Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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lewis m. grist, proprietor. J ^n Jnicjienlicnt Jfaimlj ftefospajer: Jfor tjje promotion of tjje |)oiifical, Social, ^fricnlteral anb Commercial Interests of tjie Sontjt. |terms--$2.50 a year, in advance. "VOL. 26. YOEKYILLE, S. C., THURSDAY, MARCH 4, 1880. ISTO. IP. JU ?rigiual Written for the Yorkville Enquirer. THE THREAD OF FATE. BY VICTOR VERNON. CHAPTER XIV. Life at the farm had gone on very quietly,, . and rather drearily, siuce Jennie had left. Edward, having overcome the first restless i longing to escape, to turn his back forever on j scenes which had become invested for him j with indescribably painful ideas and associa- i tions, had settled down with a sort of enforced Datieuce into the sober groove of duty, X t attended with unswerving regularity and fi-1 delity to the business of the farm, which, young as he was, depended now almost entirely on his management. Indeed, the shock which had come upon him, by the knowledge of his true condition, had added years, apparently, to his age. He was more like a sober, middle-aged man, than a youth of scarcely nineteen. Still, Mrs. Thorndale never guessed that he knew the secret which had been so carefully guarded from him, and Charity, perhaps, was disappointed that no greater result had followed her betrayal of it. True, his feelings were embittered, his fresh hopefulness and youthful ambition crushed, if not utterly destroyed, and the future darkened to his anticipation. But his manliness and self control, his perfect dominion over passions which might have easily mastered a weaker nature, and aided to wreck his life, triumphed over his adversary's malice, and filled her with anger and disappointment. For her, he had never a look or a word. If they chanced to meet, which was but seldom, he ignored her -? presence as utterly as though he were blind and deaf. He could not yet fathom the depth of her hatred for him, or its cause. But he knew her to be a serpent in his path, and, therefore, avoided all farther contact with so venomous a toe. He loDged, sometimes, with an intense yearning, for the light and sweetness of Jennie's presence. What it had been to him, he had not fully realized until he was deprived of. it. Dear little Jennie! She bad only been a pet and plaything in the household, a picture to look at, a blossom fair and fragrant to touch delicately and shield from harm. She had been too passive and too indolent to take a useful part in their daily routine, and for this cause, perhaps, her absence was not so keenly felt by Mrs. Thorndale, whose chief tenderness and pride were centered in her boy, as it would have been had she relied upon her more. Not that she did not miss her. It was impossible for her not to do that. But the deep, unutterable regret?the intense, aching, longing?the sense of desolation, of a blank left never to he supplied by another? all these were felt by Edward, and by him alone. Boy, though he was, all a roan's force and feeling were developed in him. He loved his former companion and playmate with a man's deep love, and loved her the more because he believed her to be lost to him forever. Her letter?the letter she wrote Mrs. ThornF dale, at Eugene's desire?came oue pleasant summer evening, not quite a year after she had gone away from the farm. She wrote ? regularly, and it wa9, therefore, without sur" prise?though not without the fluttering tremor of his heart, which he always frit at the sight of her beloved handwriting?that he re ceived it from the hands of the old postman, who brought the mails, and carried it to Mrs. Thorndale, to rend. "From Jennie! Open it, my dear, won't you, and read it to me ? I don't think she ever has any secrets, and my eyes are so dim this afternoon, I don't believe I could make it out." After a momentary hesitation, Edward broke the seal. The first page contained noth^ ing unusual?a description of her life at the chateau, or wnicn sne nau written uutc already. Suddenly, as he turned to the next, and read the name of Eustace, his heart gave a leap, the color rushed all over his face, and then retreated, leaving it deathly pale. "Pshaw ! it must be only a coincidence," he said to himself; and before Mrs. Thorudale i had observed his momentary agitation, he mastered it, and read on. But again he stopped?something suffocated his voice, and prevented his reading farther, for there, before his eyes was his mother's name! The letters seemed to swim before him, and he put his hand up to his dizzy brow. "What is the matter?" cried Mrs. Thorndale, in sudden alarm. "Is anything wrong ?" "Read," he answered, thrusting the paper, which shook and rustled in his trembling grasp, into her hand. The old lady, hastily adjusting her spectacles, proceeded to obey him. But she, too, had barely read a line when her agitation became so great that she could scarcely control herself sufficiently to go on. "Merciful heavens!" sheexclaimed, in trem ulous tones ; "can it be that we have been deceived all these years, and that the good God is bringing the truth to light ?" ^ Edward, conquering the weakness, which for the moment, had made him incapable of j rational thought, now came to her side, and leaning over her shoulder, read, with her, the words, so unconsciously penned, which were to him a revelation of happiness, and of hope for the future, which he had thought extinguished forever for him, in this world. With feverish, intense eagerness, he scanned them ; with absorbing anxiety he scrutinized each I syllable, to assure himself that what they re- i vealed to him was no chimera, no mere fanci ful invention, but a sober and solid statement of facts, which could be easily proved. And when the conviction impressed itself upon , them both, that it was absolutely so, he hid ^ his face upon his arm and burst into tears, W like a little child. "My boy ! my boy!" said old Mrs. Thorndale, as she stroked, with loving, tremulous hands the bowed head that was so dear to her. "My poor Helen's own dear child ! Bless God for this day, and for the means whereby He has seen fit to make things work together to bring this matter so wondrously ahout." "Mrs. Thorndale?no, aunt, my dear aunt," j said Edward, looking up presently, when he ; could speak, "I must set off for France at! once?I must get ready without a moment's I delay. I must see my?this gentleman, and : get confirmation, from his own lips, concerning what Jennie has written. You will spare me, for such a purpose, won't you V" "Assuredly, my child. Would I put any f stumbliug block in your way, in a matter like this ? It was undoubtedly the hand of Providence which led Mr. Stanley here, to be an instrument in bringing this discovery about, by carrying our dear Jennie away to a foreign country, where she was to meet this gentleman, and thus learn this wonderful news. Surely His ways are past finding out!" Edward lost no time in preparing for his unexpected journey. His day was fully occupied, for, in addition to his own preparations, he had to give various directions concerning the work on the farm, of which he would be obliged to relinquish the supervi| sion for some time to come. It troubled him L a little to be obliged to leave Mrs. Thorndale alone ; but when he spoke of this to her, she assured him that he had no cause for anxiety, as there was nothing for her to be afraid of during his absence. "The servants are all good and faithful, my dear, and there's Charity always at hand, you know. She'll see that I want for nothing." "As to that," said Edward, "I would not 1 advise you to put implicit confidence in her. I don't trust her in the least." "Why, my dear? She has always proved trustworthy, though she does not try to make herself very agreeable." j "Well, I only tell you what I think," said Edward. "Don't trust her any farther than . you can see her; useful as she is, I would rather have the most ignorant girl on the farm about me than her, if I were you." Mrs. Thorndale was puzzled a little over this advice, "but did not set much store by it. She knew that Edward had always dis.iked Charity, and concluded that it was prejudice which made him regard her with such disfavor. The next day the young mau took his departure, turning his face with high hopes and a beating heart toward "fair France," the haven where he was to find indisputable proof of the discovery which had lifted the dark shadow from his life, and obtain, at last, possession of his rightful name. Vprv lnnelv did his kind old aunt feel when he was gone from the household. She tried to console herself by reflecting on all the blessings which the Almighty had heaped upon her; and during the day, while the cheering sunshine brightened up the rooms and the sounds of busy life were about her, she managed to keep her spirits up, and to employ herself as usual. But when nightfall came, and labor had ceased, and everything was quiet around ; when she found herself in the silent old sitting-room, with only the lamp light for company, and the ticking of the clock to break the stillness, a great sense of solitude, of helplessness, fell upon her. She realized from this weakness, how old she was growing. A few years before, she could have been left thus alone without minding it in the least, or