken it into her wilful lit‘l; head that nothing on earth would please her but to ride. a. rough pony every day of her life over the fields and roads with I David Gower. THE INDEPENDENT. “Really it is not proper,” objected Mrs. I L'Estrange. “Pooh ! old David is like a father,” replied her husband. "Lot the child alone; it does her good.” And she was “let alone,” after a brief remonstrance from her aunt, to which she replied, “I don’t care to ride properly, with a gnxnn behind me. And 1 mustn’t hunt; hut David often goes over hedges and ditches, and that, is what 1 like, it's all right, aunt Ellen !” So over hedges and ditches Miss Ger trude went to her heart's content —but not to David’s —For he became so dreadfully alarmed for that pretty, slender neck, that it was a great relief to him when she gradu ally Income less and less attached to “cross country" riding and took to liking quiet canters down lovely lanes, and still bettor when she grew tired even of a cim ter and their horses walked slowly side by side, and 101% long ttdks beguiled the Hying hours. Tike fairy beauty of the frosty morning, the roar of the forest trees, the liare ltranches that would bud again in spring time, the 'dead-leafed earth, which only slept, had for them eloquent teachings; voices that spoke low and near to their hearts, until strange silences used to fall between them as they rode side by side through the wintry land. Somehow Gertrude was changed. Her wildness had departed, she was softer and gentler. Until Mr. L’Estrange trium phantly inquired of his wife whether Da vid Gower lmd done any harm. “No, unless she has fallen in love with him.” Tp which her wise husband re plied, with a laugh of contempt, “In love with him ? Why, my dear, David is not the sort of fellow girls full in love with, I can tell you.” “But Mrs. L’Estrange might he sup posed to know a little more about the mat tertlnm he did. She knew a very short road to a woman's heart with which David Gower, in all unconsciousness, seemed to he very well acquainted, and that was a gentleness of manner and an air of pro tecting strength, which made you turn to him in trouble and feel ready to face any danger by his side. Therefor*;, when this change came over Gertrude, her aunt felt much relieved to think ln r visit was nearly at an end. Butalas forthe*'littleonc!” Shccrouched down in her corner by the fire, and gaz ing on the face of her “particular friend” as he talked with the others, kept saying over to herself with a miserable despair, “Only a week more ! Only a week more ! Oh, I cannot, cannot go away !” And she repented aloud, “I cannot nud 1 will not!” “Oh, dear roe, Gertrude, what an awful little witch you are !" exclaimed Eva. “Hhe is talking to herself in a most dreadful manner, Mr. Gower.” Poor Gertrude grew crimson to her forehead, and in another moment tears would have blinded her frightened eyes, for twelve bantering remarks were addresed to her at once, but David came to her u - sistance, saying, “They shall not tease you! j They dare not if I protect you.” Gertrude recovered herself and laugh ed. “I was half asleep, I think,” she said. “Firelight does make one so sleepy. : Eva, it must be time to dress for dinner.” But she did not look up or speak to him j who was standing by her side. And as the circle broke up she went soberly away with the other girls, leaving him thought ful and silent with the gentlemen by the fire. Avery deep fit of thoughtfulness, in deed, seemed to have fallen upon David Gower, and lie sat through tin; long din ner almost in silence. His eyes were al ways wandering down the table to where a light figure in a white dress, with varie gated holly ill her hair, sat on the other side. Now and then he saw how her eyes seemed to search for his, from which, when they had found them, they dropped or turned away in sweet confusion; and someone, speaking to him after one of these glances, was struck by the radiant smile that lit up his grand, good face, making it positively handsome. The evening came to an end—Christmas Eve—and the ladies had retired. Eva L’Estrange and her friend Mary Vere were chatting together in tin; hitter's room until Eva, looking at the clock, and find ing it three minutes to twelve, proposed that they