Newspaper Page Text
/i
r
Vol. VI.-NQ. 52.
li. G. GRIGGS,
attorney at l aw
Douglasvilte, Georgia.
w
Douglasville, Georgia, Tuesday, Jauury 27, 1B8q.
Subscription: r. «« sa w * Per Annum
I t i, practice
find Dederal.
in al
the courts, State
jani31y.
P, S. Verdsry,
Physician and Surgeon.
\FFIOFqat HUDSON * ETtG^S^nUTO
" —gaged.
are still uncured. jam*
~ ‘elevatioii*' ltiadQ
By THOMAS HARDY.
]>R. J. B. EDGE
PHYSICIAN &STRGEON.
T Respectfully offer P D h 0 y u t
1 elan and surgeon, to tbe 1®^,, b8 a tten-
lasville and vicinity. j u t j ie drug store
led promptly. 'Uu » d and at
S^Vgf recenty
occupied by J. A. i ,umu. _
iTTraT WHITLEY,
“ physician ani Surgeon
S prh v L atte n t.i on g 1 v en
C ironic Female troubles.
to Surgery ar
Office up stair
BRUHKSISB^
(Utr djn a* rarlon* staff**
CHAPTER X.
It was half past five o'clock, on the morn
ing of the 5th of May. A dense white fog
hung over the valley of the Swenn, and
spread up the hills on either side.
But though nothing in the vale could be
seen from higher ground, notes of differing
kinds rave pretty clear indications that
bustling phases of life had existence there.
The audible presence and visual absence of
an active scene was very peculiar. Ma
ture had laid a white hand over the crea?
tures ensconced within the vale, as a hand
might be laid over a nest of chirping
The noises that ascended through the
pallid coverlet were perturbed lowings,
mingled with human voices in sharps and
flats and the bark of a dog. These, fol
lowed by the slamming of a gate, explained
as well as eyesight could have done, to any
inhabitant of the district, that Dairyman
Tucker’s under-milker was driving the cows
from the meads into the stalls. . When a
rougher accent joined in the vociferations
of mail and beast, that same inhabitant
would have distinguished that Dairyman
Tucker himself had come out to meet the
cows, pail in hand, and white pinafore on;
and when, moreover, some women's voices
mined in the chorus, that the cows were
stalled, and proceedings about to commence.
A comparative hush followed, the atmos
phere being so stagnant that the milk could
be heard buzzing
into the pails,
Res'ire for stimulant* , entirely^removed De neaiu wm.i.6 •-—y -
Home treatment, Med:«>«»J e b n e t with the words of the milkmaids and
wl*Mre.orpwe article of | -whenever they spoke above gossippmg
together
men
without knowledge of p
lacing it ia coffee, Lea or any
uaranteed.
piy p
OOll.
Cures . -
$100 Will ha Paid
For any e.M of dr« h
and 'flu? particulars sent -ree
tones. ,, ,
’‘Don’t ye bide about long upon the road,
You can he back again by skini-
estituo
Address
SVKF^FIC Cj
For
A Business Education
Attend Sbo
purse
r 500
In-
Of Kentucky University, I.exington
s ,Ti B ; y ■■ and
sr 4
L'niLUR3\ w
MACOBOY SNCJFP.
CATTTIOMTO CONS HERS.
Ae many inferior imitations h appeared
np -n the market in packages so closely re
s'.milling ours as to deceive the unwar', we
would request the purchaser to see that the
f ed lithographed tin eansin which it is packed
si way 8 bear ,
ts-u* JVamr find Tradf-.itS'trK
In buying the imitation you pay as much
for an Inferior article as the genuine costs
BK SURE YOU OBTAIN THE GENUINE.
LORILLARD’S CLIMAX
RED TIN-TAG PLUG TOBACCO.
The Finest Sweet Navy Chewing
Tobacco ade.
'm Genuine always bears a Red Tin-Tag with
our niuno thereon.
jBeware, at Immitatians.