feeling the slightest fear. Charity, too, seemed suddenly to have altered in. her manner towards her. There was a sort of insolent defiance, an assumption of authority, in her mode of speech, which she bad never manifested before. Her mistress could not understand it; but it brought Edward's warning forcibly to her mind. What if, after all, his judgment had been right? It made her feel doubly timid to have her confidence thus shakeu in what she had considered her chief support. A week or ten days passed. She began to count the hours before she could expect to hear from her boy. He had promised to telegraph immediately upon his arrival at Havre, and the telegram would be forward ed to her from Woodford, the nearest station, by a friend who had agreed to attend to the matter. The time must soon arrive now. In a fortnight, at the latest, from the day of his departure, she ought to hear. It was a wild, stormy evening. The rain fell in torrents, and flashes of lightning, followed by low, angry mutteriugs of thunder, swept occasioiially across the murky sky. The air was heavy and close, notwithstanding the rain. The influence of the storm had not yet made itself felt in freshening the atmosphere, which had been uuusualy dense and sultry all day. At an early hour, Mrs. Thorndale retired to her chamber. She did not go to bed, for she felt that it was impossible to sleep ; and having lit her candle, she drew a low chair to her table, opened her Bible and prepared to read. But the attempt was vain. The hurlybiirlv of thestonn disturbed her thoughts, and made the holy words before her eyes seem confused and meaningless to her miud. The image of her absent Edward rose before her, and it saddened her to remember that the wide sea lay between them. She recalled his beautiful, unhappy mother, and the cruel stigma on her fame. Why, why was justice so tardy in removing it? But, at any rate, her boy's name and future were now cleared from all taint of dishonor. Suddenly it occured to her, for the first time, to wonder that he had manifested no surprise at the knowledge of his parentage. In the hurry and excitement of his departure, they had had little or no chance of discussing the subject. But she remembered well that he had uccepted the fact of Helen being his mother without comment, and the discovery of his father's name was apparently no news to him. Could he have learned the circumstances of his birth by some means, notwithstanding her endeavors to prevent it ? And then came the suspicion?swift as thought?could Charity have revealed the secret to him? What put the idea into her miud, she could not have told; she had no reason for it; but having once conceived it, she could not shake it off. "If it was so," she mused, "what could her object have been ? And why, I wonder, does Edward hate her so intensely, as I know he does? There must be some reason for this. Have I been deceived in her all along?" Long she pondered, while confused and perplexing fancies chased each other through her mind. At last, leaniug her head back on the high cushion of her arm chair, she closed her eyes, and insensibly fell into a doze. Suddenly she became aware, by a curious instinct, of a presence near her; and with a startled movement she awoke. Was it Charity, or a fiend in her guise, who stood before her? The form and dress fUrvoq aT tKa oQwInnr wnmnn Rllh t.hp UCIC Hi1 'OO Vi liJV ov >f >ug n v?*i mm* ?..? eyes, with a wild, vindictive light, the features distorted with a malicious sneer, the threateuing attitude, were rather those of some spirit of evil, filled with a purpose of fell violence and revenge. Mrs. Thorndale was paralyzed. Surprise and fear chained her tongue, and she sat still, gazing as if fascinated at the unlooked for apparition. "You look terrified," said the woman, at length, with a harsh, unnatural laugh. "Have you never seen me before, that you stare at me in such a way ?" With a great effort, gathering courage, her mistress managed to reply. "What is the meaning of your speaking to : me iu such a tone ? And why do you come into ray room to disturb me at this late hour?" "I come at this late hour, because an earlier hour would not suit my purpose. I speak as I do, because the tone suits what I have to say. Do you think I mean always to play a servant's part, and cringe and submit to you, who are only my equal? I have disguised myself too long, and now the time for disguise is past. Martha Thorndale, do you call yourself my mistress still ? I hate and despise you, and laugh at your pretensions to authority. You are in my rightful place as mistress here. Your husband admired me, and courted me, long before you