should listen for the Christmas bells before going to bed. “Then, let ns coips ; into the gallery. The windows look light on to the church, and we can open a shutter.” So they went —in their pretty dressing gowns, with their bright hair upon tlieir shoulders, looking almost like the angels s long ago, ns they glided along until 'they reached the folding doors of the pic ture gallery. One was half open, and a faint glimmer from, the turned down lamps showed that which made them catch their breaths as each whispered, “is it a ghost ?” They ] had nearly turned, and fled, when their eyes, becoming, ixu/rii accustomed to the dim light, beheld, not a ghost, but a huge burglar, all in black—David Gower, in fact, with Gertrude by his side. “Hush!* mitrmtlred Eva. “Well, I never!” “Is ho making her an offer?” asked Mary Vcre. There stood Gertrude, in her white dress, with both her hands in David Gow er’s, but there was, no. sound of a word; and so deep waa the silence that, softly as dream bells upon the night breeze, came thy swelling peal Jtliat rang in Christmas morn. At this moment Eva, moving her! hand, which held her brush, knocked it! against the door; the sound went echoing down the gallery, and at the noise Gert rude sprang from JJavid’s side, while the two girls turned round and rushed away, but not before a stifled laugh reached the ears of the other two. •‘Oh, what was it ?” exclaimed Gertrude, in dismay. “Only those mischievous girls,” replied David. “Never mind; they could not see us, exactly, and you were looking for your brooch,you know.” But, bidding hirn a hurried “good night,” Gertrude ran away to her room. David had not made her an offer at'nil, and their interview, so rudely interrupted, was in this wise:—Gertrude, in her room, dreamily taking off her ornaments before undressing, suddenly missed a fayorite : brooch she had worn during the day. Be lieving she had dropped it on the window seat in the gallery she straightway went to look for it, and was in the act of tura i ing up one of the lamps when David (who had keen changing his evening ooat for a smoking one) came across the gallery on his way down stairs. She explained her [ errand, and they wore searching together ' when) suddenly'and sweetly, the first peal QUITMAN, GA.. SATURDAY, JANUARY 24. 1874. ;of those midnight bells broke upon their e irs. “Hush 1” Gertrude hail softly said; “it. is Christmas morning.” And lifting her J eyes to his fane, had mot there an expres sion which sent a quiver of joy* through j every vein. She was bulling again to her ] search, when, taking her hands, ho had said tenderly, “At least I may wish you a j happy Christmas, child.” Tile words had hut left his lips when I that sound of stifled laughter told they j were discovered. Gertrude’s cheeks were burning when she reached her room. “And yet, why should l care ?” she ar gued. “David and I will bo engaged be fore long.” And she clasped her hands together with a little rapturous gesture, as she stood dreaming in the red fire-glow. But the next day passed, mid the next, and David was still silent, while Eva and Mary Vere teased her unceasingly. Then oame a gront. pain unto Gertrude's heart, and a fear that, after all, perhiqm, ho Only cared for her as the “little one," and she should have to go away into the wide, dark, desolate future, without tlio love of David Gower. Every fibre of her young heart was thrilling with the sharp pangs of dying hope, when one day Eva mentioned her going away, said more seriously than usual, “Well, Gertrude, and when is your en gagement with Mr. Gower coming out ?" Smarting under the wound ho roughly touched she turned round and answered, “Don’t talk such nonsense, Eva. If you think I am going to marry a common farmer like him you are wonderfully mis taken.” "Oh, beg your pardon, dear,” replied Eva, laughing; and someone calling her in the hull she ran out of the room. It was tin' library they were in together. Dark with the snowy day, and heavy cur tains, dmping the deep bay windows; but the fire light was pleasant, and the two girls had sauntered in, attracted by its warmth. Gertrude was a great, desu too restless to remain there by herself, nml was slowly crossing the room, when she suddenly became aware of a