DOHT
£ ail to call or send your Jug to
i. r mm
94 WES T PE TERs S T.,
ATLANTA, - GEORGIA
Who is geneially conceded lo keep
■2? 3E3E .HI 33 33 *55 T*
ainl Cheapest. Wines, Brandies,
Whiskies, etc.
tecs ftctiwt.
The Largest and Only Complete
^ © Works
IN GEORGIA.
JAMES LOCHREI’s ,
premium cloth
Hressi g Silk, Woolen and Cotton
DYEING es TABLISHMEN j-,
45 E. Hunter st„ Atlanta, Ga.
*0- p,,or
Margery.
ming time.” .
The rough voice described as Dairyman
Tucker’s was the vehicle of this remark.
Then the barton gate slammed again, and
in two or three minutes a something be
came visible, rising out of the fog in that
quarter.
First the shape revealed itself as. that
of a woman. Next, the gait, which was
the gait of one young and agile. Next,
the colors and other details of her dress—a
bright pink cotton frock, because winter
was over; a small woolen shawl of shep
herd’s plaid, because summer was not
come; a white handkerchief tied over her
head-gear, because it was so foggy, so.
damp, and so early: and a straw bonnet
and ribbons peeping from under the hand
kerchief, because it was likely to be a
sunny May day.
Her face was of the hereditary type
among families down in these parts; sweet
in expression, perfect in hue, and some
what "irregular in feature. Her eyes were
of a liquid brown. On her arm she carried
a withy basket, in which lay several but
ter-rolls in a nest of wet cabbage leaves.
She was, no doubt, the “Margery” of the
voice, who had been told not to bide
about long upon the road.”
She went on her way across the fields,
not much perplexed by the fog, except
when tbe track was so indefinite that it
ceased to be a guide to the next stile. She
carefully avoided treading ou the innumer
able earth worms that lay in couples across
tbe path till, startled even by her light
tread, they withdrew suddenly into then-
holes. She kept clear of all trees. Why
was that? There was no danger of light
ning on such a morning as this. But
though the roads were dry, the fog had
gathered in the boughs, causing them to
set up such a dripping as would go clean
through the protecting handkerchief like
bullets, and spoil the ribbons beneath, i he
beech and ash were particularly shunned,
for they dripped more maliciously than
any. It was ail instance of woman’s keen
appreciativeness of nature’s moods and
peculiarities; a man crossing those fields
might bar. ly have perceived that the trees
dripped at all.
Iti less than an hour she had traversed a
distance of four miles, and arrived at a
latticed cottage in a secluded spot. An
elderly woman, scarce awake, answered her
knocking. Margery delivered up the but
ter, and said, “How is Granny this morn
ing? I can’t stay to go up to her, but tell
her I have returned what we owed her.”
Her grandmother was no worse than usu
al-and receiving back the empty basket,
the girl proceeded to carry out some inten
tion which had been included in her orders.
Instead of returning to the light labors of
skimining-time, slie hastened on, her direp-
tion being toward a little ^ neighboring
town. Before, however, Margery had pro
ceeded far, she met the postman, laden to
the neck with letter-bags, of which he had
not yet deposited one.
“Are the. shops open yet, Samuel?” she
said. * . ,
; “Oh no,” replied that stooping p«des-
trian, not waiting to stand upright. “1 hey
t be open yet this hour, except the
and iron-monger and little
machine-man for the
They downs their shut-
past six, then the baker’s
seven, then the draper's at
stone’,' Suit of" TT.—Itanan
familiar by the works of Inigo Jones. Ihere
was a doorway to the lawn, standing at
the head of a flight of steps. The shutters
of the house were closed, and the blinds of j
the bed-rooms drawn down. Her percep
tion of the fact that no crusty care-taker
could see her from the windows led her at
once to slacken her pace, and stroll through
the flower beds eooly. A house unblinded
is a possible spy, and must be treated ac
cordingly; a house with the shutters closed
is an insensate heap of stone and mortar,
to be faced with indifference.
On the other side of the house the green
sward rose to an eminence, whereon stooc.
one of those curious summer shelters that
are sometimes erected on exposed points of
view, called an all-the-year-round. In the
present i case it consisted of four wal.s ra
diating from a center like the arms of a
turnstile, with seats in each angle, so that
whencesoever the wind came it was always
possible to find a screened corner
which to observe the landscape.
