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THE SOUTHERN WORLD, MAY 15,1882.
W°m §ivk-
•'TUo harvest Is the and of the world, and the reap-
•ra art the angels."
In bla wide fielda walk* the kfeater,
In hie fair fleldei ripe for harvest,
Where the evening auo ahlnea elantwlee
On the rich care heavy bending;
Haltti the Mai ter: “It le time.”
Though no leaf ahowe brown decadence
And September's nightly frost-bite
Only reddens the borlson.
“It is full time," aalth the Master,
The wise Master, "It Is time."
Lo, be looks. That look compelling
Brings his laborers to the harvest;
Quick tbey gather, as In autumn
1‘assage-blrds In cloudy eddies
• Drop upon the sea-side fields;
White wings have tbey, and white raiment,
White feet shod with swift obedience,
Each lays down his golden i>alm-brauch,
And up rears his sickle shining,
“Speak, O Master—Is It tlmeT"
O'er the Held the servants hasten.
Where the full-stored ears droop downwards.
Humble with their weight of harvest;
Where the empty ears wave upward,
And the gay ears Haunt 111 rows;
But the sickles, the sharp sickles.
Flash new dawn at their appearing,
Songs are heard In earth and heaven,
For the reapers are the angels,
And It Is the harvest time,
O Oreat Master, are thy fnotate;>s
Even now upon the mountains?
Art thou walking in the wheat-field?
Are the suowy-winged reapers
(lathering In the silent air?
Are thy signs abroad, the glowing
Of the distant sky, blood-reddened—
And the near Helds trodden, blighted,
Choked by gaudy lures triumphant—
Sure, It must be harvest time?
Who shall know the Master’s coming?
Whether It he dawn or sunset,
When night dews weigh down the wheat-ears
Or while noon rides high in heaven,
Sleeping lies the yellow field?
Only, may thy voice. Good Master,
Peul above the reapers' chorus,
And dull sound of sheaves slow falling—
“Outlier nil into My garner.
For It Is My harvest time.”
Written specially for the Southern World.
CUHBF.RI.AND MANOR.
BY IIKLKN IIARCOURT.
Cumberland Manor! a proud old name
and a proud old mansion, ay! and a proud
old family—none more so—that love It. But
alas, and alas, for human vanity and human
holies! The stately owner of it all lay pros-
4*gte in its midst, helpless, resigned, his
fading eyes now turned wistfully towards
the open window, whence could he seen Ills
own beautiful park, stretching far, far away;
now gazing anxiously towards the door.
"The tide is fast running out, Clare," he
said, his voice low and broken; “surely Wat
son should be here soon?"
“I hear the gig at the door now, dear
uncle," was the answer, "he will bo here in
an instant.”
The weary eyes brightened, and the thin
white hand readied oat and clasped the
loving one that met it half way.
"Then go, Clare; leuve us together, and
tell James and Henry to be ready to come
here the moment the bell rings; but, Clare,
my dear, j ust—I—I want to ask you to forgi vc
me; I have been unkind to you. I suffered
my mind to be poisoned against you, I see
why now, I did you a great wrong, but Ood
is—merciful—and, He has given me time to
repair that sin, at least Will you forgive
me, Clare?"
"There is nothing to forgive, dear, dear
uncle," sobbed his ward, “I love you, and
you are all 1 have in the world."
• "Not all, not all, my dear," he said, a
faint half smile flitting over his sunken
features, as a quick flush crimsoned the
beautiful young face bending over him.
"Not all, my dear, and I am thankful to
know it, Vaughn Copeland is a fine young
fellow, and I—I—am very—glad."
He lay back exhausted, and Clare hesitat
ed to obey his command to leave him; a mo
ment later, the door opened softly, not so
softly, however, but that the sick man heard
it, and a smile of relief lit up his wan feat
ures as a gentleman advanced towards the
bed and clasped his hand in silent simpathy.
"Oo now, Clare,” he said, "kiss me, dear
and Ood bless you."