gentleman in one of the windows. Her heart turned sick and cold as she saw the face of David Gower. "Oh, David, David !” she exclaimed, recklessly, and stretching out her hands towards him, “I did not mean it! Indeed, I did not mean it 1” He made no reply; did not even turn his face towards her, hut in the expression of every altered line she knew, without doubt, tlmt lie did indeed love her, and covering liar face with her hands, slio burst into a passion of tears. Presently someone spoke; but was it David’s voice, so choked and changed? Vet it was a tender, sorrowful one. “Don’tcry, Gertrude -nevermind.” “O, David 1” she said, lifting up her faee in an agony of supplication, “forgive me; indeed, I did not mean it.” “Child, child, don’t cry so; you arc forgiven.” Tender as tlio voice was, she felt all hope was past. Was it likely lie could believe she did not mean it ? Her tears ceased, and she was still now from very despair. Gently he led her to the fire, making her sit down; then taking her nerveless hand in his, and telling her to think no more about it, ho turned quietly away and left the room. Gertrude saw him no more. Silence is golden when its sweet elo quence falls between hearts sure of each other; golden when it tells what words are weak to say; but death, when its dark pall drops over absence and misunderstanding. To Gertrude it was a slow, gnawing pain, eating away all her youth and freshness. Hho was at home. Her father was nil ar tist, her mother, Mr. L’Estrange’s sister, an elegant, high-bred woman, who, in an hour of youthful enthusiasm and romance, linked her fate with that of the handsome artist. Children and poverty were the result. A small, pretty villa was their homo, an easy distance from London, and on the estate of Lord Westerleigh, whoso agent was rather too particular about the ten ants’ rents to please Mr. Melville. “I shall go abroad,” be often threatened. “In Italy, that land of art, the inspiration of genius will never leave me.” But he never went—idling on at home, doing a picture now and then, while, his difficulties yearly increased. These Mrs. Melville had struggled thus far to keep from her brother’s knowledge, and pre vented her husband from writing to him for help by working herself for the money supposed to come from him. For Mr. L’Estrango had been strongly opposed to her marriage, prophesying much misery as the result. As it was, ho very possibly guessed a little how things were, for Ger trude always returned from her yearly visit laden with gifts. Mr. Melville was in one of his threatening moods when she came homo this time. The Christmas bills j were rolling in fast, and he told her that I she had seen the last of Eden vale, for i that he was going to take them all to Italy. Gertrude did not much care; there was nothing but silence everywhere, and so heavily did it lie on her own heart that | her mother thought she was ill. Then j she roused herself, to help with the little ones, teaching one or two; to talk art with her father, in the evenings; anil to listen to her mother’s forebodings during the day. But it was like walking through a land ! of darkness —for a land of darkness and a j , great gulf lay between her and David | Gower. There was no voice or hope any- [ j where; and only increased dreariness came ; ‘ wjth cold lengthening evenings of March. j j Then came the sweet spring days, when j i the birds, seeming to catch faint echoes of the Triumph songs of heaven, shootout of their little throats floods of rapturous, music. And the promise of the year fulfilled itself in dreamy, balmy sum mer. Then, when all was bright and joyous, Gertrude nearly broke her heart i with tears, and deeper and closer round her fell that heavy spell of silenco that i was sapping her life away. When the | autumn leaves began to fall, Lord West ; erleigh died, and at the Park, too, where he had come for the shooting. He had ! been an unmarried man, and the estate ) and title went to a distant cousin. What the new Lord Westerleigh was like was a 1 subject of eager interest to his tenants. I Mr. Melville only hoped he would turn | off that fellow Laken the agent; for, if 1 not, he should certainly inform his lord j ship tliat he could not remain a tenant j any longer. Mrs. Melville