The milkmaid’s trackless course
up the hill and past the -erection,
as to being watched and scolded as an in
truder, her mind flew to other matters, till
at the moment when she was not a yo.i d
from the shelter, she heard a foot or feet
scraping on the gravel behind it. Some
one was in the all-the-year-round appar
ently occupying the seat on the other side,
as was proved when, on turning, she saw
an elbow, a man’s elbow, projecting ovei
th Now the young woman did not much
like the idea of going down the lull undei
(he eyes of this person, whica sue would
have to do if she went on, fur as an in
truder she' was liablo to be cal ed back and
questioned upon her business there. Ac
cordingly she crept softly up and sat in the
seat behind, intending to remain tliora un
til her companion should leave. .
This he by no means seemed m a hurry
to do. What could possibly have brought
what could detain him. .there,
.of dense mist
be seen or en-
But he re-
Margery grew ina-
diseerned the track: of his
feet in the dowv grass, forming a line from
the house steps, which announced that he
was an inhabitant and not a chance passer
by. At last she pdeped round.
nnart In ~o pO511X1*11 tO OYiilg T-Il'O t0
wbyro he stood. The man, who recognized
and again resumed his jour-
from
led her
At ease
him there,
at six o’clock on a morning -
when there was nothing to
joyed, puzzled her not a little,
maim:*? quite still, and Margei
patient. She
him, Aid so,
' The stranger unlocked the-bag and threw ]
it on the seat, having taken one ’letter from
within. This he read attentively, and his
countenance changed.
The effect was as if the sun had bur*t
through the fog upon that face; it became
clear, bright, almost radiant. The quango
was almost phautasmagorial; yet it was but
a change that may take place in the com
monest human being, provided his counte
nance be not. too wooden, or his artince
have not grown to second nature. He
turned to Margery, who was again edging
off and seizing her hand, appeared as
though he was about to embrace her.
Checking his impulse, he said, “My guard
ian angel—my good friend—you have
saved me!” t .
“What from?” she ventured to ask.
“That you may never know!” he replied,
solemnly. . , . .
She guessed that the letter ho > had just
received had been the means of effecting this
change for the better in his mood, but
madiTno observation till he went on to say,
“What did you tell mo was. your name,
dear girl?”
She repeated her name.
“Margaret Tucker,” He stopped, and
pressed her hand. “Sit down for a mo
ment—on e moment,” he said, pointing to
the end of the seat, and taking, the ox-
tremest further end for himself, not to dis-
compose her. She sat down:
“It is to ask a question,” ho went on,
“and there must bo confidence between ite.
You have saved me from indescrmabla
folly! What can I do for you?”
“Nothing, sir.”
“Nothing?” . , ,.
“Father is very well off, and we don t
want anything.” . - . T
“But there must be some service that I
can render, some kindness I can bestow,
some votive offering winch I can make,
and so imprint on your memory as long
live that I am not an ungrateful
•give me 'iL'o wag;- quiTh easy like, on,
yes, ’a’s civil, genteel noble enough, that s
“Took the house for fishing, did he?”
“Well, that's what they say, and as it
can’t be for nothing else, I suppose it’s
true. But. in final, his health’s not good,
’a b’lievo; and he s been living too rithe.
The London smoke got into his keakhorn,
till ’a couldn’t eat. However, I shouldn’t
mind having the ruu of his kitchen.”
“And what is his name?”
i<Ah there you have me! ’Tis a name
no man’s tongue can toll, or even woman's,
except by pen and ink and good scholar
ship. It begins with X. and who, without
the machinery of a clock in’s inside, can
speak that? But here ’tis-from Ins let
ters.” The postman with his walking-stick
wrote upon the ground:
“BARON VON XANTICN.”
CHAPTER III.
The day, as she had prognosticated,
turned out fine; for weather-wisdom was
imbibed along with their milksops by the
children of Swenn Vale. The impending
meeting moved Margery deeply, ami she
performed her daily duties in her father s
house with mechanical unconsciousness.