Even os the young girl passed out, and
went down the broad stairway, the door of
a neighboring room opened noiselessly, and a
woman's figure flitted hastily along the pas
sage; a woman some vears older than lovely
Clare, proud and handsome, but with the
stamp of a worldly soul written on her ar
rogant features, and the look of one who
would stop at no sin however great, that
might enable her to achieve whatever object
she might have in view.
Just now her brow was wrinkled into a
heavy frown, and on each cheek bunted a
fiery red spot.
"I will know what this means," she mut
tered, as she entered a small apartment ad
joining that in which lay the dying roan.
“Watson sent for in such haste, rfnd I not
even told of it, and Clare, that insipid minx,
just come out from his bedside, while I, I
am told I must not enter, because the phy
sician has forbidden any one to go there.
I will know, I will know I If he dares to
alter the will made in my favor, a month
ago, I will—ah I what can I do? Something,
something; I will not be degraded, I and my
boy; he promised it, and I will have Cum
berland Manor. Bntpah! he is my tool, I
can twist him in my Angers; what should I
fear?"
Placing her ear against the locked door,
close to which, on the other side, sat the
lawyer, the young widow, a distant relative
of 8ir George Cumberland, who, being left
in destitute circumstances, had been in
stalled by him as companion to his niece,
listened in breathless silence to the low tones
of the man of law, as lie read over a docu
ment evidently prepared for signature, and
Mira Bell’s face grew white, os she hearkened
to the terms of a will that set aside the one
she had toiled so long and patiently to ob
tain, and left the wide expanse of field and
park and the grand old mansion, to the one
who was the just and rightful inheritor,
Clare Cumberland, the only child of Sir
George’s only brother.
"Bight, right I” the sick man murmured,
"that is os it should be, and Watson, that
other one, have you brought it? Well; it
matters not, it is waste paper now, thank
God I Watson, old friend, I was a fool
when I made that other will, worse, a knave.
I allowed myself to be blinded by an artful
woman, an accomplished hypocrite; I was
still her dupe, till yesterday, but she was
unmasked in time; a letter to her brother,
placed by accident in an envelope addressed
to roc, boasting of her conquest, showed tier
in her true light Leave the will here by
me; I will get you to lock it up in my
desk before you go, and you will know
where to find it. And now, faithful old
friond, ring for James and Henry to wit
ness my signature. I want to complete my
reparation."
It needed not that Mira Bell should longer
play the eavesdropper, she knew it all now;
how her own incautious boastingof the rich
game she had entrapped, and her own care
lessness in placing the wrong letter in the
wrong envelope, had cast her all she had toil
ed for, for months past, all the broad land
of Cumberland Manor, of which she had
felt so assured, since Sir George in his infat
uation, had consented to will it to her, never
however, supposing that such a will would
be acted upon, for he was a man just in the
prime of life, and full of health and vigor,
until suddenly stricken with the fierce fever
which was fast numbering his heart-beats.
And so Mira Bell knew that sho had lost
the prize so eagerly sought for, and that the
gentle girl whom she hod tor a while suc
ceeded in estranging from her uncle’s affec
tions, would be the mistress of the proud old
mansion where she herself had thought to
reign, and would have reigned, but for this
fatal illness of him who had been so anxious
to make her his wife.
"And I will, I will be mistress yet, in
spite of him,” she hissed, as she paced up
and down her own apartment. "My boy,
my little Carl, my idol, they shall not rob
you of what your mother has promised you,
Cumberland Manor shall be hers, and yours,
my boy,"
She paused a moment to kiss the slum
bering child, whom she worshipped with all
the strength of a passionate nature, and
then slowly she resumed her monotonous
walk.
"Let me think, ohl my brain I I must
think calmly. There is some way, there
must be some way I The will, the true will,
is it at Mr. Watson's office, and this other m
the house in that desk. I know where the
keys are hung; I will get it, I will And some
way, some way. Only let me be calm!"
Three days later the mortal remains of Sir
George Cumberland were laid away to rest
in the noble ancestral vault, where the Cum-
berlands for generations past, had lain them
down to sleep.
The funeral took place in the afternoon,
and was delayed by a heavy gust, so far be
yond the hour fixed upon, that the reading
of the will was postponed until the follow
ing day.
