Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

Plistrllanrous. ■f JO ■ r THE TWELFTH NIL. L I'limKK 111. TilK H.MIIIT, ■ All next day Kli/.a was paler Can her wont ; Iter I’ace wore a ■stless, troubled expression, and lie weld about the house in an Pbseut, pre oeeupied manner, ve iv different from usual, kMary Conlan, who watched her day, thought that the o |H~ of the nigld before, which ■pried lo indicate some <i i i• mi' Frluiie, had roused her to serious idlcction, and that she was inak Kop her mind lo abandon all ■oughts of Croft on forever, and ■turn to her allegiance to Hogan, w>ing it might yet be possible Hivert tin* threatened evil, ,w hate ver her t lion aid' that evening tumid e- i HHHKi do an if'' ro.i.i. her leaning over the in conver ('rollon. Thu . on jjSfpJsuooecdina evening. lie Those who had .l < lold < ano- lo HE Hf\|ee Hid \\ alool and shook their “Sure, it's 110 Use," I lie V She can't help tile doom ■j^^^^^Jier. ■Hk.il"" too, seriously re lonstrated with her. lie did not Bdoed know how frequent her! Beetings with Croft on were, for man, was generally ■Bring in his chair alter hi day's HHBllell the intel-MeW al the look and -een enoii di to • 11 "PP"- 1 oil A. I 1 II! . II lie I lo mam Kliza. lie fell Hm* that such ail unequal mar wiage would not bring happiness to her in any way. And hesides, lie had set his heart on her wedd ing Hogan, whom lie cordially liked, and with whom lie could trust her; and everything would he open and straight forward, she living on tile spot and among the people with whom she had lieen brought up. lie tried to re pro sent the thing clearly to Kliza, how t'has. <'rollon's family would lie od'ended, and how lie would needs break his engagement to Miss Courtney, lie tried to show her all the unpleasantness that must result. She heard him in a silence that seemed dogged, pouting her lips when he spoke of the advantage she would have in always remain ing among them as Hogan’s wife. In the same manner, she listened to all the rest who spoke to heron tin* subject, but no promise could be extracted from her to discon tinuo her meetings with Croft on. From that time, how ever, the gar den interviews were given up, but only as it appeared for a more secret meeting place. ()ne evening, after dusk, as Ho gun was walking along a path be tween some tields, he heard voi ces behind the hedge, lie stood still a moment. He could not mistake that tone, with its accent of refinement. It was certainly Croft on and Kliza. They seemed as if taking leave of each other, lie could not overhear t heir w ords save a few disconnected ones. “ To morrow morning," Crotton was saying, “ before any one," the remainder of the sentence was lost. Then came Eliza's voice, low and somewhat tremulous, and Oroftou again in impassioned tones. Then there was a few mo meats silence, and they seeded to part. Hut the footsteps re turned, and again he heard their voices, as it' they could not bear to tear themselves from each otli er without more last fond words and (Hogan clenched his hand as llic suggestion arose) caresses. A Hniurmur only reached him gw. followed by another short fkce. How was it tilled up? lie and he ground hi- teeth ranger, and the hot blood mono ■L to liis forehead. Steps now along by the hedge. |HVJkcd on. He knew ('rofton him. In a few min the latter eaine up. and as H ,ASM 'and looked at lloiran sharp an expression of anion InV on his handsome face ; but li<- said gayly, though with a t/>uch ol' insolence in his tone : ‘‘Wandering absorbed in thoughts of Joye, iiogan, or only eon-ider iiMfeuhat crops you will sow this Which may 1 inquire?" concern TO&I^MiiLL lk - >'•' : hm in\ ! I ■i j■ i •■ ■ ■ ! that somebody. Hut I assure you my good fellow, I have not the slightest intention of filching any thing from your barns, or commit ting ot her depredation upon you." “ I don't know,” muttered Mo gan. as the other passed on milt tering an air. “She must pass just now," he said to himself, and stopping lean ed on part of a broken wall, half concealed from view. In a little while lie heard the rail le of a dress and a light tread. Kliza came by, a bright flush on her cheek. She started a little on seeinghim, then with a nod and a careless “Good evening," was going on, when he detained her. “Yoii’ye just parted from Mr. < 'rofton ?" he said. “ Well," she answered, looking full at him; "and what then ?” •* Kliza," lie burst out passion ately, “is it all over between ns ' Tell me at once, and crush me with one word. I would rath er know. This suspense is more