Milking, skimming, cheese-making, were
done. Her father was asleep in the settle,
the milkmen and maids were gone home to
their cottages, and the clock showed a
auarter to eight. She dressed herself with
ca"e went to tho top of the garden, ana
looked over the stile. The view was east
ward, and a great moon hung before her m
a skv which had not a cloud. Nothing was
moving except on tho minutest scale and
she remained leaning over, the night jar
sounding his rattle from the bough of an
i-olated tree on the open hill-siue. .
Here Marger} 1 " waited till the appointed
time had passed by three-quarters of an
hour; but no foreign baron came, bhe was
full of an idea, and her heart sank with
disappointment. And then
pacing
at last the
of a horse became audible ou th
you be grateful to me,
CHAPTER II.
A FINE-FRAMED dark mustaehed gontle-
man, in dressing-gown and slippers, was
sitting, there in the fog,Without a hat on.
With one hand he was tightly grasping is
forehead, with the other Ins knee. ihe
attitude bespoke with sufficient clearness a
certain mental condition-anguish. He
quite a different being'from any of
men to whom * her eyes were accurn-
His hands . and his face were
^ ber view deadly white- and he
heeded nothing out ide his own existence.
There he remained as motionless as the
unwafted bushes around him; indeed, he
scarcely seemed to breathe.
Having imprudently advanced thus .ar,
Margery’s wish was to get back again in
the same . unseen manner; but m moving
her foot for the purpose it grated slightly
on the gravel. He started up with an
of bewilderment, and slipped
" his dressing gown, iho
blankly at each
was
the
tomed.
bite—to
air
somethin;
into the pocket of
pair then stood looking
0t “Who are you?” he at length asked
sternly, and with not altogether an English
articulation. “What do you do here?
Margery had already begun to be fright
ened at her own boldness in invading the
lawn and pleasure-seat. The house had a
master, and she had not known of it. My
name is Margaret Tucker, sir, s ® ’
-meekly. “My father is Dairyman Tucker.
We live at Stickleford Dairy-house.”
“What were you doing here at this honr
of the morning
she
at
pL^'.ml’i'l tVwill guarantee sa’isf cion.
10 23 3m.
"N. H. M&LLOEY, ^
Wathmaksr and Jewell
OO , ,
Keeps on hnnd a full and complete
tine of
CLOCKS,
WATCHES,
JEWELRY.
ETC.
Rock Bottom
he sc-ls at
jlE?M R!n
«3-
W a* Chet, Clock - ,
Made a Specialty.
ld satisfaction guaranty .n c very
latanee. l
.l,>w-lry, Etc.,
and
instance,
WO
saddler
tacker-haired
farmer folk,
ters at half
at half past
elg “Oh, the draper’s at eight.” It was
plain that Margery wanted the draper’s.
1 The postman turned up a side path, and
tho young girl, as though deciding within
herself that if she could not go shopping at
once she might as well get back for the
skimming, retraced her steps. The public
road home from the point to which she had
arrived was easy of access, but devious.
By far the nearest way was by getting over
a fence adjoining, and crossing the private
grounds of a picturesqe old country house,
whose chimneys were just visible through
the trees. As the house had been shut up
for many months, the girl decided to take
- the straight cut. She pushed her way
through the laurel bushes, sheltering her
bonnet with the shawl as an additional
: safeguard, scrambled over the wire bound-
, ry°went along through more shrubberies,
nd stood ready to emerge upon the open
a awn. Before doing so she looked around
lin the warv manner of a poach.r. It was
not the first time that she had broken fence
j n fie- life, but somehow, afld all of a sud
den she had felt herself too near woman
hood to indulge in such practices with free-
d-,m However, she moved forth, and toe
house fr- ait stared her in the face, unob-
seured by tile fog because close at hand.^
It was a building of the medium size
and’, .mmeiondfaig-. .tlffl, fesadfl- tom «*
. She told him, even to the fact that
had climbed over the fence.
“And what made you peep round
“I saw your elbow, sir; and I wondered
what you were doing.”
“And what was I doing?”