came into this neighborhood ; and but for your interference, I should have become his wife. I hate you and every soul that has your blood in their veins. I hate the Dudley family, root and branch. I hated your chit of a niece, with her doll's face and flighty ways, and I was glad when 1 saw her deaci ooay jymg stiff and frozen in yonder room. I would , have been glad to see the brat, her boy, lying j there too, and if I could have done it without ! discovery, I'd have killed him, when I had him | in my hands. I laughed when I thought how clever I had been in making you all think her what you did. I knew better, but that was part of my revenge. I know well enough, now, that you've found out the truth. Fate has turned against me at last. But if that boy does come off triumphant, you at least, shall have no cause to rejoice. I swora, long years ago, to have my full revenge, and the measure isn't filled up yet?" So disordered was her manner, so wild her tone, that the conviction presented itself to Mrs. Thorndale's mind that she must be insane. She felt too frightened to be able to understand all that the woman said ; but she did comprehend that she was the object of her hatred, and therefore liable to suffer some terrible injury at her hands in her present dangerous mood, aud with no help near. She rose to her feet, with a confused idea of trying to make her escape; but with a mocking laugh, Charity pushed her back to her chair. "You can't go; I want you to listen to what I have to say, before I make an end of it. I want you to understand that you've been a fool and a dupe all these years, and that I made you so. I helped Helen Dudley to run away with her lover. I knew of I her lawful marriage, and carefully concealed I it from all of you. I kept her from coming back to ask her father's forgiveness, soon afterwards, by telling her how enraged he was against her, and kept up the breach all the time by intercepting her letters, from which you might have learued the truth. I knew how her husband ill-treated her, and finally deserted her; and I was glad to know that she suffered. She hated me always, as much as I did her; though I pretended to be1 her friend in helping her to elope?ha, ha ! I knew well enough what would come of it; a dissipated, worthless young scamp! When she lay on the parlor sofa, stiff and dead, I slipped her wedding ring off her finger?and I have it yet. When I took off her wet, ragged gown, I found her marriage certificate sewed into the lining, and put it away? aud I have it yet. Many a time I've exulted, secretly, to think of my own sharpness, and how I managed it all! When your husband died?your husband that should have been mine?J found his will, and destroyed it?I took care not to keep that?" "Wretch !" base, perfidious creature !" cried her mistress, quivering from head to foot. "Do you dare to stand before me and confess such guilt?" "Guilt? Pshaw! it was all for revenge! And I wouldn't confess it tt> you now, you may believe, if it was not that I am not going to leave you a chance to profit by the knowledge. No one shall ever learn from your lips." She sprang forward, with the look of a demon, and clutehed Mrs. Thorudale's throat. One wild, piercing shriek of terror rose from her victim, before the grasp tightened so effectually as to prevent farther utterance. In the meantime, a loud knocking was to be heard at the front door, but no one paid any - ?- - > I* attention to it. it was tne messenger irom Woodford, with the telegram from Harve, who had ridden over in the storm, in order to gratify the anxiety of the old lady to hear from her darling boy. That shriek reached his ears, and without hesitation he forced open the door aud rushed in. The inner door, communicating with Mrs. Thorndale's room, stood ajar. Quickly passing it, he found himself in time to prevent what, in another moment, would have been murder. Pinioning the arras of the frantic woman, he dragged her backward from her helpless victim, who fell prone to the floor. Charity turned upon him a look of such baffled rage and vindictive hatred as a wild beast might show when robbed of its prey; hissed out something inarticulately from between her clenched teeth ; then a frightful spasm passed over her features; her eyes rolling upwards, became fixed in a glassy stare; a sudden rigidity seized her entire form ; for one moment she remained thus, then her head fell forward on her breast, and she slipped, a dead weight, from hie grasp. Her day of reckoning had come; in one flash, she bad passed into Eternity! CHAPTER XV. It may be easily conjectured that Edward lost no time on his journey, but proceeded, without any