Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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lewis grist, proprietor, j 2U Inbrpcnbent Jamilg ftefospapcr: ,jfor (jjc promotion of f|e political, Social, Agricultural anb Commercial Interests of fjjt Sflafjj. |TERMS?$3.00 A YEAR, IN ADVANCE. VOL. SO. YOEKYILLE, S. C., THUESDAY, JANTJABY 1, 1874. UO. 1. Jilt ftrufhutl ftorn. j Written for the Yorkville Enquirer. DESTINY; OR, HOUNDED DOWN". BY NELLY MARSHALL McAFEE. CHAPTER I. She was so beautiful! Her round, white j arras were bared nearly to her polished, Parian-tinted shoulders, and her golden tresses,; - ?j: Hashing in tne rays or me miu-uny ouu, auu i just lifted by the breeze, were unbound, save | for the faded blue ribbon that held their glit- J tering wealth of waves from her perfect face, I ( faultless in its coloring and ootline, but shad- J ^ owed in every feature by a htished and name- j less sorrow. She was leaning from the curtainless, dingy ! window of a room in a tenement house in the 1 pleasant village of Bristol, Tennessee. Her | rose-leaf chin rested iu her slender palm, and j her eyes were riveted upon a splendid landau, \ lined with dark blue satin, containing two superbly dressed ladies. Slowly the four magnificent bays pranced along the public thoroughfare, as if conscious of their beauty and the elegant equipage they diew after them. The ladies were languid and didingue\n their air, and seemed to gaze on everything about them with au ineffable indifference that had not the energy to be disdain. The younger was two-and-twenty years old, and very handsome, although moulded after a petite pattern. She was brilliant, dark, with eyes as lustrous as stars; deep roses burning on her cheeks; and velvety lips, full and scarlet as a dead-ripe cherry. 2 The elderly companion was once a blonde, and still retained traces of a fresh und voluptiiniio otvlo nf hpaiit.v hut her countenance wore a sinister expression, repulsive and dark, and her voice, harsh and rasping, was heard above the rattle of the wheels and the tramp ! of the horses, as she scornfully commented on the dullness and unsightliness of country villages in general, and her distaste for Bristol in particular. "Ah! I am sure we will find it a charming place, when we come to know it better!" answered the younger woman; "Irving chose it, and if it had been an unpleasant place, he would hardly have selected it as a home for me. Her companion sneered and said interrogatively? "He wouldn't?" * "No, that he wouldn't; for ray happiness is his first and dearest thought," answered the other, enthusiastically; then her eye being! attracted tc the dash of color at the window I above her, she looked up and cried out? "0, look, mother-in-law, look! Do you see that beautiful Titian tinted head above us?" ? "That creature in the window ?" Mrs. McDonald replied, with a grimace, as shefol-; lowed, .with a quick glance, the enraptured gaze of the impulsive Mrs. McDonald, junior, who sat be^de her. "Yes, mother-in-law, she! Look at her! Is she not beautiful ?" "I am looking at her with all ray eyes!" "I must have her!" "Have her?" "Yes, if any reasonable sum will secure her services!" The elder lady laughed. "You will have a house full of guests, and you travel every where you desire; wherefore should you wish to have her?" "O, but she is so lovely; I want her for my . companion. I want her?just to see her !" "Better leave her where she is." "Why?" There was something in the sneer of the j other that roused the inquiry. "Do you think ray son Irving will love you ! any better when you dim your own beauty by the superior loveliness of another ? In my youthful days I was more than glad to have | all other fair women out of my way. Society ! is different now-a-days and more's the pity, I : say!" "Your son's wife fears no other woman living?" "But Irving is no fool?nor is he blind." j "I should be sorry if he were. But he is J rich as a prince, and he grudges me nothing, j I will, therefore, have this girl as my compan-1 ion. Next month Irving will be here with I our Boston friends, and I must create a furore j over her beauty. Irving tells me always to i humor every caprice of mine, for he has the money to gratify me, and if money can buy that girl I'll have her." "0, yes," said Mrs. McDonald, "Irving is rich to-day, but such lavish expenditure of money does not promise what he will be tomorrow." And here she shook her head dolefully and sighed heavily. "Poor!" repeated the other, in amazement. "Poor! Irving become poor! Irving McDonald, who has a palatial home in New York?another in Boston?who entertains like a king, all who seek his hospitality. Mother-in-law that is a heavy jest!" "A jest? It is not ray wont to jest on any subject, much less one that concerns ray precious son, Irving!" said the mother sententiously. "Mother-in-law," returned the younger lady after a moment's reflection, "you arc such a queer personage! I have been married a ?