only hoped there would he a lady at the Hall, and | Gertrude neither thought nor cared any thing about it. There was a grand funeral land the new lord was present. Those i who saw him. described him as a tall, bi“, youngish man, but the Mnlvilles did not see him. Ho remained two din’s at the Park, and then went away until the fol lowing January, when lie was coming back to bike up his quarters there permanently. On one of these two days Gertrude saw a ghost. She was wandering through Westerleigh Park, engrossed with her own sad thoughts, and was only recalled to external thiugs by a low, savage bellow close at hand. Looking up she found herself near to a herd of cattle, nnd a huge brown bull tossing the mud over ly shoulders, liis head low, his eyes glaring, with every intention of coming at her. With a cold feeling ef terror at her heart she looked round wildly for some way to escape. At a short distance there was a hedge and a stile, and that was her only chance, hut she was so frightened that she felt her limbs would never bear her so far. Tbo bull now twisted up his tail prepara tory to a rush, and, with a cry for help, Gertrude turned round and fell. That cry was answered instantly, for she had scarcely touched the gualuid when astrong arm raised her, and the next moment she was on the other side of the style and in safety. During that first terrified moment she had looked up into the face of her deliverer, and then the effect of the fright and unexpected relief acting upon nerves already unstrung, resulted in un consciousness. But she was safe in those protecting arms, ard as she rested in them, senseless, they folded her passionately to their owner’s broad breast. Gertrude soon recovered, and found her self lying in a cottage close by; while a woman she knew well attended her. “Dear me, how foolish lam 1” she said, raising herself on her arm; “but it was that horrid bull, Mrs. Foster.” “And enough to frighten you to death, indeed, miss. It’s a shame to leave that beast loose; I’m sure it was a mercy the gentleman was there.” “Who was it ?” asked Gertrude, ns the color came back richly to her cheeks. “That’s more than 1 know, miss; lie's quite a stranger to me; but, dear me, such a gentleman 1 Are you better now, dear ?” “O yes !” said Gertrude, putting lier feet to the ground. “I’m all right, thank you. Good bye, Mrs. Foster.” Her heart was beating wildly with a joyful expectation as slio hurried away down tlio lane. Her deliverer was no stranger to her, for in the face sho laid seen for one moment, bending so anx iously over her, she lmd recognized David Gower. But why was lie there ? If to see her, why had lie not stayed to speak to her ? Yes ! she laid seen him ! Ho was no myth, for she had been saved by- his stalwart nruis; but he had only done what any other man would do and left her with out a word. He had vanished as myste riously as he appealed; in vain her eager eyes searched the wide expanse of park and the long, straight Inna before her there was no living creature in sight but the browsing cattle; no sound, but the fall of dead leaves, as they rustled drearily to the ground. A day or two of feverish ex pectation followed, but ho appeared no more, and sadly this last hope faded and died. Still it was sweet to owe liar life to him. Christmas came and passed. Mr. Laken could not get Mr. Melville’s rent, and no promises on Iris part of paying in a week’s time or of reporting the agent to Lord Westerleigh prevented him from putting in a distress. ..... “It shall be paid at the end of the week," sail! Gertrude; for she had persuaded her mother to let her write to Mr. L’Estrange. “Can you not take my word ?” she added, indignantly. “I don’t earo for words, Miss Melville,” replied the agent. “You have live days, and the, man will behave himself.” “Very well,” said Gertrude, briefly; and with that she putoii her lmt and set oil' across the park. She was going to the house; she knew Lord Westerleigh had arrived the day before, and she believed a gentleman would take the word of a lady. It was already dark when she rang tile bell at the great door; but the sound ing echoes stirred no fooling of awe or misgiving in her heart. A servant ap peared and she asked for Lord Wester