“Nothin^ You had one hand on your
forehead and the other on your knee. I do
hope you be not id, sir, or in deep trouble?
“What difference would it make to you
if I were ill or in trouble? You don’t know
roe, and can not care for me.”
She returned no answer, feeling that she
might have taken a liberty in expressing
sympathy. But look.ng furtively up at
him she discerned to her surprise that lie
seemed affected by her humane wish, simply
as it ha l been expressed. She had scarcely
conceived that such a tall dark man could
know what gentle feelings were.
“Well; I am much obliged to you
carin -how X am,” said he, with a t
I smile and an affectionate lightness of man
ner, which, even to her, omy rendered
more apparent the real gloom beiieath d
have not slept this past right. I suffer
from sleeplessness. Probab' y you don t.
i Margery laughed a little, and he glanced
i with interest at the comely P 10t " r . e r S ~tndid
I suited- her fresh face, brown han, candid
eyes, unpracticed manner, country dresn,
pink hands, empty wicker basket, and the
handkerchief over her bonnet.
i “Well” he said, after his scrutiny, f
1 need hardly have asked such a question of
: 0I1 3 who is Nature’s own image. Ah,
but- my good little friend,” he a ided, re-
currin - to his bitter tone and sitting
w a'ilv down, “you don’t know what great
rioudfoan hang over some peoples lives
Bi'd what cowards some men are m face of
To escape themselves they travel,
houses, and engage in
it is so dreary
a# you
man.”
“Why should
sir ”
He shook his head. “Some things are
best left unspoken. Now think. VVhat
would you like to have best in the .world,
Margery made a pretense of reflecting
then fell to. reflecting seriously ; but the
negative was ultimately as undisturbed as
ever- she could not,decide on anything sue
would like best in the world; it was too
difficult, too sudden.
“Very wall—don't hurry yourself. Think
it over all day. I ride this afternoon. You
live—where?”
“Stickleford Dairy-house. .
“I will ride that way homeward this
evening. Do yen consider by eight o’clock
what little article, what little treat, you
would most like of any.
“I will sir," said Margery, now warming
up a little to the idea. “And where shall
I meet you? Or will you call at the house,
Sir?” ... .
no. I should not wish tha circuin-
stances to be known out of .which our ac
quaintance arose. It would be more
proper—but no.” . - . ,
Margery, too, seemed rather anxious that
he should not call. “I could come out,
sir,” she said. “My father is odd-tempered,
and perhaps—” . , , , , c
It was ultimately agreed that she should
look over a stile at the top of her father s
garden, and that he should ride along a
bridle-path without, to receive her answer.
'•Margery,” said the gentleman mxon-
elusion, “now that you have dis overed me
under peculiar conditions, are you going to
roveal them, and make me an object forth*
gossip of the curious!”
“No, no, sir,” she replied, earnestly;
“why should 1 do that?”
“You will never tell?”
“Never, never will I tell what has hap
pened here this morning.”
“Neither to your father,
friends, nor to any one.”
“To no one at all,” she said a little p«
zled. .
“It is sufficient,” he answered. Yo.i
mean what you say, my dear maiden. NOff
you want to leave me. Good-bye,”
She descended the hill walking with
some awkwardness, for she feit tho stran
ger’s eyes were upon her, till the fog had
enveloped her from his gaze. She took no
notice now of the dripping from the trees;
she was lost in thought in other things.
How had she saved this handsome, melan-
draw-
nor to yov.t
soft path without, leading up from the
water-meads, simultaneously with which
she beheld tht, form of the stranger
ing near. Ha was riding home.
The moonlight so flooded her face as to
make her very conspicuous in the garden
cap. “Ah, Margery!” ho said, starting.
“How came you here? But of course I re
member—we were to meet. And l was to
be at eight—iu-oA pudor! I have kept you
“It "doesn't matter. I’ve thought of
something.”
“Thought of something?