unnecessary delay, to the little town nearest Cb&teau St. Orme, which he had fixed upon as his goal. Leaving his luggage there, at an inn, he hired a horse and rode over, at once, to the chateau. His great fear was that Mr. Eustace might have left there before his arrival. But, fortunately, this was not the case. I pass over the meeting between Edward and his uncle, by whom he was received with the utmost cordiality. It was fraught with sufficient agitation and excitement to the young man, who felt all that was involved in this acknowledgment of the relationship, so recently discovered. "And now, my dear boy," said Mr. n.usiace, when their interview had lasted sufficiently long for them to begin to feel somewhat at ease with each other, and to be able to discuss the situation with calmness, "we must settle about your future career. Of course, you won't go back to farming; it's a mere waste of life." Edward hesitated. His old ambitious projects rushed over his mind ; but a sense of duty, and the recollection of the benefits conferred upon him from his infancy, prevailed over the momentary temptation. "Mrs. Thorndale's kindness to me has been greater than I can ever repay, sir," he replied. "Ought I to forsake her now, when she is old and depends upon me iD every way? She is my near relative, too, my mother's own aunt, and has a claim upou me from this fact alone." "Well, we must think it over," said his uncle. "Of course, I don't want you to do anything in a hurry. But you must recollect that you have means now, at your disposal, to enable you to choose any occupation you may prefer. Until you are of age, it shall be my pleasure to provide for you as for my owu children, and when you are twenty-one, I shall settle something on you, from which you can draw a regular income. It won't be very much, but it will give you, at any rate, a good start in life." Edward thanked him warmly, though indeed, as yet, he could scarcely realize his own good fortune. The sudden change in his life seemed like a dream. He must get used to his new position before he could thoroughly comprehend its reality. And where, in the meantime, was Jennie? i An unconquerable feeling of timidity had prevented her from being at hand to welcome her former playfellow, and profiting by the uncertainty attending the exact time of his arrival, she had absented herself from the house during the greater part of the afternoon, preferring to delay their meeting until after he should have seen his uncle, and perhaps made | the acquaintance of the master of the chateau. Edward, after spending some hours in the ; company of the rest of the household, inward| ly longing for her presence, yet restrained, by ! an indefinable reluctance to mention her, j from asking where she was, at length rose to ' 1 thnt wtiof riAtir roforn fn I JtiiiVtJj tuai no uiuon uvu avvwau i>v i the inn. "Pray, don't be in such haste," courteously J said Eugene, who had come in a little while | before. "You must certainly dine with us; I and if you intend remaining any time in the neighborhood, I hope you'will consent to be my guest for the remainder of your stay. I i can easily send for your things." "You are very kind," replied Edward, I "but the time of my stay is, at present, quite j uncertain. Probably it will only be short, i and, therefore, it will scarcely be of any use i for me to intrude upon your hospitality." "I shall be delighted to have you, I assure i you. At anv rate, you won't refuse to dine with us?" Edward, however, pleaded fatigue. Notwithstanding the young Frenchman's cordiality, he did not wish to become his guest. Feeling deeply hurt and mortiBed at Jennie's non-appearance, he took leave of the family, saying to Mrs. Stanley, in a constrained tone, since he felt that it was necessary to make some allusion to her before his departure? "I hope Miss Lyle is well. I regret not having had the pleasure of seeing her." "Jennie is quite well," replied Mrs. Stanley, not without an inward feeling of sympathy for the young stranger, who had won her admiration in spite of herself. "I am surprised that she stayed out so long. I am sure, however," she added, kindly, "that she would have been at home earlier had she guessed the time of your coming, and she will regret having missed you. But, of course, }rou will see her to morrow." "Regret having missed me!" Edward repeated bitterly, to himself, a3 he went away. He had left his horse in care of the keeper at the lodge, and, as he walked through the grounds with a rapid ^tep, a hundred angry and fliritatinp- thoughts sweDt over his mind. " ~? O ~ ~~ O x # Was this Jennie's regard for him ? Her welcome, after