*??? on/1 Unrfi r?nf Vflf 1T1 11M J cai iiUir, auu naig uvu jvk ouvv/wv*vx* ... veiling the mystery that surrounds you." "Mystery ! Humph !" And Mrs. McDonald's usually florid face became a shade paler as she spoke. "There is a skeleton in every household, and if our closet holds its own we are not different from the rest of the world." "A skeleton ? Does Irving know it? Why has he not enlightened me ? It is detestable for married people to have secrets from each other?even family secrets." As if to put an end to the conversation, Mrs. McDonald leaned back amid the yielding cushions and closed her eyes with an affectation of weariness. Gertrude regarded her intently for a few seconds, then cried out, clasping her daintilygloved hands together and laughing lightly and musically? "What an old darling you are, mother-inlaw! I am sure you said that about the household skeleton just to excite my curiosity! I don't believe my brave and good Irving knowsauy secrets he keeps from me! Why V [ should he ? We love each other dearly and ' w we belong to each other ! It would not be | gi kind if he did! And Irving is just as noble aud loving as I could wish, and has been ever a( since I have kuown him ! Did he not rescue j "J my dear mother and me from the flames of w the burning theatre at Richmond ? And did li not my mother soon afterward put my hand j T in his and bid him always protect me? Fam-: b< ily skeletons, indeed ! I don't believe a word ti of it. Irving is ail a loving woman could In wish him to be. But here, we are forgetting ai all about that golden-haired girl! I would i if give two hundred dollars to her?or three j y< hundred per annum?just to live with me;, bi but I don't suppose she would resign her lib-; erty for that sum." | n.nnU n?i>) lllifVi if AtlP-fllird fif j ft OHU UV/U1U |/Ulb MlblI lb v?.w ? -- . ? that, if she knew Irving, confident her stipu- in lated salary would sextuple itself under his ; patronage and admiration," laughed Mrs. j al McDonald from her corner, and with her sli eyes still closfi^, "These men-bewildering of beauties are generally poor; why not send sii your maid, Sadie, to make her an offer? Two j yc hundred dollars, indeed! By all the saints iu j pi the calendar, I have seen the day before i George McDonald married me when I'd have , n< sold my liberty for just half the sum. My } in hair was once as golden as hers, although so j gray now. Perhaps she might be tempted by h< a little offer, just as I might have been in the dead days of the past. Try her. Send Sadie b( after her. The jade i3 smart at all sorts of di bargains. But I warn you again of Irving, ri She will bring you more trouble and pain than -pleasure." jo Here a woman, who had overheard the tr first exclamation of the young lady, and who st had shuffled after the slowly-revolving wheels, vi turned up the street toward the tenement iti house, pulling her soiled calico sun-bonnet fur- cl ther over her swarthy face with its glowering se eyes and ink-black brows. "Two hundred dollars to sit jjp and be th looked at!" repeated she within herself. "Lide at shall go, willingly, or unwillingly. Two hun- fr dred dollars?and we starving, almost. Why, el I'd shear the hair off her head for that sum ! m Suppose the man does love her, and has 'uo tu right.' That's their look out?none of mine." And so muttering, the woman mounted the sa rickety steps and was lost to view. ' th "Is that you, Miriam ?" questioned a soft sa voice as the surlv creature opened the door flf and entered the room where the golden-haired ai girl sat at the open window; "I have been d( wondering for hours what had become of you." br And going forward, she lifted her charm- 0t iug face to the new corner for a kiss. bi "I have been at no harm," she answered, hi I haven't drank a drop to-day." "Ah ! I am so glad, sister mine! So glad H to hear it. Oh ! if it would only be so for- m ever, I would be the happiest girl in Tennes- gr see?aye?the*world! Tell me, Miriam, did st you see the splendid landau and the beautiful ladies on the street awhile ago ? They have sa bought the old Ford place and had it fixed up in grand style, Mrs. Dinwiddie told me. Oh ! b( one of the ladies was lovely. 1 was at the , hi window when they drove by. They looked i w at me so hard ! I expect it was my hair all tb down. I had washed it and was drying it in m the sun. Isn't it lovely, Miriam?" And ce with pardonable pride she ran her white fin- al opra thrnncrh the golden strands. til to' to? o "Yes, lovely ; but what good does it do you m in a tenement house ?" sneered Miriam. n< "Why, it is pleasant even to feel it on my head !" and Lide went to the bit of cracked sl, glass on the wall and examined it admiringly. Miriam laughed scornfully. in "You think I am vain, don't you, sister?" m said Lice, naively. m "Yes." v< "Well, what then ?" b< "Pretty yellow hair don't pay the rent of lii this room, nor yet give us bread and meat." w "I know that, Miriam," replied Lide ; I j ra wish I could grow rich suddenly and take you J ^ away from all this! I used to think before y1 mother died that when I grew up I would do m so many wonderful things. But now there is nothing to look forward to with any hope?" The girl stopped, and the shadow came over her face. Miriam regarded her thoughtfully. p] "Look here, Lide! You can make us a \ hi fortune if you only will, and every wish we ; hi have ever made will come true." ! li "A fortune ? How ? What do you mean ?" 1 sc asked Lide, in surprise. "You know the Ford place?" ,n "Yes. Well, what of that?" I h( "There is the field for a fortune." \ ?i j "I don't understand." ft ! "I dare say not." di "Kxplain to me, then," she added, finding ]\ I that Miriam hesitated. f0 "It is this, Lide. If I had two hundred it : dollars I would go away from Bristol and 6] | win thousands and thousands!" Miriam an- Sj | swered in greatly excited tones, and euphasi- hi ! zing all her words. fc Lide started and turned round in the seat ti ; she had again taken by the window, and stared jc j at Miriam as though she thought she had lost ! her senses. in ! . "Miriam," she said, fixedly regarding her, hi i "I thought you said you had not drank a drop 0I j to-day?" ^ _ hi "No more have I!" Miriam replied, looking h i in another direction and greatly emuarrassea. tc "You think I am not at myself. You are J mistaken. 