leigh. The man was a stranger, and re plied, simply, that “my lord was engaged. ” “Then I will wait until ho is disen gaged,” replied Gertrude. , • “But I don’t think rny lord can see you at all to-night. You had better call again in the morning.” And ho prepared to shut the door as he spoke. Gertrude was almost in a passion but controlled herself. “I think he will see me. Bo kind enough to tell Lord Westerleigh that Miss Melville would be glad to speak to him for a few minutes.” As she made a step forward the light fell full upon her, and the dignity of her manner and appearance seemed suddenly to convince the man that lie was speaking to a lady. He beg ged her pardon, and wanted to show her into a room while ho went with her mes sage to bis master, but Gertrude prefer red remaining by the fire in tho ball. In a minute or two lie returned, requesting her to follow him, and she soon found herself in a small, comfortable room, lighted only by the fire. The walls and curtains were crimson, relieved by lane, and a few marble statuettes; the furniture and carpet were of tho sarno color, and the warm flroKght glowed over every thing. On the hearth, with his back to, theiire, stood Lord Westerleigh; a man with a fine, tail figure, but whose face she could not see. To her surprise, ho came forward with an outstretched hand, when the ser vant lighting some caudles on the- table, revealed his face. Gertrude shrank fool ishly back from the Land she was about to take, and found herself face to face i : witli David Gower. “I beg your pardon,” she began, turn ing white to tho lips. “It was Lord Wes-1 i tei'leigh I came to see.” Bather a mournful smile came to his i lips as lie put his hand behind hun and i replied, “I thought you knew I was Lord | Westerleigh.” “Lord Westerleigh 1” repeated Gertrude the blood rushing to her brow. “I did J not know it, indeed.” j “Don’t apologize, Miss Melville. Will you shake hands with me now !” he said, holding out liis hand again. I “And gladly,” came from Gertrude’s ! big heart. j He smiled, and taking her hand, said j with Iris old kind voice, so that she could I have knelt down and kissed his feet, “And what can I do for you ?” Tears rushed to her eyes and she looked down to hide them, but lie must have seen | them, for he turned round, and stirred the I fire to give her time. Then sho told her story, with a red flush of oliarno on her brow. “My father must leave, I know, nnd we must live differently; but If you will tell Air. Liken to take the man away, he shall have the money by the end of the week.” Lord Westeneigli did not reply at once, ho walked backwards and forwards twice. “I am so ashamed,” ho said at length, “that such a thing should lmvc been done in my name. I will walk buck with you and set it. right. lam very, very sorry. ” Gertrude made no reply. It, was sho who felt ashamed, for ho whom she had culled a “common farmer” was Lord AYes terleigh, and far above her—-so far that he had evidently quite forgotten any af fection he might once have laid for her, and a bitter pang was making itself felt in her heart as she saw in his calm, unem barrassed maimer, no sign of tlio love that had once boon liers. Bo they walked back together through the dark evening. Not many words pass ed between them; and Gertrude tried to realize tlmt David Gower and Lord Wes terleigh were one and tlio sume person. Bhe was wondering how it was they lmd heard nothing of the matter from the L’Estranges; but then she remembered t hat they were still abroad,having gone at the mid of the summer. In spite ol' his al tered manner, she felt lmppy walkingonoe more by his side—so conscious of the charm of his protecting presence. The house door stood open and Airs. Melville was peering into the darkness. “Gertrude ! Is that you ?” sho called anxiously. Gertrude ran forward, and nost ling up to her mother, murmured, “Here is Lord Westerleigh, mamma; and he will take tlio man away.” And before Mrs. Alelvillo could ask for an explanation, she rushed out of sight up to her own room,where a pent-up burst of tears would be restrained no longer. When they lmd exhausted themselves, slio sat and listened for sounds below. For some time all was silent; then tlio drawing room door opened and slio heard