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YOL. 2.
OUT IN THE STORM.
She stood with the open letter in
her hand, trembling and ashen-pale,
and at last had to clutch at the near
est chair to keep herself from fall
ing.
“It is all all over!” she cried, after
a while putting her hand to her fore
head with a dazel look; “all over—
all over! And yet, oh, how I loved
him!”
The match, between • Lydia Tren-
tliam and Leonard Drake had been a
runaway one. Her family vjas rich
er than his, and ambitious that 6he
should make a great alliance, for she
was beautiml and accomplished, and
had such a charming manner that
every body raved about her. When,
therefore she fell in love with Leon
ard Drake, who had but a compara
tively small competence, and no bus
iness knowledge whatever, her fath
er angrily bade her to dismiss such a
lover forever from her thoughts.
But with Lydia, as with most ro-
. mantic girls, this stern decree acted
only as an additional incentive. She
thought her father unjust, and went
on loving Drake more than ever.
Finally she eloped. From that day
her parents looked on her as on the
dead.
“She had made her bed, let her lie
in it,” said her father savagely.
There had been only one cloud on
•the happiness of the wife. She had
come to her husband penniless when
he had a right to expect a fortune
and she feared that some day he
might regret his choice. All at once
like a thunderbolt'out of a clear sky,
came the crushing blow which de
stroyed her happiness in one hour.
In his bachelor days, and before
he met Lydia Trentham, Leonard
Drake’s mame had been associated
With a beautiful girl who afterwards
married a Mr. Dorchester, a banker.
People said she had never loved him
but that her heart had been given to
Leonard Drake; that Leonard Drake
had really loved her, and that Miss
Gently had only taken the rich bank
er “because” as she said, “Leonard
find herself were t.oo poor to marry.”
Lydia, at the time hearing these
things had not been without jeal
ousy; but the entire devotion of
Leonard had, in the end satisfied
her; and for years she had forgotten
even the existence of Mrs. Dorches
ter.
Suddenly Mrs. Dorchester had ap
peared at the summer resort where
the Drakes were residing temporari
ly. Hero she had renewed her ac
quaintance with Leonard. Mrs.
Dorchester was a widow now; notes
began to pass between her and
Lydia’s husband; aid twice the wife
had detected them walking together
in the dusk of the evening.
For weeks she had struggled
against conviction, hoping towards
the last against hope, until this day,
when she had found a torn and
crumpled letter hidden between the
pages of a book, the first words of
%hich drove her almost insane. She
remembered now that she had sur
prised her husband that morning
reading a letter, which to her aston
ishment, he had shuffled into an open
volume before him, but she htid not
noticed what book it was, and it was
by accident onlo she now discovered
it.
It was but the part of a letter,
however, that she found. The paper
had evidently been torn into several
pieces, and only a portion of it had
been thrust into the book as if (so
she reasoned now) her husband’s
agitation had deprived him for the
moment of his self-control. Under
any other circumstances a paper be
longing to Leonard would have been
sacred to her, but when she saw the
first significant words, “We must
keep the secret,” she read Mrs. Dor
chester’s signature at the end.
Much was lost, all was more or less
incoherent, but enough remained to
convince the tortured wife that every
thing was over for her in the way of
happiness in this world.
She remained there for nearly half
an hour, dazed, crushed, not know
ing as yet what to d.o. The door
opened at last and old Dorcas came
in. Old Dorcas had been Lydia’s
nurse and had followed her after her
marriage, the only one poor or rioh,
that had stuck to her fallen fortunes.
She started back on seeing the ashy
face ofjier mistress. *
“What is it?” said Lydia, roiising
herself.
“A note from Mr. Drake,” was
the reply. “But dreary me! are you
ill ma’am?” V 1 ^ .
“No, I am quite well,” answered
the poor wife with a great effort.
“Ah, I see that Ms. Drake writes he
is going to join a party to go over to
Dover not to return till to-night, if
I will excuse his coming back to din
ner.” *
“Yes,” Dorcas said vaguely.
“The man who-brought the note
waits for an answer. Tell him to
say to Mr. Drake, ‘Go by all means,
I haven’t time or I would write,’”
Dorcas started off, but her mis
tress’s voice again made her pause.
“When you have sent him away
come to my room—I want’you.”
There was a little delay, but when
Dorcass entered the room her mis
tress was busy with a travelling-bag.
“Dorcas,” said she, “you have
been with me all my life—do you
want to remain with mq still?”
