University of South Carolina Libraries
YORKVILLE ENQUIRER. S ISSUED SEMX-WEEKLY. l7m. okist & SONS, Publishers. T % ^amil? gtospager: 4or the promotion of jhc jjotitira!, Social, Agricultural, and (jpmtmntial Interests of the fjeogle. ESTABLISHED 1855. ~ YORKVILLE. S. O., WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 16, 1901. ISTO. 5. THE MYSTI AGA By ANNA KATH Author of "The Leavenworth Ca and Ring,' Copyright, 1900, by Anna Katharine CHAPTER XXIII?Continued. Dear James ?Why must I write? Why am I not content with the memory of last nleht? Is it because that when the cup Is quite full, a cup that has been so long In filling, some few drops must escape just to show that a great joy like mine is not satisfied to be simply quiescent? I have suffered so long from uucertalnty, have tried you and tried myself with so tedious an Indecision, that now that I know no other man can ever move my heart as you have done the ecstasy of it makes me overdemonstratlve. 1 want to tell you that 1 love you; that I do not sim" ply accept your love, but give you back in fullest measure all the devotion you have heaped upon me in spite of my many faults and fallings. You took me to your heart last night and seemed satisfied, but it does not satisfy me that I just let you do it without telling you that I am proud and happy to be the chosen one of your heart aud that as I saw your smile aud the proud passion which lit up your face I felt how much sweeter was the dear, domestic bliss you promised me thau the more brilliant but colder life of a statesman's wife in Washington. Dear James?I do not 1 cannot believe it Though you said to me in going out, "Your father will explain it all," I do not content myself with his explanation and never will believe what he said of you except you confirm it by your own act Oh, James, were we not happy? I believed in you and felt that you believed In me. When we stood heart to heart under the elm tree (was it only last night?) and you swore that If It lay In the power of earthly man to make me happy I should taste every sweet that a woman's heart naturally craved, 1 thought my heaven had already come and that now It only remained for me to create yours. Yet 1 trust In you yet, James, and If you bid me to continue that trust 1 will do so with all my heart and never ask you to solve this or any later mysteries for me. 1 do not confide with a half heart. I give you all or I give you nothing, a fact which will either Insure my happiness or my ruin. I do not know which. I am as 1 am. Do you think my father's words would satisfy me or that I would or could believe them when they accused you of a base and dishonest act? James, you should have waited and not left me to the misery of hearing such an accusation, an accusation of theft, and theft of money, from one 1 could not contradict?that is. if you knew what be was going to say. But perhaps you did not. Much as I have always revered and loved my father. I find myself hoping that be has said other words to me than those you expected him to. That in his wish to see me Philemon's wife he has resorted to an unworthy subterfuge to separate us and that there Is no truth in the story he told me last night or at least not the truth be would impress upon me. If his account of the interview between you is a correct one. and you have nothing to add to it in way of explanation. then the return of this letter will be token enough that my father has been just in his accusations and that the bond betweeu us must be broken. But If. oil. .lauies. if you are the true man 1 consider you and ail that I have heard is a fabrication or mistake, then come to me at once. Do uot delay, but come at once, and the sight of your f&ce at the gate will be enough to establish your innocence in my eyes if not in those of less intuition tiiau your t Agatha. The letter that followed this was very short: Deak James?The package of letters has been received. (.Jod help me to bear this shock to ail my hopes and the death of all my girlish beliefs. I am not angry. Only those who have something left to hold to in life can be angry. " My father tells me he lias received a packet too. It contained $5,000 in ten $500 notes. James. James, was not my love enough that you should want my father's money too? I have begged my father, and lie has ^ promised me to keep the cause of this rupture secret. No one shall know from either of us that James Zaliel lias any flaw in his nature. The next letter was dated some months later. It was to Philemon: Dear Philemon?'The gloves are too - small; besides. I never wear gloves. I hate their