Lord Westerleigh and her father’s voice as they walked down the passage. A cordial “good night" closed the interview, and us the lmll door closed Airs. Melville came up stairs into Ger trude's dark room. “Is it all right, mamma,?” “Yes, my dear—but how was it you nev er told us you lmd met Lord Wis oileigli at your uncle's ?" It, was well for Gertrude tlio darkness hid her tell-tale cheeks. “Why, mamma, I never knew ho was Lord Westerleigh until I saw him this evening. Ho was only Air. Gower, you know.” “I should have blamed you for going to him if lie had been a stranger, Gertrude. ” “But is he not kind and good?” She was so bold in the dark. "(rood and kind ? indeed he is, God bless him,” replied Airs; Melville,earnestly. “Your father is to begin painting his por trait immediately. He said he considered himself fortunate in finding an artist so near. He is going to have his house full of visitors soon, nnd lio hopes I will go and help him entertain them. Oh, Gertrude !” said poor Mrs. Alelvillo, with tears in her voice, “you cannot tell what it will he to mo to go hack once more into the society of my youth 1” Gertrude’s [arms were round her mother’s neck; she felt very happy somehow. “Dear mamma, I am so glad 1 You are too pretty hover to bo seen.” Mrs. Melville laughed and kissed her. “How curiously things happen, I ,', said Gertrude; but her mother did not answer, for a dim dream of a possible future was dawning on her mind. And now Gertrude’s life was changed— tho silenco was broken. There was a voice somewhere always singing to her in most heart, nn echo, perhaps of Lord Westerleigh's few words of greeting, which were hers now two or three times a week, for he came to Mr. Melville’s house to sit for his portrait—-he said he preferred it— and thus camo across her now and then in her walks. Once ro twicejthey nearly fell back into tho old way of conversation, as when they used to ride side by side at Eden vale; but Lord Westerleigh always checked himself if they seemed to be drifting too far in that direction. His manner was most kind and friendly always, but his voice never once dropped into the tender tone of old; yet Gertrude was not unhappy, because he was present. His visitors arrived", ami Mrs. Melville was much "at the Hall. Ho apologized, he said, for tho trouble lie was giving her add ing that ho had a sister engaged now in attendance upon an invalid aunt, who in a few months, he hoped, would come to live with him and do tho honors of his house. Gertrude and her father were also invited, and about that time a rumor arose that Lord Westerleigh was about to take to himself a wife; but which of thoso -fair girls, who with their fathers, mothers and brothers, had been bis guests, was to be the future mistress of Westerleigh, Ger trude could not discover. But the truth of the report she never doubted, and in, her mind if was -confirmed one- lovely spring Sunday when an old and young lady appeared in the Hall pew. For who but his betrothed wife could that, fair wofaan bo, with the calm, sweet face, who sat and stood and knelt by Lord Westerleigh’s side ? Gertrude’s eyes sought hers with all her soul in them. “And who so lit to be his wife ?” was her despairing comment. A woman near to his own ago, beautiful, dignified, with a sweet, intellectual face, grave and restful, the promise of a wise, gentle ruler of his house and guardian angel of his life. Gertrude’s eager, sorrowful face could scarcely escapo the notice of her upon whom it was fixed, and she saw her bend toward Lord Westerleigh when the ser vice was over, evidently with an inquiry, for lie, half glancing at Gertrude, looked away with a brief reply, : A slight lifting of tho eyebrows, and then came anew light into those blue eyes that word such a match for David's, while Gertrude slipped away shrinking and shiv ering under their gaze. She ran out into the woods that after noon, for she wanted to find oat how to bear her fato; she believed that was de cided now, and discovered that the voioo which had broken tho silence, bad been lmt the voice of hope telling a flattering tale. She was treading on blue hyacinths, \ crushing them ruthlessly and plucking i hawthorn blossoms indiscriminately, as she 1 walked, when suddenly she looked