Had Mr. Watson noted the sudden gleam
of satisfaction that flashed over the white,
rigid face of Mira Bell, as he had announced
this change of plan, he might well have
been startled, bat he saw it not, and so
quickly did those well trained features re
sume their accustomed tranquility that even
had he seen, he might yet have doubted the
evidence of his eyesight.
The hours passed on, and darkness settled
down on tlis noble old mansion, whose an
cient roof, for the first time for many, many
years, no longer sheltered a master.
One by one the clocks tolled out the hours
as they rolled slowly by, until at length
every light was extinguished and all the
household were at rest.
Yet stay! not all; one there was for
whom time had leaden wings that night;
one whose evil passions could scarce be held
in check, until such time as the prolonged
Stillness assured its owner that it was safe
to venture out into the corridors in pursu
ance of her evil purpose.
But at last a dark robed figure issued softly
from the apartment occupied by Mira Bell,
and noiselessly made its way towards that
other apartment, now silent and deserted,
whence so lately the master had been carried
out to enter again never more.
At the door she paused, but the hesitation
was only momentary, and sho passed swiftly
in and hurried across the floor os thougii
fearful of her own resolution, until site
stood before a handsomely curved desk, par
tially built in tlie wail.
"Locked ?’’ she muttered, “why, of course
how could I expect anything else? my brain
is all on fire, I must be calm, calm, ah ! here
are the keys in their usual place; now Miss
Clare, we will see who will be mistress of
Cumberland Manor." *
Her hand usually so steady, shook as she
placed heT lamp on a table close by, and in
serted the key, many a time had she stood
by the late owner of that, desk, and gazed
into its various draws and pigeon-holes, so
now her search was no less rapid and thor
ough, than eager. But though she peered
into corner after corner, that which she
sought eluded her, and at length her hands
dropped nerveless at her side.
“It is not here!" she cried, half aloud.
“It is not here! Oil where can it be, where
can it be? I must, I will find it. The bed,
all yes, perhaps lie slipped it under his pil
low instead of having it put in the desk.”
Half frenzied she ran to the bed, and drag
ged ofT the pillows, bolster, bedding, mat
rass—her excitement increasing as her
search proved fruitless; then she darted to
a small set of hanging bookshelves and com
menced hastily pulling down the books and
papers.
“No will! nowill! oh where is it? Ah!”
and a maniacal laugh burst from her parched
lips. "If I cannot find it, I know who can
destroy it! Tho fire king, tho fire king!
Come, oli ye demon, come, come, come.”
And kneeling down, she piled books and
papers upon tho scattered bedding that lay
beneath and around the grand old bedstead
Tliis done site lighted a scrap of paper
and thrust it into the mldstof the inflamma
ble pile. Then she rose and stood watching
the flames os they flickered, brightened,
leaped, then embraced the tapestry hang
ings and rushed up them towards the lofty
ceiling.
Then, with another low, triumphant laugh,
Mira Bell turned towards the door just in
time to see a white robed figure advancing
towards her.
A wild shriek of horror burst from her
lips; to her already overwrought fancy
the tail figure of the butler, who aroused
by her movements from a light slumber in
a neighboring apartment, had come to inves
tigate. to her frenzied fancy wo say, his tall
white figure assumed the form of the spectre
of Sir George.
One wild maniacal shriek she uttered,
then dashing the lamp she held in his face
she fled past him along the wide corridor
darting into her own room, snatched her
boy from his cot, and a moment later was
speeding across the park out into the dark
ness beyond where, she knew not nor cared
so only that she might flee far from the ter
rible apparition.
On and on she sped; now falling, now up
and on again, breathless, panting, starting
and shrieking ever and anon, os the faint
light shed by the new moon magnified the
shadows to her fevered imagination, and
transformed them into threatening spectres.
On and on until in her headlong flight she
came to a long narrow bridge built on
trestles, a railroad bridge over which ran
frequent trains; it hod no solid flooring, no
railing at the aides, was not intended for
pedestrians and as she per force came to a
sudden pause, a wild idea seized upon her.
