Georgia Historic Newspapers

    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.
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JAS.IL HUNTER
ATTORNEY AT E A \V,
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BROOKS COUNTY, GEORGIA.
Wifi practice in the Counties of (he Southern
Circuit, EehAls and Clinch of the Brunswick; and
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nng&Mm
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QUITMAN ,
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jmic2B-.tjC
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bate 'an Associate Jmrtibu Supreme Court V.
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