The voice was so cold, the face so
white Dorcas dared make no scene.
“I will go with yon to the world’s
end ma’am!” she answered feelingly.
“Then get ready. I am going to
Boston—on from there as fast as I
can. Tell nobody^. Get your things
out of the house as secretly as possi
ble.” .
“Going where? What is the mat
ter?” said Dorcas.
“If you can’t bo quiet and obey
without a question you. might stay
behind,” Lydia answered, in the
same hard unatural voice. “Be
quick and choose I have no time to
waste.” '
She sat down and wrote a letter to
her husband, iuclosed the torn pages
she had found, and poured out the
mad jealousy of the past Weeks that
had this day culminated.
“I have done now,” she wrote.
“People were right; you loved her
and not me; and now that she is rich
and I am poor, I am too proud to
'wait till I yn cast off. So I go and
you need not follow; you could not
find me even if you wished. Re
member that henceforth your life is
free from me. Think of me as dead,
if you like. In your hands is the
oftly proof of our marriage—destroy
it; nothing will then stand between
you and peace.' I have only to beg
you'to forgive me for allowing you
to link your fate with a miserable
and impoverished wife instead of
with an heiress, as you hoped.”
TheJet.ter ended as abruptly as it
began and was sealed and placed on
Drake’s writing-table. Dorcas came
softly into the room crying a little in
a quiet way. Everything was ready
—they could go.
Late that evening Leonard Drake
returned to be horrified by the nows
that his wife was not there, though
the domestic had supposed, from
what Dorcas said that she and her
mistress had gone to Dover to meet
Mr. Drake. Leonard took a light
and burned to his room where the
object to meet his eyes was the letter
Lydia had written.
* * * * *
’ Fivo years had elapsed sinco
Lydia’s disappearance. But she
looked older even than that. The
agony of that day; the horrid flights
afterwards; the constant fear of dis
covery, and lastly the struggle for
bread, combined with her never-end
ing heartache, had begun to cut
wrinkles in her still fair face.
In all this time she had never
heard of her husband nor of her ear
ly home. She was too proud to re
turn to her father.
“I will starve first,” she often said
clenching her hands.
Whether Leonard was alive or dead
DUBLIN, GEORGIA, WEDNESDAY, MARCH 31, 1880.
she did not know nor did she wish
to know. Sometimes she said to
herself moaning on her pillow at
night, “He is with Mrs. Dorches
ter,” and then the thought went
through her heart with actual physi
cal pam, like the stab of a knife.
She and her faithful Dorcas wore
settled in Boston now, in an obscure
corner, as the least likely place to be
discovered. She earned a scanty
living, and it was of the scantiest by
coloring photographs. Into the
more fashionable streets she never
ventured, except when she had to go
to sell her sketches, or get orders.
On one of the occasions she came
suddenly face to face* with Mrs. ’Dor
chester. She turnedjand fled imme
diately, regardless of her errand—fled
down side streets and close alloys—
and only stopped to breathe when
she had reached her humble lodging
in one of the most secluded parts of
the city. But hardly had she closed
the door, had she begun to tell Dor
cas that they must fly, when Mrs.
Dorchester unannounced forced her
self into the room.
“I have followed you,” said the
latter unceremoniously, as Lydia rose
angrily. “I will speak, Mrs.
Drake.”
“Have you the goodness to leave
my room,” unswered Lydia, tottering
to her feet. “1 don’t know you nor
the name by which you have ad
dressed mo.”
You have been mad long
enough,” sternly exclaimed her visi
tor, sitting down, “Try to come back
to your senses. I shall not go until
I have explained. A few words will
do it. Your husband and I, instead
of what you thought, were trying to
keep a great misfortune from, you,
or, if that could not be done, to
break it to you carefully.”
There was an air of' truth about
the speaker that staggard Lydia. She.
sank nervously into a chair.
“I must toll the whole story in
order to exculpate ourselves,” said
Mrs. Dorchester. “Your father got
into difficulties, forged my liusbaud’s
name to a large amount, nnd was on
the point of exposure when Mr. Dor-
cheater died. . t.lion mvmn
Chester died. The affuirs then oame
hands to settle.” ■
into my
Lydia sat leaping both elbows on
the table before her, lior face sup
ported oft her hands listening and
looking as if at her doomster.