1 tell you, Lide, I might win tc thousands and thousands, just through you, if b you would only start me with two hundred tc j dollars!" ti Lide lifted up her two hands in profound 0 J silence, then shook her head and smiled j b j mournfully. " 'If,' dear Miriam ! How much j b better off all wishes would be, but for thatja j little word, 'if.' Two hundred dollars! Why ! that seeius a tremendous sum to me ! I hard- g J ly believe there is that much money for us in p j the world!" ti "No such sum in the world, Lide? Fiddle- h sticks! Why, if you were willing, I could g | grasp every penny of it in twelve hours." t< Lide laughed aloud. "You are mad, Mi-1 \\ I riara?crazy as a tarantula. I'm sure of it!" j g "No, Lide, I am oDly sensible enough." j ei "Are you in earnest?" j tl "Never was I more so in my life!" | r< "Well, then, tell me all about it?every j d ; thing," and Lide prepared herself to listen n i with the most profound attention. a ! Miriam hesitated. She was at a loss how to broach the dominant subject in her mind? si the cruel and dishonorable proposals she had v ' resolved to make to her loving and gentle | sister. She sat in front of her, toying idly 1c I with one of her soft, glossy tresses; her face " as crimson, and her gaze fixed upon the round. "I heard the two great ladies, who stared ;you," she said in thick, hurried syllables, [ heard them talk of you. One said she ould give you two hundred dollars just to ve with her?that she might look at you. he other said if her son came home he would 3 sure to fall in love with you and sexiple the wages. Of course, then, you would ive to go away ; but think of the thousands id thousands you could win in a great city, you would only act sensibly, and throw lurself as a temptation in his way, and not 3 a fool!" "Two hundred dollars for my?" "For your virtue"?concluded Miriam, in trembling voice?"and thousands afterward i a great city." "Great God, sister!" cried the young girl, jruptly snatching out of her fingers the lock le held, and recoiling from her with a look '.positive horror. "And you?you?my 3ter?would sell my virtue to a man ? Sell )ur sister's honor for gold," she continued, essing her hands on her throbbing temples. "And why not, pray ?" returned Miriam, >t daring to lift her dishonest eyes, and hangg down her disgraced head. "Why not?" repeated Lide with a cry of )rror and disgust. "Why not?" "Ay, why not? Many a woman better >rn and better raised than you, has chosen shonor rather than starvation," replied Miam. "I will never do it?never?never !" reined Lide, springing from her chair and reeating to the wall of the room, where she ood with extended arms, as if to protect the rtue her sister coveted to sell, as if to die in 3 defence, if need be. Her round, delicate leeks were ashen pale, and her violet eyes eraed charged with fierce electric fires. t AT i pi am Iiova T livAfl f.n see VII i i'l 11 lam| iuniuui, iim < v ? .. . lis day ? Have I lived to look with loathing id horror' on the sister I loved Begone om ray sight! Never come near me again, se I may do yon harm in my terrible resentent!" She seemed distracted, and her gesires were wild and threatening. "You're acting like a fool?a sheer fool," id Miriam, sullenly, with a dark scowl. "I lought you would be willing to make any crifice for me. You have over and over jain assured me of your willingness to do lything I wished? or anything you could ) for me; but your words were mere idle eaths. I've found that out. If it were herwise, you would jump at the chance of jilding up a fortune in the simple way I ive just mentioned." "Am I?a?i I listening to my sister, Miriam alstead ? And is she really talking in this anner to her own flesh and blood?" Lide isped forth in accents made huarse with rong and terrible excitement. "Talking to her without effect," Miriam id, sneeringly. "Is it possible ! Woman, woman, I have >rr.e much disgrace at your hands already? it this wrong deliberately contemplated toard me?your oivn sisler?this outrageous? lis unpardonable insult?against my woan's pride?and to my chaste heart?ex:eds all the rest, and makes me despise? )hor?hale you ! You, well-born ? Why le veriest pariah on the streets?the comonest Biddy in the kitchen?would hold >hlnr and nurer nrincinles than vours toward I 4 t y ;r own flesh and blood. Begone from ray ght forever. Go, Miriam, go !" "Leave ray own room ? That is rich ! But )t if I know myself. What a row you are aking about a silly bit of talk. You baulk e. You baulk me wherever I turn, at the iry moment when I see ahead a prospect of flng successful and rich I Girl, can't you sten to reason ? I know if you go to live ith the woman you will win the man. I had y assurance of this from the best authority? le mother of the man?and I see in your elding every chance one could wish to win oneyand live at ease." CHAPTER II. The woman spoke in vain, for Lide had iaccd her hands to her cars to shut out tho ateful sounds. Her face was clear cut and ard as stone, and her suple figure, full of the the grace of girlhood, was drawn erect