restraint and do not feel there is any good reason for hiding my hands in this little country town, where everybody knows me. Why not give them to Hattie Weller? She likes such things, while 1 have had my till of finery. A girl whose one duty is to care for a dying father has not room left for vanities. Dear Philemon?You will have my hand, though I have told you that my heart does not go with it. It is hard to understand such persistence, but if you ore satisfied to take a woman of my strength against her will then CJod have mercy upon you. for I will be your wife. But do not ask me to go to Sutherlandtown. I shall live here. And do not expect to keep up your intimacy with the Zabels. There is no tie of af ;ry of tha webb. ARINE GREENE, ise," "Lost Man's Lane," "Hanc ' Etc., Etc. Green. He was lying on the sitting room lounge, looking very weak and exhausted. fection remaining between James and myself, but if I am to shed that hall light over your home, which is all 1 can promise and all that you can hope to receive, then keep me from all influence but your own. That this in time may grow sweet and dear to me is my earnest prayer today, for you are worthy of a true wife. Agatha. Dear John?I am going to be married. My father exacts it. and there Is no good reason why I shall not give him this final satisfaction. At least I do not think there Is, but if you or your brother differs from me? Say goodby to James from me. I pray that his life may be peaceful. 1 know that it will be honest. Aoatiia. Dear Phieemon?My father Is worse. He fears that if we wait till Tuesday he will uot be able to see us married. Decide, then, what our duty is. I am ready to abide by your pleasure. Agatha. The following is from John Zabel to his brother James, and is dated oue day after the above: Dear James?When you read this, I will be far away, never to look in your face again unless you bid uie. Brother, brother, 1 meant it for the best, but God was uot with me. and I have made four hearts miserable without giving help to any one. When I read Agatha's letter?the last, for more reasons than one, that I shall ever receive froiu her?1 seemed to feel as never before what I had done to blast your two lives. For the first time I realized to the full that but for me she might have been happy and you the respected husband of the one grand woman to be found in Por, Chester. That 1 had loved her so | fiercely myself came back to me In re proach. and the thought that she perhaps suspected that the blame had fallen where It was not deserved aroused me to such a pitch that I took the sudden and desperate resolution of telling her the truth before she gave her hand to Philemon, and never paused till I reached Mr. Gilchrist's bouse and was ushered into his presence. Ue was lying on the sitting room lounge, looking very weak and exhausted. while on one side of him stood Agatha and ou the other Philemon, both contemplating him with ill concealed anxiety. 1 had uot expected to find Philemon there, and for a moment I suffered the extreme agony of a man who has uot measured the depth of the plunge he is about to take, but the sight of Agatha trembling under the shock of my unexpected presence restored me to myself and gave me firmness to proceed. Advancing with a bow, I spoke quickly the one word I had come there to say. "Agatha, 1 have done you a great wrong, and I am here to undo it. For months I have felt driven to confession, but not till today have 1 possessed the necessary courage. Now nothing shall hinder ine." 1 said this because I saw In both Mr. Gilchrist and Philemon a disposition to stop me where 1 was. Indeed Mr. Gilchrist had risen ou his elbow, and Philemon was making that plead Ing gesture of his which we know so well. Agatha nlone looked eager. "What is it?" she cried. "1 have a right to know." I went to the door, shut it and stood with my back against it. a figure of shame and despair. Suddenly the confession burst from me. "Agatha." said I, "why did you break with my brother James? Because you thought hlni guilty of theft; because you believed he took the $ii,000 out of the sum intrusted to him by Mr. Orr for your father? Agatha, it was not James who did this: it was I. and James knew It and bore of my misdoings the blame because he was always a loyal soul and took account of my weakness and knew?alas, too wellthat open shame would kill me." It was a weak plea and merited no reply, but the silence was so dreadful and lasted so long that I felt first crushed and then terrified. Itaising my head, for I had not dared to look any or tnem in ino met*, i nisi um glance