“Yes, sir. You said this morning that I
was to think what I would like best in the
world, and I havo made up my mind
“i did say so-—to be sure I did,' 1 ho re-
plied, collecting his thoughts. “I remem
ber to have had good reason for gratitude
to you.” He placed his hand to his brow,
and in a minute alighted, and came up o
her with tho bridle in his hand. ‘ I was to
give you a treat or a present, ana you
could not think of one. Now you have
done so. Let me hear what u is, and - U
be as good as my wor !.” ,
“To go to tho Yeomanry Ball that s to be
given this month.”
“The Yeomanry Ball—Yeomanry LalL-
he murmured, as if,.of all requests m the
world, this is what ho had at least ex
posted. «Where is what you call the Y eo-
inanry Ball ?”
“ At Casterbridgs.”
“Have you ever been to St before?
“No, sir.”
“Dr to any ball?”
“No.” '
“But did I not say a present,
“Or a treat.”
“Ah, yes; or a treat,” he echoed, with
the air’of one who finds himself in a slight
fix. “But with whom would you propose
“I don’t know. I have not th mghtof
tL i tVb yot.”
“You have no friend who could take you,
even if I got you an invitation?”
Margery looked at the moon. No one
Who can dance,” she said, adding, with
hesitation, “X Was thinking that pernaps—
■ "“But my dear Margery,” he said, stop
ping her,' as if he half divined what ner
simple dream of a cavalier had. been, i
very odd that you can think of nothing utae
than going to a Yeomanry Ball. Ti-ink
” — there’s nothing else!”
■lent." •“• sain, wanning up to tho proceed
ings. “But you dance too well—you dance
all over your person—and that s too taor,-
ough a way for the present day. I should
say it was exactly how they dancod in the
time of the poet Chaucer; but as people
don’t dance l|ke it now, we must consider.
First I mi>st inquire more, about this wan,
and then I must see you again.”
“If it is a great trouble to you sir, in
“Oh, no, no. I will think it over. So
far so good.” .
The Baron rnentionod an evening ana an
hour when he would be passing that way
again; then mounted his horse and rode
away.
On the next occasion, which was just
when the sun was changing places with the
moon as an illuminator of Stickle; ora
Dairy, she found him at the spot before
her and unincumbered by a horso. The
melancholy that had so weighed him down
at their first interview, and had been per
ceptible at their second, had quite disap
peared. Repressed her right hand between
both his own across the stile.
“My dear girl, God bless you!” said he,
warmly. “I can not help thinking of that
morning. 1 was too much overshadowed
at first to tako in the whole force of it
You don’t know all, but your presence was
a miraculous intervention. Now to more
cheerful matters. I have a great aeal to
tell that is, if your wish about the ball
be still the same!”
“Oh, yes, sir-if you don't object,” said
the persistent maiden.
“Never think of my objecting. What
I have found out is something which sim
plifies matters amazingly. In addition to
your Yeomanry Ball at Casterbridge,
there is also to he one in the next county
about the same time. This ball is not to
be held at the Town-hall of the county
town as usual, but at Lord Blakemore’s
who is colonel of the regiment, and who, I
suppose, wishes to please the yeomen be
cause his brother Is going to stand for the
county Now I find 1 could take you tnere
very well, and the great advantage of that
ball over the Yeomanry Ball in this county
is that there you would be absolutely inl
and I too. But do you prefer
known,
your own county?”
“Oh no, sir. “It’s a ball I long to see—
l don’t know what it is like. It does not
matter where.”
“Then 1 shall be able to make much more
of you there, where there is no possibility
of recognition. That being settled, the
next thing is the dancing. Now reels and
such things won’t do. For think of this
there is a new dance at Almack s and
everywhere else, over which the world has
gone crazy.”
“How dreadful!”
“Ah—but that is a mere expression-
gone mad. It is an ancient Scythian
dance; but such is the power of fashion
Uiat, btiving once been adopted by society,
this dance has made the tour of the Couti-
! nent in one season.”
“What is its name, sir?’
I “The polka. Young people, who al« ays
dance, are ecstatic about it, and old people,
S who have not danced for years, have begun
! to dance'again on its account. All share
the excitement. It arrived in London only
some few months ag6-it is now all °*cr
the country. Now this is your opportunity
mv good Margery. To learn tins one dan-.o
will be enough. They will dance s arce
anything else at that ball. While, to crown
all it is the easiest dance in the world, and
as I know it quite well, I can practice you
in the step. Suppose we try?