up an if by instinct, and saw tho objects of her i thoughts close at hand. .She started on | one side to get away through the trees, but Lord Westerleigh’s voice brought her to a . stand-still. I “Gertrude,”—(how strange, he had not i called her that for many a day)—“Ger- trade, I want to introduce you to my sis ter.” His sister 1 The manner with which she received his communication did not escape Lord Wosterleigh's notice, although he was very far from attributing it to its time cause. The change of expression seemed to’liim to indicate extremo surprise; anil one day he asked her why. Aliss Gower lmd gone away ngain for a timo before coming to settle at Wester liegli for good. And one lovely evening in Juno Lord Westerleigh had strolled into tlio villa, and was standing with Gertrude at the drawing room window, “Why were you so astonished when lin troduced my sister to yon that Bunday ?” he inquired. “Because I never thought she was your sister,” replied Gertrude. •‘Who, then did yon tako her for ?” he asked. “Why," said Gertrude quietly, “I thought sho was the ludy who was to bo your wife.” “Afy wife ?” Lord Wosterleigh’s broad brow contracted, nnd he bent his blue eyes sternly upon Gertrude’s unconscious face. She was gazing out into the fair twilight, but not so dreamily us a minute ago. “Alv wife?” he repeated, and the stern ness of his voice recalled her attention. She looked up at him and colored slightly. “What chance is there of that now ?” he continued. “If any one had cured for humble David Gower it would have been different; but now rank and wealth tiro in the way how shall I learn to believe that I might be loved for myself ?” It was scarcely tlio passing breoae that made Gertrude shiver from head fofoot. “I don’t know,” she said through the pain his words had roused. “If you can not believe in any one you will never know.” Hot uinl fust in the twilight tears were springing to her eyes. She had nearly turned round and rushed away, but his voice stopped her. He Rpolte very sorrow fully—“l believed once.” Whether Gertrude would have thrown herself (figuratively) at his feet, and en treated him to believe again, it is impos sible to say; for the maid, opening the door, brought jn the Jump; upon which Lord Westerleigh said “Good-niglit” hastily, nnd went away. After that Gertrude was from homo for some time, visiting her mother’s friends, and when she retufjied. found tlio L’Es tranges at Westerleigh Park. An arrange ment lmd been made in her absence—Air. L’Estrange had discovered at lost how things were, and Air. Alelvillo’s great desire to go to Italy; therefore to Italy ho had promised to send .them, and start them fairly theft). .It was with h pang of despair that Gertrude 'first heard the news—and to go so soon, too; this was tlio end of September, ami they were to go in a mouth’s time. But she-got over the despair, oild canitr to the 'Conclusion tlmt, nfter all, she should be happier away from Lord Westerleigh - than continually har assed by his presence, for their intercourse with each other now lmd become distant nnd cold. Eva still joked her about, him and declared she oouhl not understand it at all. “For you know, Gertrude, you did care for each other.” s' “And what if we did ?” Gertrudo asked, bitterly. w Eva gave her a scrutinizing glance auil was very much puzzled. “Well, dear, never mind ! you will see someone nicer abroad. ” That Gertmdo might find someone there Mrs. L’Estrauge happened casually to remark that evening in Lord Wester leigh’s presence. Mr. L’Estrange “hoped so,” and called. Iris wife’s attention to a book he was examining. Then Eva turned to Lord Westerleigh, and said, in her off hand, laughing way;—- • “You were her -first: love, you know !” “You flatter me, Miss L’f’.strange,” ho quietly replied; but his color changed. “I never flatter I” laughed Eva. “Can you be serious?” he said, bending anxiously toward her. “O, I never pledge myself to anything ! Where is mamma going?” And Eva, fearing to bo questioned further, rose from her seat and left hirn. To-morrow the Melvilles were to leave Westerleigh. The October twilight was falling fast. Lord Westerleigh had. been to bid them good-bye,and was gone. The last finishings of packing were over, and Mrs. Melville