at tlio group before tne ami dropped my head again. startled. Only one of the three was looking at me. and that was Agatha. The others had their heads turned aside, and I thought, or, rather, the passing fancy took me, that they shrank from meeting her gaze with something of the same sliamc and dread I was myself suffering from, Hut she! Can I ever hope to make you realize her look or comprehend the pang of utter self abasement with which I succumbed before it! It was so terrible that 1 seemed to hear her utter words, though I am sure she did not speak, and, with some mild idea of stemming the torrent of her reproaches, I made an effort at explanation and Impetuously cried: "It was not for my own good, Agatha, not alto. gether for self, I did this. I loved you too madly, depairingly, and, good brother as I seemed, I was Jealous of James and hoped to take his place In your regard if I could show a greater prosperity and get for you those things his limited prospects denied him. You * enjoy money, beauty, ease; I could see that by your letters, and if James could not give them to you and I could? Oh, do not look at me like that! I see now that millions could not have bought you." "Despicable!" was all that came from her lips, at which 1 shuddered and groped about for the handle of the door. But she would not let me go. Subduing with grand self restraint the emotions which had hitherto swelled too high in her breast for either speech or action, she thrust out one arm to stay me and said in short, commanding toues: "How was this thing done? You say you took the money, yet It was James who was sent to collect it, or so my father says." Here she tore her looks from me and cast one glance at her father. What she saw 1 cannot say, but her manner changed, and henceforth she glanced his way as much as mine and with uearly as much emotion. "I am waiting to hear what you have to say," she exclaimed, layI Ing her hand on the door, so as to leave ' me no opportunity for escape. I bow1 ed and attempted an explanation. "Aga> tha," said I, "the commission was given to James, and he rode to Sutherlandi town to perform It, but it was on the i day when he was accustomed to write 1 to you, and he was not easy in his mind, for he feared he would miss sending you his usual letter." And then I told the story you know > so well?how I took the money and > how, after Mr. Gilchrist had accused you of the theft, you found out my guilty secret and told me that you had taken my crime on yourself and how afterward my virtue was not equal to assuming the responsibility for my crime. "John," she said?she was under violent restraint?"why do you come now?" 1 cast my eyes at Philemon. He was standing just as before, with his eyes turned away. There was discouragement in his attitude, mingled with a certain grand patience. Seeing that he 1 was better able to bear her loss than 1 either James or myself, I said to her very low: "I thought you ought to know the truth before you gave your ' final word. I am late, but I would have beeu too late a week from now." Her hand fell from the door, but her eyes remained fixed on my face. "It is too late now," she murmured. "The clergyman has just gone who ( united me to Philemon." The next minute she had faced her father and her new made husband. "Father, you knew this thing!" Keen, 1 sharp, incisive, the words rang out "You, tool" she shrieked. "And 1 have just sworn to love, honor and obey youP' "I saw it Id your face when be began to speak." Mr. Gilcbrist drooped slightly; be was a very sick man. and tbe scene bad been a trying one. "If I did." was his low response, "It was but lately. You were engaged tben to Philemon. Why break up this secoud match?" She eyed bim as If she found it difficult to credit her ears. Such indifference to tbe claims of innocence was Incredible to her. I saw ber grand pro tile quiver, tnen tne siow eDDing rrom tier cheek of every drop of blood Indignation had summoned there. "And you, Philemon," she suggested, with a somewhat softened aspect?"yon committed this wrong Ignorantly, never having heard of this crime. You could not know on what false grounds I had been separated from James." I had started to escape, but stopped just beyond the threshold of the door as she uttered these words. Philemon was not as ignorant as she supposed. This was evident from his attitude and i expression. "Agatha," he began, but at this first word, and before he could clasp the hands held helplessly out before her. she gave a great cry, and, staggering i back, eyed both her father and himself In a frenzy of indignation that was