Margery showed some hesitation bef
crossing the stile: it was a Rubicon m more
ways than one. But the curious reverence
which was stealing over her for ad tii
this stranger said and did was too muo.
for prudence. She crossed Lie stile.
Withdrawing with her to- a nuo.f wiv .
two hedges met, and where the grass w.,.
1 elastic and dry, he lightly rested h » m m
on her waist, and practiced witahutw
step of fascination. Instead of 111U1
d numbers, and she, as may be
slight aptness in toi-
3 . Thus they move t
together, the moon shadows from
racing ovir their forms as they
for
faint
choly, sleepless foreign gentleman who had
had a trouble on his min i till the letter
came? What had ho been going to do?
Margery did not know. Strange .is the in
cident had been in hersAf, to her it had
seemed stranger oven tsaa it was Con
trasting colors heighten each other by
being juxtaposed; it is the same with con
trasting lives.—o „ .. • ,
Reaching the Opposite side of the paik,
there appeared before her for tho tluid
time that little old man, the foot-post. As
the turnpike road ran, the postman’s bea .
was twelve miles a day, six miles out from
Anglebury and six miles back at night,.
but°what zigzags, devious ways, offsets to
country seats,’horseshoe curves to farms,
looped courses and isoceles triangles to out
lying hamlets, the ground actually covered
to
ao-ain. You are sure . . ,
“Quite sure, sir,” she decisively, an
swered. At first nobody would have no
ticed in that pretty young face any sign of
such decision; yet it was discoverable.
Tho mouth, though soft, was firm m lino
the eyebrows were distinct, and extended
near to each other. “I have thought of it
all day,” she continued, sadly. ctm,
sir, if you are sorry you offered me any
thing, I can let you off"’
“Sorryi -- . „
said, rather nettled. “I’ll show you
1 iUb JUU
Certainly not, dear Margery,
he
new
he whispe’red
supposed, showed no
lowing his instructic ns.
round
the twigs
tU Thofinterview lasted about half an hour.
Then he somewhat abruptly handed k.
over the stile, and stood look.ng at he,
from the other side.
“Well ” he murmured, “what has con s
to pass is strange. My whole business alter
this will be to recover my right mind,
i Margery (to whose recollections tho
writerYs indebted for the details of this in
terview) always declared that there seemed
to be some power in tho stranger that was
i m ore than human, something magical an l
! compulsory, when he seized her and gently
1 trotted her round. But the lap.e of many
■ many years may have led her memory t.>
play pranks with the scene, and her viv.d
** J . -A. .ran♦‘LInl mud bo
by him was nearer
one-and-twenty miles.
of the
them.
take picturesque
country sports. But hero
and the fog was horrible this moraln
“Why, this is only the pnde of
orning!" said Margary brightly. By-
'd by it will be a beautiful day.
TiJ was aoiug OU h r way forthwith,
her—detained her witn
morning
am
She was goiu;
but he detained .... . , ,
words, talking on every little innocen_ sub
let he could think of. The feint of this
was so transparent that one thing was be
yond question:, he had an object m keepm„
her there more serious than his words
would imply. It was as if he feared to be
le WhfiTthey stood the misty figure of the
postman, whom Margery had left a quarter
of an hour earlier to follow his sinuous
course, crossed the grounds below tfiem on
his way to the house. First, signifying to
Maraery by a wave of his hand that_ she
was to step back out of sight in the hinder
angle of the shelter, the gentleman heck •
Hence it was that Margery, who had come
straight, was still abreast of him, despite
her long pause. .
The weighty sense that she was mixed up
in a tremendous and tragical secret with
an unknown, mysterious and handsome
stranger prevented her joining very readily,
in chat with the postman for some Line
But a keen interest in her adventure caused
her to respond at once when the bowed
man of mails said: “You hit athwart the
grounds of Mount Lodge, Miss Margery, or
you wouldn’t ha’ met me here VV ell,
somebody hev took the old place at last.
