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10 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