with iorn and indignation in its pose. She had ever been a worthless sort of woian, this creature who clung to the girl for sr beauty, hoping to make profit from it by id by. She was only a half 6ister, and was ill of vices as Lide was of virtues. She rank, and sometimes gamed?taking Lide's ttle earnings, made by "odd jobs" of sewing ir her neighbors, and recklessly squandering among her boon companions, debased as le was. It is true she had been reared reicctably; but that fact she had forgotten srself, and had taught all her neighbors to irget it also. She treated her sister, some* mes, with absolute cruelty. But, neverthetss, Lide's disposition was so naturally sweet nd forbearing, that she ever bore this treaticnt with angel-like patience, hoping, always oping, that ere long she would see the error flier ways and reform altogether. But she ad now struck a fearful blow upon her eart?a blow which seemed to slowly turn it > stone. Mariam Halstead had never cared for iudlectual culture. She was a mere mammal; ut Lide did. She was almost self-taught, >0, and by perseverauce and study, at the me when other girls of her class had loitered r coquetted, she succeeded in making herself etter educated than many girls of her age ecome in any station in life. Her mind was Itogether superior, and her disposition was elicately sensitive as her physique was relied in its organization. Toward Miriam's roposal of disgrace she had but one eraoqii?absolute horror; but toward Miriam ersclf, she entertained no vengeful feelings, he was only indignant, and resolved never ) forgive her for the outrage upon her honor, diich she meditated committing through her reat personal beauty. A profound silence nsucd. Miriam had retained the place at le window she took on first entering the aom, and she now gazed abstractedly out of oors without seeing anything. Her face was loody and her whole soul overflowed with ngry disappointment and intense chagrin. After a time Lide roused herself, and with ;eps as unsteady as if she had been an inalid, she silently left the room. "The devil take you !" muttered Miriam, joking after the young girl's graceful form. You've been in my way since your babyhood. I hate you ; and I'll compasB your ruin yet! Mark that, my lady 1" The bitter words did not reach Lide's ears, " and she walked along the passage-way and d paused at the door of another apartment, oc- a cupied by the "clothes?cleaner," Mrs. Dinwiddie, and knocked hesitatingly at the door. J "Come in, come in!" cried the cheerful 1 voice of a woman from within, and Lide en- L j tered. The occupants of the room were a t i hale, hearty old woman and a young girl about p j seventeen years of age. The latter was busy j kneading dough for the evening loaf, the t J former patching the skirt of a worn and faded t but cleanly calico dress. e As Lide entered she cried out in surprise? "My goodness, girl, what ails you? You d look like you'd seen a ghost, you're so pale, y Lide did not answer immediately, but sank s into the nearest chair, gasping for breath. y "0, granny, she's dying!" cried the girl, leaving her bread-trough and running toward w Lide, and catchin6 hor just as she was about; h -l: -i - I I i | 10 Si mtJ on m;r uiiuu. h "Mercy sakes alive!" exclaimed the old J lady in turn, pouring out a glass of water aud fi hastily holding it to Lide's white lips, who s looked up after a moment with the mournful- li est smile on earth. h "I am better?I was only faint and dizzy, d Mrs. Dinwiddie. It is over now; only ray a brain throbs so, and my heart beats to d suffocation." She put her hand to her head a as she spoke. . a "What's the matter with you ?" asked the tl girl, whose name was Benna, in a sympathetic y voice. si "You'd better begone, daughter," said the old woman aside to her grandchild. ? "No, Bcnna, no," returned Lide. "Don't 8( notice me just now ; I'll be all right in a few 0 moments. Go on with your task ; after you ft put in your loaf there'll be time to talk. I had rather wait." b "But"?objected both together. "Please!" said Lide, earnestly. C The girl went back to her bread-trough b and commenced kneading the dough energetically, while the old woman took up her sewing ft and silently stitched away at it. For some seconds there was profound silence. Then q Lide began in trembling accents? "Mrs. Dinwiddie, I believe that you and j.( ? i*i iienna nere JiKe me. b "Like you !" Mrs. Dinwiddie interrupted Sl Lide's speech with the exclamation, dropping j, | her work and lifting her hands?1"Like you, a my dear heart, we love you, dearly?don't we, a Benna?" a "That we do, granny. "We're humble folk, n and not read well like Miss Lide, but we love her dearly," said the girl, with an affectionate (] i smile. f "I know it?dear friends," answered Lide, s I and then for a few moments she did not give any additional response, but sat with her eyes c fixed on vacancy. She was deadly pale, and j, j kept pressing her hand to her head, as though s the pain was in her brain. g "Mrs. Dinwiddie," she said, at length, "I fj have come to tell you that I feel a strange i and terrible presentiment that something aw- n : ful is to happen to me." ^ "Lands alive !" exclaimed the old woman; ^ | "you mean you feel the shadder o' somethin' stealin' over ye??somethin' sad, and not j ! pleasant?" ? "Just that, Mrs. Dinwiddie," responded Lide, with a deep, involuntary sigh. j "I am to be disgraced or to die very soon," ^ said Lide, solemnly. ^ "Disgraced ??Die ?" repeated Mrs. Dinwiddie, running the needle under her nail in her tribulation, while Benna upset the cup i of melted lard on her bread-trough; "and is it i that ye mean ?" "It is," she answered, hurriedly. "0, Miss Lide!" cried Benna, in a reproach- g ! ful tone?'is that all f What should make t j you die?" - ^ "Or be disgraced?as good a gal as ye is ?" j chimed in the grandmother. ^ "No matter ; I want you and Benna to make n me a promise." j. "A promise? Fifty of'em, if you like, an' 8 I'll keep 'em too!" j, "When I am dead?" "Don't talk that way, Miss Lide," cried Benna. "You ain't agoing to die?you're too young and pretty, and smart. Don't talk : about it?it's all a notion." t Lide shook her head with great gravity and j, j said earnestly? "It is not a notion, my friends. Now listen ^ ' to me. When I am dead, promise me that Q ! you will let no one approach me, except in j your presence." r "But your sister?she will have a right?" c "Miriam Halstead ? Yes that is true, for n ; she is my sister; but it is from Miriam, living s or dead, that I would be free." "What mean ye by that?" said Mrs. Din- ; widdie. j, i "What mean ye?" chimed in Benna. u "You will both remember wjiat I say; Mi- j j riam Halstead wants me to dishonor myself for two hundred dollars, and I don't beli?vc, c j if I were dead, that even my corpse would be a j sacred from her desecrating touch. Don't s | forget!" And so saying, Lide rose and slow- a j ly left the room, leaving her two faithful j friends staring at each other in amazement u I and horror. t j "She looks wild ! Did ye notice her eyes, granny? My poor loaf ain't half made, she j kinder startled me so." "She did look awful queer !" said Mrs. Dinj widdie, squeezing her thumb, under the nail i -f ?L!_t. L?.l mi?? Knu nAAflln W lin fntfnv ! 01 wnicil 5110 UUU 1UU uti iicvuiv. iinuKit,! ^ i can ail her? I wouder if she ain't a dream- t j ing about Miriam." "Dreaming?" I'll warrant not, granny. ^ ' Miriam Halstead is a awful bad critter, and , I (J ; I wish she was out o' the way. Her didoes ; has made me ruin our loaf for to-night! p a CHAPTER III. f ! The moon was out, and the night was beau- 1 tiful with myriad stars, and balmy breezes j e wafted everywhere divine fragrance from a ^ million unseen flowery censers. I In front of the old tenement'house, the D handsome carriage that had rolled through the thoroughfare when the sun was shining, s was drawn up in rest, and two ladies, thickly s j veiled, alighted and asked to be shown to the ; room of the orphan sisters?the Misses Hal- 0 ;stead. c j Benna Diuwiddie was on the door-step, and h | took up the message. c "It is the first time in my life, mother-in- d ; law, that I ever trod the floors of a tenementj house," observed tho younger lady to her com- g I panion. "And I trust it will be the last," answered Ira. McDonald, with succinct asperity. Think of the nature of our errand. Heaven efend me from ever venturing out upon such nother." A light, merry laugh was the younger Mrs. IcDonald's reply to this speech. By and by Benna returned and asked the iidies to walk up. They followed her direcions aud were soon in the room of the orihaned sisters. Miriam invited them to be seated?and hen there was a pause?a hush of expecta- j ion and embarrassment?aud presently the , lder lady spoke. "We came upon a strange errand. My j aughter, Mrs. Irving McDonald, seeing' ou"?nodding her head toward Lide as she poke?"at the window, took a fancy to hire ou for a companion?" "I will be good to you?very good?if you | ill only come," broke in Gertrude, rustling | er rich robes and leaning her well-lormcd j ead, with its thick windings of braids, toward ! iide, who sat silently regarding them. Her | ice was void of all color as that of a marble i tatue, and her eyes, filled with unnatural j ight, restlessly and dangerously wandered ither and thither. Observing her strange emeanor, Miriam strove to do the honors, nd give her time to recall herself; but Lide id not seem to heed her. She only sat there, nd stared wildly and never spoke. "Indeed nd indeed, ma'am, my sister would be more ban proud to go with you; and what would ou be willing to give her for her services," lid Miriam, with obsequious humility. "Two hundred dollars. I want her for a ompauion, more than anything else. She is > very pretty ; but if she does not wish to go, f course I must abandon my desire," said Irs. McDonald, junior. "You have grown very considerate suddenf," said the elder lady, aside. "Nevertheless, I will secure her," replied lertrude, sotlo voce. "But I will not be rusque about it just now." "Your modesty astounds me," said Mrs. IcDonald senior, with a sneer. "I know?but it will have its'eflect," replied 1 . ... j . ,<T :* i:?*u .