all the more uncontrollable from the superhuman effort which she hitherto ( made to suppress it. "You, too!" she shrieked. "You, too, and I have Just sworn to love, honor and obey you! Love you! Honor you, the unconscionable wretch who"? But here Mr. Gilchrist rose, weak, I tottering, quivering with something more than anger. He approached his I daughter and laid his finger on her lips. "Be quiet!" lie said. "Philemon is not to blame. A month ugo he came to see me and prayed that, as a relief to ? his mind, 1 would tell him why you > had separated yourself from James. He had always thought the match had i fallen through on account of some fool? Ish quarrel or Incompatibility, but late ly be bad feared there was something more than be suspected in this break, something that he should know. So 1 told him why you had dismissed James, and, whether he knew James better than we did or whether he had seen something in bis long acquaintance with these brothers which influenced his judgment, he said at once: 'This cannot be true of James. It is not In his nature to defraud any man, but John?I might believe it of John. Isn't there some complication here?' I had never thought of John and did not see how John could be mixed up with an affair I had supposed to be a secret between James and myself, but when Philemon laid the matter before James he did not deny that John was guilty, but astfed that you be not told before your marriage. He knew that you were engaged to a good, man, a man that your father approved, a man that could and would make you happy. He did not want to be the means of a second break, and besides?and this, 1 think, was at the bottom of the stand he took, for James Zabel was always the proudest man I ever knew?he nev u U... U ? n?l,l W cuuiu utrui, ur oaiu, iu ?ivc iu uuc like Agatha a name which be knew and she knew was not entirely free from reproach. It would stand in the way of his happiness and ultimately of hers. His brother's dishonor was his. So, while he loved you still, his only prayer was that after you were safely married and Philemon was sure of your affection be should tell you that the man you once regarded so favorably was not unworthy of that regard. To obey him Philemon has kept silent, while I?Agatha, what are you doing7 Are you mad, my child?'*' She looked so for the moment Tearing off the ring she had worn but an hour, she flung It on the floor. Then she threw her arms high up over her head and burst out in an awful voice: "Curses on the father! Curses on the husbaud who have combined to make me rue the day I was born! The father I cannot disown, but the husband"? "Hush!" It was Mr. Gilchrist who dared her fiery anger. Philemon said nothing. "Hush! He may be the father of your children. Don't curse"? But she only towered the higher, and her beauty from being simply majestic became appalling. "Children!" she cried. "If ever I bear children to this man, may the blight of heaven strike them as it has struck me this day. May they die as my hopes have died, or, If they live, may they bruise his heart as mine Is bruised and curse their father as"? Here I fled the house. I was shaking as if this awful denunciation had fallen on my own bead; "^But before the door closed behind me a different cry called me back. Mr. Gilchrist was lying lifeless on the floor, and Philemon, the patient, tender Philemon, had taken Agatha to his breast and was soothing her there as if the words she had showered upon Dim naa Deen Diessings instead of the most fearful curses which bad ever left the lips of mortal woman. The next letter was In Agatha's handwriting. It was dated some months later and was stained and crumpled more than any others in the whole packet Could Philemon once have told why? Were these blotted lines the result of his tears falling fast upon them, tears of 40 years ago, when he and she were young and love had been doubtful? Was the sheet so yellowed and so seamed because it had been worn on bis breast and folded and unfolded so often? Philemon, thou art in thy grave, sleeping sweetly at last by the side of her thou so idolized, but these marks of feeling still remain indlssolubly connected with the words that gave them birth. Peak Philemon?You are gone for a day and a night only, but It seems a lengthened absence to me, meriting a little letter. You have been so good to me, Philemon, ever since that dreadful hour following our marriage I feel that I am beginning to love you and that God did not deal with me so harshly when he cast me Into your arms. Yesterday I tried to tell you this when you almost kissed me at parting, but 