“If I cross the river here, that thing can
not follow; I will be free from It, I’ll go,
yes, I’ll go. I can cross but it will have to
stay behind,"
A loud triumphant laugh rang out on the
quiet air, quiet save for a faint mumbling
Bound afar off; and then slowly and carefully
doing that which she could not have done in
broad daylight, had she not been insane,
Mira Bell clasping her boy more firmly in
her arms, walked out upon the dangerous
structure, stepping steadily from tie to tie,
heeding not the swift current gleaming be
neath.
Softly, stealthily she crept along through
tlie stillness of the night, a stillness perfect
save for that strange rumbling that was mo
mentarily now, swelling louder and louder.
Then suddenly out of the darkness, a
bright red spot flickered, brightened, grew
larger and larger, while the rumbling grew
louder and louder, and then Mira Bell felt
the timbers beneath her feet quiver and vi
brate. She stopped and looked back at the
great red eye rapidly approaching.
“Hush, Carl, hush," she whispered. "It
is cbming after all, wo will kneel down here
and it will pass without seeing us—hist,
hist!”
Tlie passengers in the train were startled
an instant later by a terrible shriek as of
one in mortal agony and then there followed
a sound as of a heavy body striking tho
water, after that no other sound was heard
by tlie anxious listeners.
No one could explain tlie mystery, though
the engineer asserted that he had certainly
seen a shadowy figure near the centre of the
bridge, that rose up suddenly before the lo
comotive; but the idea was laughed at,
until the next day when the bodies of a wo
man and a little boy were washed ashore be
low the bridge, and a portion of the for
mer’s dress was found caught on a rail-spike
midway on the bridge.
But wlmt was a woman doing there,
where none but workmen ever ventured,
and even then only in the broad light of
day ? None could tell.
And now, how fared it at Cumberland
Manor? Not so disastrously as Mira Bell
had intended; hastily summoning help by
means of the bell, whose violent ringing
aroused the whole household, the butler
succeeding in subduing the flames before
they had done more than consume the
bedding, and blackened a portion of the
woodwork.
Not until the haste and excitement were
over, did tlie faithful old servitor relate the
circumstances of the night alarm, so far os
he knew them and then a hasty search re
vealed the fact of Mira Bell’s flight.
"No matter we can find her to-morrow ?"
said Mr. Watson, who fortunately for be
wildered Clare, had remained at the Manor
that night. “You cannot understand it,
you say, Miss Clare? weir I think I can. I
will tell you about it.”
And then in carefully chosen words so as
to pain hor loving heart as little as possible,
the lawyer told her of her uncle’s narrow
escape from the wiles of Mira Bell and how
she had not only led him on to an engage
ment of marriage, but had prevailed on
him to will to hor the bulk of his property,
including Cumberland Manor.
“A note,” he concluded, “sent to your
uncle by mystake on one of those last days
when tlie physician forbade her to enter his
room, revealed her true character, and he
at once summoned me to re-write bis will
leaving everything to you. This will he
signed tlie day before ids death, and at first
intended to have me place it in his own
desk, but before I left lie changed his mind,
remarking that it would be safer with me.
It really seems as if he had had a premoni
tion of what that wicked woman was capa
ble of. There is no doubt but that she was
searching for that will to destroy it; see how
the desk is open, and its contents tumbled
about; but how she knew he had made an
other will, that is the point that puzzles me.
Of course she failed to find what was not
there and believed it to be somewhere in the
room, determined that fire should destroy
that whole wing of the Manor, to ensure the
destruction of the will. James thinks she
took him for your uncle's ghost, and went
crazy with fear. But enough of specula
tions. We will know to-morrow. It will
be an easy matter to trace her.”
It was indeed easy to trace her; easier
than the honest lawyer dreamed of.
Scarcely had the sun risen two hours
high when a solemn procession slowly ap
proached the Manor, bearing in Its midst,
the cold, dripping for,ms of Mira Bell and
her idolized son. Tlie one gone before the
judgment seat in all her wickedness. The
other mercifully snatched away from the
world’s sin and sorrow and care.
“It is better so, my dear,” said Mr. Wat
son to the coming mistress, of the Manor.
“We can hope now that! she was insane at