-Kilo ? renruae again ; x uau ?t?n<?a muc mux.. At this irrstant, Lide rose aud staggered award the door, like a drunken woman ; her rain seemed on fire; she felt as if she would uffocate, if she remained in the room where er sister was about to sell her away, body nd soul. She took a few steps, then reeled nd fell with a dull, heavy thud to.the floor, nd lay there prone and white as a dead woa an. "0, mother-in-law, she is dead?she is ead !" Gertrude screamed out, covering her ace with both hands, as if to shut away the ight of that still awful white face. In a moment the'room was in a state of onfusion and terror. Gertrude was shriekfig in alarm and horror, while several perons hastened in to the side of the prostrate ;irl, whose head Benua Dinwiddie was the irst to upraise. "She isn't dead?no, she isn't!" cried Bena, "its only a dead faint. Somebody?waer!" shrieked the girl, half choked with eraoion. "The doctor?the doctor," called old Mrs. Dinwiddie, addressing nobody in particular; fetch the doctor, he'll u-'"g her round J" "Come away, Gertrude," said Mrs. Mc)onald, senior, "I'm sure she is dead, though hat erirl savs she is not; and we had better a * ie going, else our presence will attract comrient." "Dead !" repeated Gertrude ; "dead I and o young and so fair! Oh! mother-in-law, ould it have been her heart shocked suddenly iy our coming ? She looked so wild." The other answered with a heart-cruel mile?"it was joy then that killed her; the bought of getting among rich people upset 99 ier. Gertrude shuddered, and hastily followed ier mother-in-law from the rickety old tene- j dent-house, where the fair and hapless girl ny lifeless; followed her away through the weet open air and the silvery moonlight to ier own palatial home. CHAPTER IV. "Is there no hope for her, Doctor?" asked j Jenna Dinwiddie, the tears streaming down j ;cr pale cheeks. "Hope, Benna ? Why of course there is !? i ilenty of it?the doctor knows it," sobbed Id Mrs. Dinwiddie. "I wish I did know it, my good woman," eplied Dr. Frazier ; "but this syncope, preeding brain fever, is very dangerous. We nust put our trust in God. But where is her istcr? She ought to be here." An hour afterward, Lide lay on the bed n her humble room. She was quiet enough ; ler eyes were closed ; and her beautiful hair, inbound, was streaming over the pillows and lowu to the floor. Miriam Iialstead had escaped, during the xcitcmcnt, to the nearest saloon and obtained drink; and now with a brain half-muddled, he knelt by Lide's bedside with clasped hands ,nd stupefied senses. "Lide, speak to me!" she whimpered; 'won't you speak to me ?" she added, taking he dead cold hand in hers. The voice seemed to rouse the sufferer from icr lethargy ; for with a sharp cry of anguish, he snatched her hand away from Miriam's veak grasp. "Benna," she said, in a faint, bewildered mice, "Benna, Benna, where are you ? Come o me. I want to tell you something." "Benna, who was in tears, approached the >ed on the other side from Miriam, and knelt 10WI1. "Don't forget," said Lide, the old dread of kliriam coming back to her in her delirium, ind she patted Beuna on the face with her iuensible hand ; "don't forget," she said again, n a hoarse whisper, "don't let her touch me,! ven after I'm dead. She is polluted. Don't! orget?don't. "I shan't forget, poor thing!" replied 13en- j ta, with a smothered sob. "Mrs. Diuwiddie?Dinwiddie?Dinwiddie," ! he moaned, tossing her head from side to 1 ide; "0, Mrs. Dinwiddie?" "Here I be?here I be," replied the good Id woman from amid the folds of her large heck cotton apron she had thrown over her ead, and which was already wet with her opious tears, and advancing toward the poor elirious girl, in whose veins fever ran riot. "Don't forget?you know?don't forget," asped she, between her hot, panting breaths.' "That I won't!" answered the clothes-cleaner. I ??? "Lide! Lide!" said Miriam, in a trembling voice. Lide heard the voice distinctly; but even thus at death's door, she could not still the ; horror its sound awakened. In her insensible mind the accents stirred one feeling only? l that of terror and loathing. "Lide! Lide 1" the sister spoke again. Still she replied not; neither did she appear to hear her, save by the shrinking of her whole form in dread. "Lide, live; ouly live, Lide; and I swear I j will be a better woman! I will reform, if you will only live, my poor little sister!" moaned Miriam, in earnest tones. But Lide answered not. Fever was relentless, and the young girl was bound in death agonies, and was unhappily powerless. Looking on her, Miriam recollected how, a few short hours ago, she had wished to deprive the poor sufferer of the brightest jewel that shines for woman throughout her little .1? . "1 ?1-:? ~ ? l.n> tU.vcj o Poolinnr rtf mm uuy ; luuiung uu nci luuo, ?* i^m>& v. | puoction stirred in the breast of the wicked j woman, and she was ready, on her knees, to crave forgiveness at the hands of her poor sister whom she had so insulted ; and she spoke truly when she said she was ready to reform. At that time she was keenly conscious of her disgrace, and deeply sorrowful and repentant of her past bad conduct. But deponent sayeth not how long such feelings might have possessed her. For the hour she was sincere in her regrets; but her disposition was utterly unstable, and to-morrow she was almost certain to entertain feelings and commit actions of which, to-day, she was utterly incapable. She was, in brief, like a vane?never constant, ever-shifting to and fro with every -varying wind that blew. She was inconstant, and did not even possess the usual qualities of variable natures. She had not a warm or generous impulse; she was heartless, selfish, from, the crown of her head to the sole of her foot. She wasundeniably pained to see Lide lying there as she was, tethered by agony and fever; but her sorrow was ephemeral, and to-morrow's sun would shine on no grief-stricken face. Presently there was a faint movement on the part of the sufferer; her lips moved spasmodically, and her glance, fixed and glassy, rested on Benna's tearful countenance. * "0, she's a dyin'?she's a dyin'," Mrs. Dinwiddie burst forth once more, hiding her wrinkled visage in her check cotton apron, and weeping with unaffected sorrow. "Dying? Impossible!" said Miriam. "Dying? It cannot be! She cannot leave me! I cannot, I will not, believe it! She was angry with me, too, and would not speak to me ; she ordered me from her presence?me, her own sister?and after that crave me no word? kind or unkind. Well!"