“I could have prosecuted your
father but it wonld have sent him to
die in prison,” continued Mrs. Dor
chester, “and would have publicly
disgraced all his family. You, I
knew byname as the wife of my
cousin, with whom I hud boon
brought up in the country as a child
and whom I loved as a brother—as a
brother, nothing more,” she added
emphatically, “Besides I was a wo
man, and I hope not a cruel one, so
I refused to prosecute, suffered the
loss of money and hushed the matter
up
A groan burst from Lydia.
Mrs. Dorclioster went on:
H PRjjH ... . ‘Then
I met your husband unexpectedly.
He had received some hints about
your father, and he inssstod on
knowing the truth. He then said
you ought to bp told. But I replied
that it would only pain you needless
ly; if you continued estranged you
might never hear the story. Ho an
swered that it would come tp your
ears, sooner or later. This is‘why
you saw us talking so much together,
and why, on several occasions ho
sought private interviews with me.
One evening he nearly won my con
sent. But hardly had ho gone be
fore I repented—I shrank from it
you see, as a woman—and wrote to
him, telling him ho must still keep
our secret. That letter, it seems, or
a portion of lr.,’you found,- -He •was'
tearing it up, when you pamo into
the room, andhe put what was left
/x & i t n 4~ a hn/ilr kiwi (• Inn)
of it hastily into a book that lay nigh
as he afterwards remembored. Al
soon as he could ho hurried to con
sult me. You were, he said gottin
justice
engaged with a party to Dover, and
the room was full; so
he joined us,
in order to have an opportunity to
this. Of cotirse, in this
say all
crisis my scruples gave way. My re
ward is that you have believed me a
vilo woman. There that’s the
whole. I’ve told the story perhaps
in a hard way; I’m sorry for you all
the same. Thank God, I’ve found
you/”
She had risen while speaking and
caught Lydia’s dress in the excite
ment of tolling her hurried talc.
Lydia’s gaze, which at first had been
fixed on her so angrily, had fallen
before her; she hid her face in her
hands; and now, as Mrs. Dorchester
ceased, the wretched’ listener sank
senseless to the floor.
When Lydia rovived, Mrs. Dor
chester finished. Leonard Drake
had spent three years in searching
for his wife, and the last time Mrs.
Dorchester had hoard from him lie
was living in Morristinia, N. Y.
The next morning saw Lydia and
Dorcas on their way to N. Y.
It had been snowing when they
had reached the metropolis and by
the time they left the railway train
which they had taken in Morrisania
it had settled into a heavy storm.
Lydia wanted to walk; so Dorcas
wrapped a water-proof cloak about
her; drew the hood over her head
and did hot best to shelter her.
“Ask how we go!” was all her
mistress said. “Bo quick I want to
start; but I must walk—I should go
mad.”
Dorcas stopped into a hotel near
the station and made her inquiries.
The road was straight enough. Mr.
Leonard Drake, she was told, lived
out beyond the town a little: she
would know the place by such and
snob directions.
They were loss than a half an hour
on the way, They reaohed the man
sion, a liaudsomo dwelling, half
4owu-hou.se, halt villa, with a long
garden attaohod. They mounted
the stops and Dorcas rang the bell.
id her mistress
“You ask,” she hear
whisper.
She caught a sight of her face. It
was lined and seamed with pain; the
dark eyes fairly strained and dilated
with suspense.
“Is Mr. Leonard Drako in?” Dor
cas asked.
“No; ho is in New York. Mrs.
Drake is at homo.”
Instinctively Dorcas, reached out
her arm to support Lydia as she
asked, “Who is that—his mother?”
“No; his wife. Do yon want to
see her?” pked the servant rather
curtly, beginning to think thorn peo
ple in search of charity and not lik
ing to encounter with the cold air.
“No,” Dorcas said. “How long
has she been married?”
“About,six months.”
A low choked whisper from her
companion reached Horens. It said,
“come a way 1 Quick! Gome!”
Dorcas turned without a word and
supported lior mistress,'down the
steps. • ' ’
Lydia did . not speak. Dorcas
could not. She put her arm about
her mistress and drew her oh as fast
as she could. The houso stood in a
plot of Ground by itself. They
turned the corner, where the garden
led down a side street.
* >» * * *
“Wait!” said Lydia suddenly.
can’t go any further; let-mo‘i-est a
little. Only don’t speak to me-
don’t say a word.”
of
|||^3piR ^ .
mistress, who crouched forward hid
ing her face with one hand. Dorcas'
bent over to see her face—it was dis
torted by anguish.
“Mistress, dear!” she sobbed,
“Only speak—only—”
“Hush!” muttered Lydia. “Gome’
away; I can walk now. Let me
alouo; don’t talk yot. Help me up;
I cun walk.”