than I can hear; it is killing me.” She hesitated. “ Well, Will, 1 suppose so." “ You suppose so. You cun say it then coolly, and call me by the name you used to speak so tend erly once, and not so long ago ei ther. < )h, Kliza!” Ill's voice fair ly broke down, and he covered his face with his hand. She stood by, her cheeks a deep crimson, her e ves cast down, heat ing her palm with a flower she held, a rare hot house flower. Ho gan knew well who had given it to her. “And will In* marry you?" he asked. She ceased the restless move ment and looked up quickly. “ Will In* marry me !" sin* re pealed indignantly. “ Will I mar ry him ! Ask t hat, rather. //< thinks (lit* compliment’s there." “ Me is so much above you, Eli za. Take care you are not mak ing your own misery. I speak now only as a frieml, one interes ted in your welfare. Oh, take care; I warn you, before it is too late !" She stamped her foot on the ground in sudden anger, and her eyes flushed. “I am sick of t hese warnings!" she exclaimed. “I’m not hound tustund here and listen to them from you, and what’s more, I won’t either." She darted past him and sped swiftly along the path. “Good bye, then, Kliza,” call ed he alter her. “And may you never feel (In* sorrow anddesolii tion that I do this evening.” But she neither stopped nor glanced round at him. lie w alk ed on, sighing as he went. The ••hill November wind whistled droarih over the fields; it was November, too,in bis heart. All that night he lav sleepless, tossing about, unable to tind rest for body or mind. At one instant he was cursing him w ho had alienated t he heart that had been wholly his own, vowing vengeance, and re solving to wrest Eliza from him by some means, before it was too late, l lie next moment he bitter ly reproached her for her faithless ness, called her vain, and wordl v, and worthless, undeserving of se rious love; half hoped that she might suffer for her treatment of him, and proudly resolved to ban ish her from his mind; then groan ing and covering his face with his hands, as the thought of all she had been to him rushed overwhel mingly to his mind, and he felt how impossible it would he to for get her. Next morning, it was la ter than usual when he rose, for about daybreak lie bad slumbered a little. Ongoing out, whether by accident or design, his steps turned in the direction of Daly's farm.and his eves sought tlu* win dow of Eliza's apartment. It ap peared to him that there was an unusual commotion in the house. Figures moved hurriedly shout the rooms and flitted past the win •low s. As In* gazed up. the door was suddenly thrown open, and some of the farm sonants, who slept in the house, rushed out and ran down the garden. At the same instant, Daly appeared, his lace pah* and litli of distress and agitation. Hogan hurried for ward, some half formed fear and alarm in his mind, to ask what was the matter. On seeing him, Dal\ exclaimed; "She's gone gone from us forever! disappear ed during lhe night !” “Who?” cried llogan. “ Not Kliza ? It can’t have conn* to that so soon ? Yon don't menu to say sin* has fled, fled with him?" He asked the question in a kind of desperation, hoping against hope, and probability, for what else could the words he had heard mean ? " Yes, fled, and of a certainty TII E F IEL1) AND F IR E SIDE. with Crofton," answered Daly. •• But they may be overtaken. Let us try to save her before it is too late.” ••It is too late, I'm afraid. From what I am told, she must have left about four o'clock this morning. Mary says she heard a slight stir in the house about that time, but did not mind it then.” Hogan turned away and walked to a little distance. "Gone!" In* murmured in accents of deep des pair. At that moment, Mary Con lan ran up to her uncle. She held i a letter in her hand. “ See !" she exclaimed, “ we found this on the floor, under the table. It must have fallen down, and no one saw it till now.” Daly seized it eagerly, and tear ing it open, began to read. It seemed short, lor after a minute or two, he called to Hogan and liande< to him. It was from Eliza,and addressed to her father. She began by saying that when he read it, she would be the wife iof Charles Crofton. As she saw that they would all be against her marriage with hint—though why, j she did not know, unless some \ did'nt wish to see her in a posi i tion so different from her own— j and as there would he so many | obstacles from Mr. Crofton’s fami ly, they thought it best to take j this step, and avoid useless re monstrances. She then mention ; ed the church were