?and she sprang to her feet aud gave vent to a harsh, mirthless laugh?"Who cares? who cares??I don't, J am sure. She refused to pardon me, and I will never pardon her, living or dead. But I will cherish the memory of her in bitterness of spirit. She was always obstinate and proud, and she come3 to the dust and the worm first?first?ha! ha! ha! She can't scorn me now ! She can't wither me up with her contempt now ! It was her fault?always her fault?that she was not rich?only her fault that she died a pauper." Here she broke off abruptly in her wild and unnatural talk, and stood with folded arms, looking at the almost breathless sufferer in dogged silence. Old Mrs. Dinwiddie and Benna conversed together in low toned. The invalid must bo removed hence; taken to their apartment, whence it would soon be borne to its last resting place, they whispered to each other. Mrs. Dinwiddie nodded to Benna, and then approached Miriam. Benna fastened her eyes on them. Mrs. Dinwiddie cleared her throat nervously. She was a timid old soul at all times; but on this occasion she was much more so than usual. Lide had extorted a promise from her, and it was her earnest and faithful desire to keep her word religiously. She could not exactly explain to herself why Lide had insisted on the pledge; nor did she wish to know particularly. Curiosity was not one of old Mrs. Dinwiddie's special failings. I cannot vouch as much for her grand-daughter. Benna. She was more like the generality of her sex. She always wanted to get to the bottom of everything, and eleven times out of twelve, she succeeded iu doing so, to the letter. She had been all eagerness to learn the cause of Lide's strange anxiety to get out of her sister's clutches. There was a mystery in the matter, and Beuna was resolved to fathom it. She noticed her grandmother, hesitating and embarrassed in her manner, and she wished she would just speak out boldly to that beetle-browed woman and say what she wanted, without any more ado. "Miriam Halstead!" said Mrs. Dinwiddie, at last, iu a trembling voice. The woman addressed looked up impatiently "What?" said she, abruptly. "The poor thing ain't dead yet; but she's like to be before its all over," she added, jerking her head toward the rude bed whereon lay the still form of Lide; "I'll see to her beiu' carried gently and quietly into our lodgings, and Benna and me will 'set up' with her till she survives or perishes." "Set up o' nights, when she will never know of itr? What need of such folly? She'll be dead by to-morrow, and the next day the town will bury her decently. I have nothing to do with you or with your grand-daughter, and I will be obliged if you will attend to yourown uuaiidj aim IUL iuiim aiuiiu? "But-" "There are no 'buts' about it. I don't want to have any words with you. and I won't." Mrs. Dinwiddie looked puzzled. She felt at a loss what to say next. She glanced toward her grand-daughter, who understanding that she wanted assistance, spoke up. "Surely, Miriam Halstead, you'll act with common decency toward your dear sick sister who has always been a good sister to you," said she to Miriam, "and she always liked grandmother and me better than anybody else in the house ; and we would be happy to nurse her now, she's so poorly. In fact, she asked granny and me to do so." And so say-1 ing, Beuna fell to sobbing piteously. "We said we would, and we're ready to do it?granny and me?ain't we ?" she continued, appealing to her grandmother who was standing gazing on her in mute admiration of her fluent speech. "Didn't she?Miss Lide?beg and pray us to watch over her, if she fell ill, until she was laid away in her grave forever ?" "Ye3 ; and to that I am ready to swear," Mrs. Dinwiddie answered, solemnly. "And so am I?so am 1!" said Bcnna. Miriam Halstead's features assumed an expression of fury. All at once she comprehended the meaning of her sister's request of these worthy people, and she seemed wrathful as she did so. She must shakeoff Lide's faithful and humble friends, else the deed she had in contemplation might meet with fierce opposition at their hands. Yet, what harm was she meditating, after all ? Surely, none could dispute her right to, and her authority over her younger sister; and 1 she certainly had a right to hire her time to the rich Jady who so coveted the sight of her pretty face ever about her. Pshaw! Why should she hesitate? Why should she be ashamed to close the bargain, whether the girl was well or sick ? She walked to the bed and lifted up the splendid, locks and looked at them. There was a glare of resolution in her eye, and an expression of fierce cruelty on her thin and colorless lips. "If vou are determined-?you two?to take upon your silly selves the entire trouble of nursing her round or burying her, I can have no sort of objection. Lide, poor girl! had, I suppose, some sort of superstitious fancy connected with this. She was awfully vain about it, and always believed some one would steal her for it. Of course you must never cut it. off. If she lives she would never forgive you. It is her chief beauty." "Never?never?unless