Dorcas was assisting her to Hso,
when a gentloman turned into^tho
street a little way down and walked
rapidly towards them.
Muffled though lie was in his great
coat, Dorcas know him and uttered
a cry -of .terror.
“It*3 his step,” whispered Lydia.
“Sit down—he’ll know ns! I prom
ised never to trouble him! I must
keep my word. Don’t look up,
Dorcas. Sit down I say!”
Tho very act attracted the atten-
tontion of tho gentleman. Ho halt-
Neither answered. Dorcas folt
Lydia’s hand on her arm like a hand
of stone.
•‘Gan’t either of you speak?” ho
continued, r a t h o r impatiently.
“This is not weather for two women
to be sitting out of doors.
Still no answer! Some mad idea
that she could pull Dorcas away, and
run from him, seizod Lydia. She
attempted it. The hood fell from
her face. Ho know her, and cried,
“Lydia, Lydia!”
She folt that she was fainting; that
ho hud caught her in his arms; then
an awful bluckness closed over her.
When consciousness camo back
sho thought at first she must be
dead; then she knew that she was in
a warm, bright room. She saw Dor
cas, a young, protty lady about the
bed, then Leonard, and shrieked
aloud.
She was fast in his arms again;his
voice sounded close to her car.
“Lie still, darling; its all clear.
My cousin’s house—my cousin’s wifo.
Don’t you remember that I told you
1 had a cousin with tho Bamo Chris
tian name as myself?”
“IT’S ALL RIGHT.”
According to Old Nabor Cob©.
Written for tho Constitution.
Wctor gates all gone! Fence-rails
floating down the stream of time!
More work for tho wicked! Thought
Mind a high water mark, but. I
didont. There’s no counting on
anything in this subloonary life,
“Mighty bad, mighty bad, aim it
Cobo?” Cobo is his front namo,
and bo’s got faith in Abmidanco.
Nothing ever disturbs his serenity.
“Well, it looks sorter bad, Major,
but I reokon it’s alright; it’s alright
or it wouldn't lmvo come.”
“Cobo,” said I, “I wish yon would
quit saying it’s alright. Everything
is all right with you. If a briok was
to fall on your wife’s head and kill
her, I reokon you would stand round
and say it’s all right- Is everything
that happons all right? Aint there
no devil? Aint there nothing
wrong in this world?” *
“Well, now, Major, I do belTovo
in a devil right smartly, but I don’t
beliove ho has any thing. Jo do with
freshets or crops or any aocidonts.
Old Master touds to them, and they
arc all right—that’s *my faith. I
novor thought about it much until
o'ne day Uncle Tom Benson was
blasting rook in a shallow well, qnd
the thing went off promaturely aforo-
hand and Mowed tho old man out of
the top of tho well and sent his right
arm away up fifty foot in tho air and
as it was ooming down he saw it and
said, ‘Boy’s that’s my arm, I reckon;
but it’s all right.’ He had faith, he
did, and ho got along hotter without
his arm than ho did with it, and I’ve
looked back at a thousand things
that f thought was wrong, buc*they
oame out all right in time! Now, if
a man-steals my cora, that’s a differ
on'fc thing-—that’s all wrong--tlic
devil was at the bottom of it, and I
hain’b got a bit of confidence in
him.”
So lot tho rails float on—it’s all
right. They’re bound for Rome,
and the boys down there will catch
om, and haul cm to shore, and sell
otn or burn em, and bo thankful,
It’s all right.
Well, I couldent do anything at
home until it quit raining, and so 1
picked up my umbrella and started
out for drier latitudes. A few hours
found mo in Macon, and from there
I took the Brunswick road for Haw-
kinsvillo to boo my friends. A Macon
man entertained us for fifty miles by
abusing Wadloy and praising Ilazol-
hurst. I had no idea Mi-. Wadloy
was such a bad man. “Why, it’s
terrible, terrible. IIo’s made a way
station of Macon; lie’s dried it up by
discrimination. Macon lievor got
blit 15 tickets to Cincinnati, and
Hawkinsville got 17; and tho tiokets
wero to be distrbuted according to
the business of a place.” When my
friend paused a‘little I asked him if
he was a merchant, and' lie Biiid ho
was. And I usked him if ho was
going to Hawlcinsvilloand ho said ho
was. I asked him if ho was going
thorp to buy his spring stock, and ho
said, r ‘Go where—to Hawkinsville?”
and lie looked like ho didont know
whother to hit me or not; and ho 1
apologized, for lie had put Macon
down so low and sot Hawkinsville up
so high I dident know but what
commerce had shifted around, If 1
hndont looked so much like a fool.