they had been married that morning and the name of the clergyman; she hoped her father would not be angry; he ought’nt to be, for should lie not be glad of her happiness and re joice in her social elevation. “Now, good hye, dear old dad,” she concluded. **l know Mary will take good care of you, and believe that I am still your affec tionate daughter, Eliza. To-mor row I may sign myself Eliza Crof ton. Tell Will Hogan not to he fretting after me.” “Careless and cold enough, isn’t it ?” said Duly, sadly, as the other handed back Eliza's letter to him. “ I'm afraid she does’ut mind much what either of us feels, thinking of the*grand life that is before her. I'll go to town at once and see if it is as she says ” Hogan made no reply; he walk ed away, and when he had gone a little distance, threw himself down on the ground and groaned aloud in agony of spirit. Daly’s enquiries proved that the marriage had actually taken place that morning in the church Eliza mentioned. He was even shown her signature in the hook, and there remained not a doubt that she was actually the lawful wife of Charles Crofton. Daly felt a certain pride in his daughter’s po sit ion, hut lie sorely missed her bright face and laughing, teasing ways. He felt that he had lost his daughter forever, and it al most seemed to him as if she had died. As time went on, an occasional letter came, dated at tirst from London, afterwards from the con tinent ; hut they were as brief as they were far between, anil told almost nothing. She hoped he was in good health ; she was well and seeing many things she had not heard of before, and going in to a great deal of gay society.— This was usually their substance. From the time of Eliza’s depar ture, a great change came over Hogan. He grew so gloomy and irritable that those with whom lie had formerly been a favorite be gan gradually to shrink from him. Few w ill take misery as an excuse for broken spirits, and all steal away from the stricken one— As tin* ancients shunned the token Of a lightning blasted tree. But there was one who never a voided Hogan. Mary Conlan was often by his side, always ready with sweet smiles and cheering words. She never alluded to his grief, hut lie saw by her actions and her sympathetic eyes how she felt for him in his' sorrow. And though it seemed sometimes when he turned from her with a dark brow and monosyllable answer, that her task was an ungracious one, yet he blessed her in his heart, that she still did not for sake him, and cherished the kind and gentle wairds she spoke as the only tiling that made life not u( terly a burden. CHAPTER IV. TMKGLAMUI 111 FADE**. i In an elegantly furnished [a partnielit of one of the most lash ionable hotel- of Paris a foetaig lady sat alone. The rich sun shine of a warm .July afternoon streamed through the room.— Now and then, a gentle breeze strayed in tlmiiigii the open win dow beside which she was seated, and sounds of life, careless, out wardly happy life, floated up wards. It was a brilliant and varied scene to look on : the handsome equipages dashing by, the gayly attired ladies, the city itself, of which the window commanded a fine view, with it- sungilt trees and white glittering domes; a scene that might well attract the eye. But this gazer, though beauti ful and young, no more apparent ly than twenty years of age, one for whom it might he supposed to have every attraction, appear ed indifferent to it. Her attitude, as she leaned hack in her chair, her head resting on its cushioned top, betokened weariness ; and the beautiful large black eyes fixed so wistfully, appeared to look far away and beyond what lay before her. It might he that it was a scene she was well accus tomed to from childhood—that she w as worn out after last night's gayety. Yet she did not look like a horn Parisian. There was a light in those eyes that seemed as if reflected from limpid, rip pling streams, a something a bout (hat form which told of mountains and heath covered paths. She roused herself from her reverie with a deep sigh and sat upright in her chair. “Oh, if I could see it once a gain!” she murmured, “the dear old place, and my father, and all the familiar faces ! It is a long time since I wrote to him. I nev er care to do it, because 1 can tell him nothing. Yet why should I not i What a relief it would be if I might freely un burden my heart to someone! I must do it.” She rose, and walking to a small writing table unlocked the desk that stood on it and took out a letter. It was written in a large masculine hand. She read it over