1 was afraid It was a momentary sentimentality and so kept still. But today such a warm wellsprlng of Joy rises in / heart when I think that tomorrow the bouse will be bright again and that In place of the empty wall opposite me at table 1 shall see your kindly and forbearing face! 1 know that the heart I had thought impregnable has begun to yield and that daily gentleness and a boundless consideration from one who had excuse for bitter thoughts and recrimination is doing what all of us thought Impossible a few short mouths ago. Oh, I am so happy, Philemon, so happy to love where It Is now my duty to love, and If It were not for that dreadful memory of a father dying with harsh words in his ears and the knowledge that you, my husband, yet not my husband, are bearing ever about with you echoes of words that In another nature would have turned tenderness Into gall I could be merry also and sing as I go about the house, making it pleasant and comfortable against your speedy return. As it is, I can but lay my hand softly on my heart as its beatings grow too Impetuous and say: "God bless my absent Philemon and help him to forgive me! I forgive him and love him as I never thought I could." That you may see that these are not the weak outpourings of a lonely woman, I will here write that I heard today that John and James Zabel have gone into partnership In the shipbuilding business, John's uncle having left him a legacy of several thousand dollars. I hope they will do well. James, they say, is to all appeurance perfectly cheerful, is full of business and this relieves me from too much worry in his regard. God certainly knew what kind of a husband I needed. May you find yourself equally blessed in your wife. Another letter to Philemon a year later: Dear Philemon?Hasten home, Philemon; I do not like these absences. I am Just now too weak and tearful. Since we knew the great hope before us I have looked often In your face for a sign that you remembered what this hope cannot but recall to my shuddering memory. Philemon, Philemon, was I mad? When I think what 1 said id my rage ana uien reei tne 111tle life stirring about my heart, I wonder that God did not strike me dead rather than bestow upon me the greatest blessing that can come to woman. Philemon. Philemon, if anything should happen the child! I think of it by day, I think of It by night I know you think of it too, though you show me such a cheerful countenance and make such great plans for the future. Will God remember my words or will he forget? It seems as if my reason hung upon this question. A note this time In answer to one from John Zabel: Dear John?Thank you for words which could have come from nobody else. My child Is dead. Could I expect anything different? If I did, God has rebuked me. Philemon thinks only of me. We understand each- other perfectly, now that our greatest suffering comes In each other's pain. My load I can bear, but this? Come and see me, John, and tell James our house Is open to him. We have all done wrong, and are caught In one web of misfortune. Let It make us friends again. Below this In Philemon's hand: My wife Is superstitious. Strong and capable as she is, she has felt that this sudden taking off of our firstborn as a sign that certain words uttered by ber on her marriage day, unhappily known to you and, as I take it, to James also, have been remembered by the righteous God above us. This Is a weakness which I cannot combat Can you. who alone of all the world beside know both It and Its cause, help me by a renewed friendship, whose cheerful and natural character may gradually make her forget? If so, come like old neighbors and dine with us on our wedding day. If God sees that we have burled the past and are ready to forgive each other the faults of our youth, perhaps He will further spare this good woman. I think she will be able to bear It She has great strength except where a little child is concerned. That alone can henceforth stir the deepest recesses of her heart After this a gap of years. One, two, three, four, five children were laid away to rest In Porchester churchyard, then Philemon and she came to Sutherlandtown, but not till after the certain event bad occurred, best made known by this last letter to Philemon: Dearest Husband?Our babe is born, our sixth and our dearest, and the reproach of Its flrat look had to be met by me alone. Oh, why did I leave you and come to this great Boston, where I have no friends but Mrs. Sutherland? Did 1 think I could break the spell of fate or Providence by giving birth to my last darling among strangers? I shall have to