I still think lie would.have brought
on a difficulty ami 1 should have had
to whip. At any rate, I could have
done like General Toombs told Cam-
orou wo did. Cameron asked him if
our people had over found out they
whipped us.* “Whipped us!” said
Toombs, “no, sir; you didn’t whip
.us, bub wo wore ourselves out whip
ping you.”
Hawkinsville has a boom of its
own. Friend Kibbeo took mo across
the now fifteen thousand dollar
bridge, and showed mo old Hartford,
whore the old patriarch Colonel Tar
ver, made his big fortune. Then wo
perused tho thriving little city which
now boasts of 2,500 inhabitants, and
has new houses everywhere and as
much territory outside of it as New
York. Every dwelling has fromono
to five acres attached and there are
moro beautifnlflowors to bo seen than
in any town of its size in Georgia.
Colonel Kibbeo bus a rose vine that
would fill a room 20 feet square
every way, and it was one mass of
beautiful pink blush roses. I saw
another one that had climbed some
30 feet high in a water oak and min
gled its white (lowers with the light
green loaves of the tree. Green peas
wero in market, and beets, and rad
ishes, and strawberries, watermelon
vinos in bloom, and the odor of tho
jnsnmino and honeysuckle filled tho
air. This thriving town lias tho
tiade of six counties, and did a cot
ton business this year of 20,000
bales. They are proud of their
schools and churches and now court
bouse. They arc proud of their
wives and children, and will hospi
tably entertain any body who praises
up tlio ! r nice little city. Of course
I was smart enough to do that, and
I could do it with a good consoienco
and I am prepared to say now if they
will give mo a nice house and lot I
will malco it my winter residence.
One historical fact I learned that I
make a note of, Hawkinsville
oomo within one vote of being
chosen as the capital of Georgia,
And if it had boon just think of. it.
The Con trill railroad would have
gone there and it would have boon
tho capital to-day, and there would
have boon no Macon, and Athuita
would lmvo boon some where else dr
nob been at all. One vole! .lust
think what one vote might have
done in Lho history of Georgia.
As I returned 1 met with iny old
friend General Foster, who stands
six feet six inches in his stockings,
uhd knows more about Georgia and
Imr historic men than any man now
living except Judge Bibb, of Mont
gomery. Ho never forgets any titling.
When lie gob to talking about' Joe
Brown lie stretched forth his arm
and said that man is a irtimelo. 1
knew his parents in Lumpkin county
boforo he was born. They wero
exceedingly poor. His Aunt Sidney
did my washing when I was a young
man living in Dahlonegu Homo fifty
yours ago. Joe cultivated a littlo
scrap of hillsuio land with a pair of
bull calves, and ovovy Saturday haul
ed to town some potatoes or cabbages
or lightwood or other truck in trade
and took back something for his
family, “in 1H39, 1 think it was, 1
was riding to Canton in a buggy and
I overtook a young man walking in
a very muddy lane, lie bad a striped
bag lutngover Ids shoulder and look-
odvory tired. I usked him if lie
wouldn’t take a seat and he looked
down at himself and said ho was too
muday. I insisted and ho broke off
>a splinter from avail and scraped his
shoes and got in. 1 learned from
him tlmt his namo was Joe Brown
and lie was going to Canton to get
something to do. 1 encouraged him
as best I could, and have kopt an oyo
on him for forty years. He is a
wonder to mo. My candid opinion
is that I am as smart n man as Joe
Brown. I mean by that that my
Heavenly Father gave me as good a
mind, but Joe 1ms passed me on tho
road of life’s successes a long time
ago. Ho has some qualitios that I
never hud, and they arc perseverance,
determination and secretiveness. He
keeps his own counsel, and never losos
sight of the goal ho is striving for.
General Foster is hunting round
for tho Georgia Western, for lie lives
in Gladsden now and don’t want to
be left out in the cold. 1 told him
you I aid put Grady on the wild.limit
for it, and if ho couldn’t find it
nobody could. 1 wish you would
hurry Grady up. He is mighty slow
on a railroad. Yours,
Bill Aki*.
:
:T‘f
The most funny thing about a re
formed man is that the day after ho
swears off from drinking lie wants
to deliver a temperance lecture, und
lmvo u prohibitory liyv entire I.