their lorig separation ? If she cared a particle to seet him, would she not have taken cafe to remain at home, even though she had not been absolutely certain of the hour of his coining? Perhaps her host, that talkative, self-possessed, easy-mannered St. Orme, with his knowledge of the world and his large experience, had managed to win her affections. Nothing was more likely. Had she not written of him in exalted terms ? He did not reflect?foolish boy?that her very frankness on the subject ought to be an assurance to him that her heart was iu no way involved. He strode on, so absorbed in these tormenting ideas that he did not perceive that he had missed the direct way to the lodge, until suddenly coming to a halt, at the sight of a little thicket which he knew he had not passed on his approach to the house, he discovered his mistake. But he perceived, at the same moment, a vision which repaid him for the error, and drove every thought from his mind in the sudden tumult of agitation which swept over it. His doubts, his angry feelings of a minute before, vanished before Jennie's smile, as blushing and trembling she came forward from the little wood, with shyly outstretched hands, and a face that beamed her welcome. "Jennie!" An overpowering tide of emotion checked farther speech. With the utterance of that single word, he stood holding her little hands in his firm, yet trembling grasp, gazing down into her eyes as if he could never look his fill, or let her go. "So you are come, "she said, half below her breath, her long lashes drooping before him. "Yes, and you were not there to welcome mp " His voice took a tone of reproach, and he half relinquished his clasp of her hands. "I did not want to meet you there?before them all. I would not have let you go without seeing you." "Is that true, Jennie? Did you really mean to see me here, alone, and would you have stopped me before I left ?" "Yes. I was not far from the house. I saw you come out. Edward, why don't you stay at the chateau ? Did not Mr. St. Orme invite you ?" "Yes, he invited me; but I believe I would rather stay where I am." "How long will you be here?" "I can't tell yet I feel that I ought to return home as soon asjpossible. You know my aunt is all alone." "Your aunt," repeated Jennie, softly. "Oh, Edward, if you could tell how glad, how happy I am to know bow everything has come about." Her v.oice trembled, and tears stood in her eyes. "Yes, my life is all changed now. I am free. I was fettered before. I dared not hope for-" He checked himself suddenly. "Jeunie, I must go now; but I will see you again soon. To-morrow morning?may I come then ?" "Yes, as early as you pleaje. But I wish? I do wish you would stay longer now." "See how late it is getting. I know you must dine somewhere about thia time. Tomorrow we will have a long, nice talk. Until then, good-bye." Reluctantly she returned his adieu, and they parted. All the way back to his temporary stopping place his heart beat, and his hands seemed to thrill with the pressure of hers. He felt hopeful, excited, yet anxious still, and tormented with unsatisded doubt. Jennie was, in a certain sense, changed! She was no longer the little country girl, simple and unsophisticated. A certain distinguished air had usurped the place of her former rusticity, charming as that had been. How had he appeared in her eyes? And could it be possible that she would even feel willing to return to her former life ? But I will not dwell upon all his vexing thoughts, which somewhat impaired the joy he had felt in their re union, and which the reader can easily picture to himself without my aid. They were natural enough under I.q nii-nnmatnnnoo anz-1 it ivflq nPP.Hflll for him to exercise patience, sioce it would require time to settle the various perplexing points of his situation, and to bring all things into a natural and easy groove, after the unexpected changes and commotion which had taken place. He had the happiness of a long interview with her the next day, and during this he did manage to satisfy himself on two points. First, that she was not in the least in love with Eugene; and secondly, that it was her firm intention to return to America just as soon as her uncle and aunt would allow her? though nothing was said as to any definite length of time for her remaining there. Perhaps it may be wondered at, that he did not take advantage of the opportunity to speak of the hopes and desires uttermost in his mind?but he felt it bes t to postpone that, until his own future should be more clearly mapped out, and until he could know himself what he had offer her. Besides, after all, she was not the little Jennie of