do something more ? AUI- -LitJ A than that ir I wouia save una cauu tu our old age. It Is borne In upon me like fate that never will a child prosper of my breast or survive the clasp of my arms. If it is to live, it must be reared by others. Some woman who has not brought down the curse of heaven upon her by her own blasphemies must nourish the tender frame and receive the blessing of Its growing love. Neither I nor you can hope to see recognition In our babe's eye. Before it can turn upon us with love it will close in its last sleep, and we will be left desolate. What shall we do, then, with this little son? To whose guardianship can we intrust It? Do you know a man good enough or a wo man sufficiently tender? 1 do not but If God wills that our little Frederick should live he will raise up some one by the pang of possible separation already tearing my heart I believe that he will raise up some one. Meanwhile I did not dare to kiss the child lest 1 should blight It He is so sturdy, Philemon, so different from all the other Ave, I open this to add that Mrs. Sutherland has just been in with her 5 weeks' old infant His father is away, too, and has not yet seen his boy, and this Is their first after ten years of marriage. Oh, that 1 had such confidence as she in a future of endless delight in this babe! The next letter opens with a cry: Philemon! Come to me, Philemon! "Swear you will be a mother to this child!" I have done whut I threatened. I have made the sacrifice. Our child Is no longer ours, and now perhaps he may live. But, oh, ray breaking heart, my empty home! Help me to bear ray desolation, for it is for life. We will never have another child. And where is it? Ah, that is the wonder of it! Near you, Philemon, yet not too near. Mrs. Sutherland has it, and you may have seen its little face through the car window if you were in the station last night when the express passed through fo Suthcrlnndtown. Ah. but she bas ( her burden to bear, too?an awful se- , cret burden, like iny own, only she will , have the child, for, Philemon, she has taken it In lieu of her own, which died | last night In my sight. And Mr. Sutherland does not know what she has done and never will If you keep the secret as I shall for the sake of the life the little Innocent has thus won. i What do I mean and how was It all? j Philemon. It was God's work, all but the deception, and that Is for the good of all and to save four broken hearts. Listen. Yesterday, only yesterday?It seems a month ago?Mrs. Sutherland came again to see me with her baby in i her arms. The baby was looking well, and she was the happiest of women, for the one wish of his heart and hers i had been fulfilled, and she was soon going to have the bliss of showing the child to his father. My own babe was on the bed asleep, and i, who am feeling wonderfully strong, was sitting up In a little chair as far away from him as possible, not out of hatred or Indifference, oh, no. but because he seemed to rest better when left entirely by himself and not under the hungry look of my eyes. Mrs. Sutherland went over to look at him. "Oh, he Is fair, like my baby," she said, "and almost as sturdy, though mine Is a month older." And she stooped down and kissed him. rhilemon, be smiled for her, though he never had for me. I saw It with a greedy longing that almost made me cry out. Then I turned to her, and we talked. Of what? I cannot remember now. At home we had never been intimate friends. She Is from Sutberlandtown, and I am from Porchester, aud the distance of nine miles Is enough to estrange people. But here, each with her husband absent and a darling Infant sleeping under her eyes. Interests we have never thought Identical drew us to each other, and we chatted with ever Increasing pleasure. Suddenly Mrs. Sutherland jumped up In terrible fright. Tie Infant she had been rocking on h *r breast was blue; the next minute it shuddered; the next It lay in her arms dead. I hear the shriek yet with which she fell with it In her arms to the door. Fortunately no other ears were open to her cry. I alone saw her misery. I alone heard her tale. The child had been poisoned. Philemon, poisoned by her. She had mistaken a cup of medi cine for a cup or water ana naa given the child a few drops In a spoon just before setting out from her hotel. She had not known at the time what she had done, but now she remembered that the fatal cup was Just like the other and that the two stood very near together. Oh. her Innocent child, and ] oh, her husband! It seemed as If the latter thought would drive her wild. "He lias so wished for a