with fond brimming eyes, then seated herself at the table, and taking a sheet of paper be gan to write rapidly, seldom pausing for consideration, as if she wrote straight down the thoughts that were in her mind. The letter abounded in fond ex pressions of love and interest, that seemed as if wrung from a sad, home sick heart. “I sometimes think,” she wrote, “in the morning when 1 awake, that I am at home, and fancy I hear the loud chirping of the birds among the ivy round my window, the lowing of the cattle, yonr voice in the yard talking to the laborers, and all the sounds that used to rouse me. Shall I never, never hear any of these again ? l left them heed lessly, thinking only'of him and the life of enjoyment I w as going to. Ido not think I cast one parting glance on the hills and lields that last evening, nor press ed a warmer kiss than usual on your cheek at night. There seemed some glamour over me that 1 could not resist, and that made me cold and unfeeling to all but the one. It is a just re tribution that 1 should pine to return now, when I never can.— He may tell me that I shall yet be there as mistress of CTofton Hall; but shall 1 ( Something in my heart tells me that I shall see it never, nevermore! Would you know me now, I wonder, if you saw me ? lam changed, I think, but the change within is the greatest of all. lean hardly recognize myself sometimes, as the same livelv, thoughtless Eli za Daly." She then went on to tell how she had at lirst enjoyed her en trance into society. It was plain that she had been greatly ad mired, and that she had been able to adapt herself quickly to her new sphere of life. But as her triumph became less new spots began to tarnish its brightness. With the murmurs of admiration and praise that reached her ears scornful reflections on her hum ble birth were mingled; and she began to notice a tinge of conde scension in the manner of many towards her. which at lirst, when absorbed in delight at the novel tv and grandeur of everything, had not struck her. It was not possible even that with all her native quickness and tact, the humble farmer's daughter could at once be transformed into the polished lady, and so occasional ly slight breaches of etiquette were observable , which did not fail to excite criticism. She would have thought much less about all this, only she saw how her husband was annoyed by it. She found too that remarks which she made in conversation fre quently displeased him. He would accuse her of. being too naive, and of allowing her igno ranee of some things with which -lie should he familiar, and her familiarity with others of which she ought to be ignorant, to ap pear. At first he would reprove her laughingly but gradually, whenever she offended, with more and more displeasure. She soon learned to seal her lips on such subjects, and appear to know no more of the ways among which she had been brought up than any of them—learned even tode nv all knowledge of the familiar spot itself. But the gloss hail faded from her pleasure, and she saw that it was also fading from something more valued still—her husband's love. She feared that he was be coming tired of her. She had a mused him for a while, and he had lavished the most pas donate fondness on her; but that was past now. She thought he re pented, and was ashamed of the unequal match lie had made; and she resolved that her pres ence by his side should no longer remind people of it and wound his pride. She absented herself from every gayety. At tirst he would ask her to accompany him as usual, and seemed surprised when she refused ; but lie never pressed her. He thought, or l’eighed to think, it was because of delicate health she would not go; but she knew that he was glad. Withdrawn from the excite ment in which she had lately lived her spirits sank, and as they did so her husband grew more and more careless and in different. Still, lie was never un kind. He brought her presents and indulged every fancy; but slie could not *be content with the slight good nature that prompted this. She was depend ent on him only, and he left her alone and unhappy, scarcely seeming to know that she was so, or betraying impatience at it. As she finished her letter, the outpouring of a sad disappointed heart, which lias found in reality so mournful a contrast to the bright ideal, her tears fell heavily one by one. When she wrote the direction on the envelope she sobbed aloud and buried her face in her hands. In a few min utes she composed herself to read over what she had written. Having done so she paused and seemed to consider. “No; I will not send it,” she said aloud. “It would be a com fort to get the affectionate reply f know 1 should from him, but it would grieve him too much to think I was unhappy. It must not go.’’ She was about to tear it across; but a sudden thought stayed bel li and. She folded it up and placed it in the envelope. “If 1 die, let them send it to him. And stay! I will put a little piece of my hair in it.” She took up a pair of scissors, and going to the glass severed a glossy curl. She folded it in a piece of paper and wrote, “With Eliza's love then laid it within the letter, which she sealed with black wax, and instantly locked her desk. As she did so the door opened and her husband entered. He threw himself on one of the couch es with some commonplace re mark, such as people make when they think it incumbent on them to say something, but are urged by no impulse from the heart. “Paris is beginning to show signs of getting thin,” he contin ued lazily. “We must leave it soon. I think of Rome for the winter. What do you say ?” “1 have no objection,” she an swered, trying to speak cheerful ly ; but there was a tremble in her voice, and something that seemed to strike him as unusual, for he turned round and looked at her. “What is the matter?” he ask ed. “Nothing; there is nothing the matter with me.” “Very well; that’s all right.” He closed his eyes. She stood looking at him wist fully'. Though her own love had grown dim and faint as his for her, and another face—that of him she had turned from in her infatuation—-was ever before her, yet the change pained her. She went to him, and taking his hand said gently, but with a thrill in her voice that told of deep emo tion : “Do you remember that evening—it is nearly a year ago now—when you lirst told me that you loved me, and asked me to be youi wife ? I was frighten ed. and said it was imnossble the thing could ever be; but you knelt at my feet and declared that the happiness of your life depended on me." “Well, of course. And what then ?" he aswered, somewhat im patiently. “It does not now, I'm afraid." “Oh, do not talk such non sense. dear. 1w as courting you then; but now such raptures and declarations w ould he ridiculous. lon are altered. Y’ou always meet me with a sad face now. It is not very pleasant I assure you.” He spoke peevishly, and getting up walked to the window and stood looking out with a discon tnteil brow. She followed him and laid her hand on his arm. “Oh, do not—do not withdraw your love altogether from me !” she said pleadingly. “Y'ou are all I have. Think of all I left to go with you.” “All you left!” he repeated.— “And did I leave nothing, give up nothing for yo® was a bitterness in his tone as lie asked tlHqiiestion, and she jier eeived it. “Oh, yes, yes ; 1 know you did,” she answered. “Much; and that is what grieves me; because 1 fear,” she added in a lower tone, “that if it were to do again you might act differently.” “Oh, don't bother yourself and me with such fancies. Of course Ido not and never can regret that step. There, let us say no more about it. I’m going to the opera to-night. Will you come ? You are moping * yourself to death.” She hesitated. Slie felt no in clination to go, but she thought it might he some real concern for her that made him ask, instead ol the careless good-nature, more than half selfishness perhaps, which disliked to see sorrow on any face near him, because it made tilings less bright for him. She consented to go. “Very well,” he said. “It is time for you to get ready; and don’t let me see red circles round your eyes again. You do not look so pretty when you cry, Eliza.” He bent down and press ed a light kiss on her cheek. [To be continued.] 800 K AN I) JOB Friniing Establishment! POWDER SPRING STREET, MARIETTA, GEO.. BEING FI LEY PREPARED WITH 1W& IMPROVED PRESSES, Also, with the latest styles of (Ldjic, Sorters, ORNAMENTS, &C. Is prepared to execute EV ERY DESCItIPTION OF Book & Job Printing, IX A NEAT MANNER : Such as Bills of Fare, Programmes, Drug Tickets, Picnic and Ball Tickets, Auction Bills, Hand Bills, Circulars, Deeds, Invoices, GIVE | Bill Heads, US A j Headings, TRIAL | Patent Tags, Bills Lading, Druggist’s Labels Promissory Notes, Cards, Bank Checks, Catalogues, Envelopes. Mortgages, Contracts, and EVERY VARIETY OF BLANKS! Posters, Street Bills, Programmes, Dodgers for Shows, &c. DONE IN A SUPERIOR STYLE. AND At the very Lowest Rates. tfraT Orders by Mail promptly at tended to, and estimates for warded, on application to J. G. CAMPBELL & CO.