sajaflinvn to rest. “I must see him orfee more,” said Ger trude to herself, as she hurried across the park with an uncontrollable sob rising now and then in her throat. An old public path ran close by ons side of the house—a gable end, jutting out by itself, and containing on its ground floor Lord Westerleigli’s own study. Laurels had been planted in front of the window to screen it from tho footpath, cuid al though the latter was now disnded;- tiro shrubs were still allowed to grow thick and tall. To this spot Gertrude hurried her steps The evening was darkening, so there was no fear of discovery, and she'hoped to catch one glimpse of his beloved face before tho shutters were closed. With a beating heart she opened the little gato and gliding into the shelter of tho -laurels, glanced at tho 'window. She : wa& not disappointed; there, in the firelight, with his dog lying at his feet, sat Lord Wester leigh. But she hail only tirrie to . observe that liis face was buried in his hands'when tho dog sprung towards tho window with" a growl. - Gertrude grew, cold with terror. Escape was impossible and discovery next to certain, for the dog, tearing at the window, refused to bo quieted. Lord Westerleigh, who had followed him, new opened tho glass door, and the animal rushed at the laurels. No sooner had lie reached them, however, than his bark ceased, and lie began to fawn and wag his \ tail, knowing Gertrude well. Bhe was cowering back into the shrubs, her faco hidden in her hands. “Gertrude I Can it bo yon ?”'asked a well known voice. “Wliat are you doing here ?"• Turning from him with a throbbing heart and burning cheeks, she told him tho truth. "I only wanted to see you once more through tho window before I went away. You know we used to be friends. ” He rnude no reply, but led her in, and : closed the doors again. He felt she 1 was j trembling violently, but lie did not ask her to sit down; he let her stand beside | him by the fire. Tho hopeful doubt he i lr and aroused in his heart was satisfied now | and he was so happy that ho could afford i a joke. 1 .“But, Gertrude, I was once a common farmer. ’ ” NUMBER 33. “O, don’t T* she cried; “don’t bo so cruel now. Lot ’us lib friends, and say good-bye.” And she burst into tears. “Bay good-bye, little one? Never again, my darling, never again 1” ; And, taking her in his arms, ha held' her there as if, indeed, his never mount tu let her go again. .... ■ "O, David, David ! do yon believe mo' now?" said Gertrude, her voice smothered in his broad breast; “that I only said it because—because—” He interrupted her tenderly. “Never mind—lieoautm you love me,- dearest; O, child what a fool X have boon 1" She tried to answer, hut he took it in the way he liked Ixxst, . And she was silent in her full, deep, joy, thinking it must boa dream to stand there in the red firelight with David’s arm to rest on, “O, David,” she said at length, clinging to him, it cannot, cannot bo true.” "Thank God, it is!” ho murmured, as he raised the littlo wistful face to Ida and held it there. Once more through the darkness they walked hack across the park and presented themselves before the astonished eyes of Air. and Mrs. Alelville. David was very abrupt, “Yon must stay another week,” he. Bold, ‘‘and; leave me a wife.” r ■' i. They did so, nnd at the. end of tlio week drove away to tlfc station, leuving Ger trude and Lord AVestcrleigh at the church door. And quietly though the brown Ootobor woods, through the golden light of Octo ber days, with the full, sweet spring time! of loye.' in their hearts, the bride and bridegroom walked home. BUSINESS CARDS. BEDELL & CO.r Liq no r I> ea 1 e rtsj *" 1 AND TOBACCO AGENTS, 140 BRO AD S J a R EE TANARUS, coLUMarrs,’ gaT nov29-tf JAS.IL HUNTER ATTORNEY AT E A \V, QUITMAN, BROOKS COUNTY, GEORGIA. Wifi practice in the Counties of (he Southern Circuit, EehAls and Clinch of the Brunswick; and MiteTiell of tlio Albany, a**Olfico at the Court House.-ti juue2B-tf J. S. N. SNOW, iieStikt, Quitman, - - - - - Georgia, Office Up Stairs, Finch's Corner. nng&Mm W. 11. BENNETT. .. H..T, KINOHJIEItItk' BENNETT & KINGSBERRY. Attorneys at JL.O.W QUITMAN , Brooks County, - Georgia. jmic2B-.tjC EDWARD R. 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