child," she moaned. "We have been married ten * years and this baby seemed to have 1 been sent from heaven. He will curse i me: he will hate me: he will never be 1 able after this to bear me in bis sight." s This was not true of Mr. Sutherland, t but it was useless to argue with her. Instead of attempting it I took another 1 way to stop her ravings. Lifting the ; child out of her hands. I first listened 1 at its heart and then finding it was t really dead?I have seen too many life- i less children not to know?I began < slowly to undress It "What are you i doing?" she cried. "Mrs. Webb, Mrs. s Webb! What are you doing?" For re- i ply I pointed to the bed where two lit- i tie arms could be seen feebly fluttering, j "You shall have my child," I whisper- t ed. "I have carried too many babies t to the tomb to dare risk bringing \ t another." And catching her poor wai j deriug spirit with my eye, I held hi A while I told her my story. Philemon. ( saved that woman. Before I had fi { ished speaking I saw the reason it- } turn to her eye and the dawning of a ( pitiful hope in her passion drawn face. ^ She looked ai the child in my arn t and then she looked at the one In tl j bed. and the long drawn sigh wi . which she finally bent down and we| t over our darling told me that my cau> j won. The rest was easy. When the ^ clothes of the two children had been j exchanged, she took our baby In her ? arms and prepared to leave. Then I * stopped her. "Swear." I cried, hold- > ing her by the arm and lifting my j other hand to heaven, "swear you will ^ be n mother to this child! Swear ^ you will love It as your own and rear It in the path of truth and righteousness!" The convulsive clasp with which she ? drew the baby to her breast told me 1 plainer than her shuddering "I swear!" J that her heart had already opened to It I dropped her arm and covered my face with my hands. I could not see my darling go. It was worse than * death. "Oh, God, save him!" I groan- 1 ed. "God make him an honor"? But ? here she caught me by the arm. Her ^ clutch wus frenzied, and her teeth were \ chattering. "Swear in your turu." she t gasped; "swear that if I do a mother's s duty by this boy you will keep my [ secret and never, never reveal to my r husband, to the boy or to the world v that you have any claims upon him." v It was like tearing the heart from my breast with my own hand, but I swore, o Philemon, and she In her turn stood c back. But suddenly she faced me r again, terror and doubt In all her looks. [ "Your husband!" she whispered. "Can r you keep such a secret from him? You a will breathe it in your dreams." "I * shall tell him," I answered. "Tell him!" v The hair seemed to rise on her head, s * 1 T oKft 1' anu sue suook so iuui i ?? ??*-? out would drotp the babe. "Be careful!" I ? cried. "See. you frighten the babe. a My husband has but one heart with t me. What I do he will subscribe to. <3 Do not fear Philemon." So I promised c in your name. Gradually she grew a calmer. When I saw she was steady again, 1 motioned her to go. Even my 3 more than mortal strength was falling, ? and the baby?Philemon. I have never j kissed it, and I did not kiss it then. 1 v heard her feet draw slowly toward the F door. I heard her hand fall on the | knob, heard it turn, uttered one cry t and then? They found me an hour p after lying along the door clasping the dead infant in my arms. I was in a swoon, and they all think 1 fell with the child, as perhaps I did. and that its little life went out durlug my insensibility. Of its little features, like and yet unlike our boy's, no one seems to take heed. The uurse who cared for It is gone, and who else would know that little face but me? They are very good to me and are full of self reproaches for leaving me so long in my part of the building alone. But, though they watch me now, I have contrived to write this letter, which you will get with the one telling of the baby's death and my own dangerous condition. Under It these words: "Though bidden to destroy this, I have never dared to do so. Some day it may be of inestimable value to us or our boy. Philemon Webb. This was the last letter found in the packet. As it was laid down sobs were heard all over the room, and Frederick, who for some time now had been sitting with his head in his hands, ventured to look up and say: "Do you wouder that I endeavored to keep this secret, bought at such a price and sealed by the death of her I thought my mother and of her who really was? Gentlemen, Mr. Sutherland really loved his wife and honored her memory. To tell him, as 1 shall have to within the hour, that