her life compels it," cried Benna Dinwiddie, dropping on her knees beside the couch; "no, no, we will not touch it. We will only nurse her back to life, pray God 1" Miriam, who had also approached the couch, now drew back ; for the doctor had returned with medicines for the still sufferer on the uncomfortable couch. "Poor thing," he said, with a sorrowful sigh, "she is so young, and so pretty to be unfortunate?and to suffer too!" "Nothin' under the shinin' sun, Miriam Halstead, shall drive us away from her while there's breath in her body. Benna and me will take turn about awatching at her side and awaiting on her. She was a perfect beau? ' A J J._li ty, and good as sne was iair. uou uuu t make many after her pattern." This was the speech old Mrs. Dinwiddie made oyer the body of poor Lide, who had just been conveyed into her rooms, which were clean and comfortable, where she might nurse her through the brain fever that had set in for a siege. Miriam bit her lips. She felt afraid of opposing the old woman, lest her loud voice should reach the ears of the other tenants, and they in turn report her to the physician and bring him on the scene, when he would doubtless demand an explanation of the noisy altercation. Now, Miriam Halstead, debased as she was, was loth to pull down upon her own head the condemnation and reproach of a respectable gentleman like Dr. Frazier. She was aware that she was contemplating a base deed, and that when she did commit it, men and women would loathe her in their hearts, and turn from her in horror and disgust. Her poverty would not be an excffl^-1"?"1 for her in the eyes of the world. People would remember only the heartlessness of the act she had committed, and would not reflect upon the cause that instigated its fulfillment. Yet, after all, what sin would it be to take from the dying (and Lide would die, she did not doubt) or the friends of the dying ? She stood in great need. Why should she hesitate to secure that which would make her life | easy?that which would forever defy a thouj sand oppositions to her success ? Who was J this old woman, and her pert grand-daughter, * j that she should fear either the one or the I other?that she should allow them to swerve her from a set purpose of her soul? Still, after mature consideration, she deemed it best ia fn ootr fn ttUU WISCvJL tU ttUli pi UUCUl/IJ | bijuu t9 kv v%mj y vv watch an opportunity when she could quietly^ take possession of the prize she so much cov- 4 eted. She argued no more with Mrs. Dinwiddie, or with Benna ; but turning on her heel, walked out of the room. She knew that the doctor would be there again on the morrow, and she was anxious to obtain %what she wanted before any use could be made of it. Of course her sister's illness had been purely the result of an overtaxed brain and an exhausted body; but no blame eould be attached to her in respect to it. Nevertheless, she had rather be out of the way altogether, if she could so manage it, as she was well aware there would be a senseless bother made by the Dinwiddies in reference to her sister, and to the missing prize. [to be continued next week.] Cruel Business.?A number of so-called respectable dealers in large cities make it their business to buy up all wornout and cast-off sewing machines ostensibly for old iron, but really to repaint and revarnish them and sell them as new. In this way the unfortunate sewing-woman has a useless article palmed oft on her, for which she has to pay invariably the highest price, and, although, as she pays by instalments, she discovers the true worth of her purchase long before the total is reached, she is threatened with the law unless she continues to throw good money after bad. A case had recently come before the New York Sewing Girls' Union, where, although the deluded purchaser had paid $17.50 as part payment on 875 for a manifestly useless article, the seller had got out an execution against her in default of the balance, although she was willing to surrender the machine. The Union, however, was able to make him forego his demand and saved the poor girl from going to prison. j ? Beeciier on Confessing Sin.?If a man ! lino T th in If hp nturhfc to confess it i but it is not expedient to tell all our sins openly. Nothing is more disagreeable to rae than to hear of a man's ailments. If a person has a sore, I I don't want to hear about it. I don't care to i be regaled with the state of a man's stomach i or liver. I have ills enough of my own. Yet some people will get together and croon and ! croon, and talk about other's sicknesses, and about corpses, and how many they have laid out, and have a regular graveyard banquet. It is the same with spiritual ailments. There are times when men should make confession of specific sins. If a man has been carrying on the liquor business, and is converted, it is quite proper that he should confess that he has been doing the devil's work. If he has been engaged in any wickedness that has been open to the whole community, his repentance should be open. It is not necessary to give an inventory of all one's fault, but if we say anything it is better to be specific than generic. BQF A noted horse jockey "Down East" was awakened one night by a violent thunder storm. Being somewhat timid, he awoke his wife with, "Wife! wife! do you suppose the Day of Judgment has come ?" "Shut up, you fool!" was the affectionate reply; "how can the Day of Judgment come in the night?"