In acknowledging her route. Margery
brought herself to ask who the now gentle
man might be.
•‘Guide the girl’s heart, what don t she
know? And yet how should ye?—lie’s only
just a-come. Well, primary, he’s a fish
ing gentleman, come for the summer only.
Then, more to the subject; ’a s a foreign
noble that’s lived in England so long as to
be a kind of male as to country; somool
his letters call him Baron, some Squire so
that ’a must be born to something tnat
didn’t come by reason. But to return to
the real compass of this matter, whether
’a’s a rich man in my eye anti a poor man
in’s own, or a rich man i n his own and
mine too. I can’t interpret no more than
Pharaoh ’A was out this morning
a-watebing the fog. ‘Postman.’. ’a said.
that whatever hopes I have raised in your
breast I am honorable enough to gratify.
Xf "it lies in my power,” he added, with
sudden firmness, “you thall go to the
Yeomanry Ball, In what building is it to
be held?”
“Jn the Assembly Rooms.
“And would you be likely to be recog
nized there? Do you know many people: ’
“Not many, sir. None, 1 may say.
know nobody who goes to talis.”
“Ah, well; you must go, since you w *h
it* and if there is no other way of getting
over the difficulty of having nobody to
take you, I’ll takeyou myself. Would you
like me to do so? I can dance.
“Oh, yes, sir; I know
How-
you might offer to do it. But would you
bring me back again!”
“Of course I’ll bring you back. But, by
tho bye, can you dance?’
Yes—reels, and jigs, and country dances
like tho ‘New-rigged Ship,’ and ‘Follow my
Lover,’ and ‘Haste to the Wedding,’ and
tho ‘College Hornpipe,’ and the ‘Favorite
Quickstep,’ and ‘Captain White’s Dance.’ ”
“Not a bad list; but unluckily X fear
they don’t dance any of these now. But L
you have the instinct, we may soon cure
your ignorance. Let me sen you dance a
moment.”
' sh e glanced around and saw nobody.
“You will promise not to tell, sir!”
“Can you ask it? Have you not some
secret of mine?”
She stood out into the garden path, the
stile being still between them, and seizing
a side of her skirt with each hand, per
formed tho movements which are oven yet
far from uncommon in tho dances of the
viila-zers of merry England. But her mo
tions, though graceful, were not precisely
those which, appear in the figures of a
modern ball-room.
“W> 11 . my friend, it is a very pretty
imagination at that youthful age I
taken into account in believing her.
ever, there is no doubt that the stranger,
whoever he might be, and whatever
powers, taught her the elements of model a
dancing at a certain interview by moon
light at the too of her fathers gulden, as
was proved by her possess,on of Knowledge
on the subject.that could have been ac
quired in no other way. _
q His was of the first rank of commanding
figures; she was one of the most graceiul or
milkmaids, and to casual view* wonU
have seemed all of a piece with Na.u.e s
doings that things should go on thus. Btu
there was another side to the ca,e, an...
dance.” . * ", th „ stl . an ~ e gentleman were a wild
that, and I thought w e c “ - p wa . s questionable if the
‘A
was
ger.
mysterious,
tion.
had
ball dross, ought I
olive tree or not, it was que
acquaintance would lead to
fleeting romance and a p ssiole ca.aim o
thus it might have been summed up oj the
^ Margery was in a paradise; and yet she
not distinctly in love with the stian-
What she feit was something more
more of the nature ot venera-
As be looked at flier across tue sti„'
she spoke timidly, on a subject which
apparently occupied her long.
“I ought to have a
n °“Gertainly. And you shall havo a bail
dress.”
“No*doubt of '.t. I won't do things by
halves for my best friend X imvethougnt
of the ball dress and or, otne-r Ui.n- .» aim.
“And is my dancing good enough,
“Quite—quite,”, He paused, lapsed
thought, and looked at ner. - d
he said, “do volt trust yourself uuresc, veci
ly to LLVSi ' ■ - ■ ■ : ■. . •
(f.!0N’T:NU£I>.)
into
Margery,"