the child she placed in his arms 23 years ago was an alien and that all his love, his care, his disappointment and his sufferings had been lavished on the son of a neighbor, required greater courage tlion tr? fn/.o ilnnltt nil tlw faoaa nf mr lu luvv UWUMfc VM fellow townsmen or anything, In short, but absolute arraignment on the charge of murder. Hence my silence, hence my indecision, till this woman here"? he pointed a scornful finger at Amabel now shrinking In her chair?"drove me to It by secretly threatening me with a testimony which would have made me the murderer of my mother and the lasting disgrace of a good man who alone has been without blame from the beginning to the end of this desperate affair. She was about to speak when I forestalled her." That afternoon before the Inquest broke up the jury brought in their verdict. It was: "Death by means of a wound inflicted upon herself in a moment of terror and misapprehension." It was all his fellow townsmen could do for Frederick. TO BE CONTINUED. ?# TILLMAN AT OMAHA. rhe Senator Gives His Own Story of the Jackson Oay Banquet. The papers have had a great deal to say about Senator Tillman's recent vlst to Omaha, and his alleged quarrel vith Mr. Bryan. The Washington correspondent of The News and Courier sends his paper the following under late of last Thursday: Senator Tillman has returned to Washington from attendance at the Tefferson club banquet held in Omaha, tfeb., last Monday night. In view of ;he conflicting statements sent out relLtive to the strained relations between Senator Tillman and the Democratic eader, William Jennings Bryan, the South Carolina senator, with characterstic frankness, disposed of the reports n this way: "I have filed no plea for lolltical separation from Mr. Bryan," laid the senator when interviewed on :he subject this afternoon at the Caplol. "My relations with Mr. Bryan are tot strained in the least and I had a rery plain talk with him on the political situation. I told him, as I told the leople at the Jefferson banquet, that it - Anwl-i. nnmmlt mvRplf to anv O LUV cai IJ vvr ~ ? w :andidate or any specific platform vhich might be binding in 1904. I don't hink I was misunderstood on that subect, for I have a way of trying to excess myself clearly when I have anyhing to say. I don't believe the gentlenen at the banquet in Omaha misunierstood me and I don't believe Mr. Bryan misunderstood me. In fact, he ieemed to be impressed with my views >n the subject from the fact that when le reached Chicago he stated there that le intended to take his place as a private in the Democratic ranks and fight or the principles of the party as long is he lives. "I cannot," said the senator, "be reiponsible for the imaginary statements vhich newspaper reporters make con:erning my attitude toward Mr. Bryan n the future. I do not regret going to )maha, as some of the newspapers lave stated. On the contrary I am rlad I went, as I had a royal good * T 1A *?A4 V?Q xro ranoivAd a 1II1C* X UUUiu avi, umtv > w?.? ? ?reater ovation than that which was ,riven me at the banquet at Omaha. I rave them my ideas of Democracy ight from the shoulder, and they vhooped it up for me in great shape. I iet them crazy when I pitched into Cleveland. I wish you could have leard them shout when I tore him to >ieces, and the rest of the gang who vorship at the Cleveland shrine, who want to reorganize the Democratic pary, but who go to the polls on election lays and vote the Republican ticket. I lid not pose as a leader of the Demosratic party, but I told them that I did epresent the sentiments of the Demo:ratic party of South Carolina. I told hem I had been elected to the goverlorship, once to the United States sen.te and had been endorsed for re-elecion for another term in the senate without opposition, and my commission irould be due in a few weeks. Repreenting the Democracy of South Caroina I told them that it would be prenature for the Democratic party to ommitt itself to any man or platform t this stage of the game, but I assured hem that I would rather go down to lefeat again four years hence than acept the leadership of or surrender my trlnciples to such a party and to such . leadership as that Cleveland crowd. "You should nave seen that crowd hout and yell when I uttered these entiments," continued the senator enhusiastically. "Why," he added, "they umped up and shouted and yelled like wild Indians. Then some fellow pro>osed that the whole company join in inging 'Dixie* in my honor. They got tuck on the words?as a matter of fact hey didn't know them?so they comiromised by singing 'America.' "