former days; even allowing that her heart remained unchanged?which was certainly the most important point?yet circumstances had created a difference between the eld time and the new, which he must look to his own efforts to bridge over. His ideas were all vague and uncertain yet. Plans he had none; yet he wa3 full of ardent, though indefinite resolve; he would make himself a name in the world, and he worthy, in every way, of the girl he loved. v So it came to pass that he left France without putting into words what he felt for his little friend ; though if looks can be an exponent of such feelings, it is more than probaable that she was made aware of them before they parted. At all events* Mrs. Stanley was soon forced to come to the conclusion that her own plans and projects had been vain?and was scarcely consoled by the.discovery that Eugene was likely to win another mistress for the chateau than the one she desired, iu the person of one of Mr. Eustace's daughters?not the brilliant Louise, but her more retiring sister Helen. The young gentleman had quite suddenly and unexpectedly become aware of his own weakness ; indeed, j as he told Mrs. Stanley very naively, he didn't believe he would have found it out if she hadn't set him to examining his own heart, i by putting the notion into his head that he j ought to fall in love with Jennie. "I knew from the first that she wouldn't have me ; and when young Eustace turned up I saw pretty plainly how matters stood there. You'll have to make up your mind to your niece living in America after all, chert Madame ; but whenever you want to see : the perfection of domestic life, just come and make your home at the Chateau." *'I don't give up Jennie yet," said Mrs. Stanley; but though she spoke with assurance, her confidence had beeu much shaken since Edward's visit. She was forced to admit to herself that he was far beyond the conception she had formed of him, and with the advantages of a few additional years and a little worldly experience, he would be quite fit to become the husband of any girl, with no fear of doing her discredit. Edward, on his arrival at home, found his dear old relative and guardian siill suffering greatly from the terrible shock she had received, and with a mind much enfeebled by : her experiences. Indeed, it seemed doubtful ujliottiop tipr nvstem would ever recover its former tone. Edward was, of course, horri- j fied to hear of her narrow escape, but he suffered her to dwell as little as possible upon the recollection of that frightful night, aud all the other evideuees of Charity's malice, which had made so painful au impression upon her. Search had been made among Charity's possessions, and there, in accordance with her statement, had been found the wedding ring and the certificate of marriage, affording the only missing proofs of the truth of Mr. Eustace's account. With indescribable emotion, Edward took possession of these sacred relics. His heart swelled with reverential gratitude, mixed with a tender pity for the sorrows of the suffering young mother who had never lived to know either the extent of the wrong done ber, or its removal, but whose other trials had been sufficiently great to make her early death a boon, a welcome rest from weariness and toil. Gradually, uuder the soothing influence of her nephew's presence, Mrs. Thorndale's tranquility W88 restored. But it was evident that her health was failing, and that she could never be what she had been before. At last, when she expressed a wish to see Jennie again, Edward wrote to Mrs. Stanley, telling her exactly how the case stood, and leaving it to the judgment of her husband and herself whether they would permit their niece to return or not. Mr. Stanley, without hesitation, allowed Jennie to follow the dictates of her own heart in the matter, and ere long, she was once more domesticated at the old farm. A few more months Mrs. Thorndale lived to enjoy the presence of the two young people, whose welfare was so dear to her?months which were rendered very peaceful and happy ones to her by their ministrations. And then the useful, honored life was brought to its close; but not before it received its crowning blessing, in the I aoonvanfp r?f lipp hnv'fl hnnnv future?for on her death-bed she heard her children, as she fondly called thera, plight their troth to each other, and with her dying breath she called down blessings on their heads. When it was all over, they parted again, but not for very long. Jennie returned to her uncle's care, while Edward went to study law in a celebrated university, where every advantage was placed at his disposal. . Their engagement being now an acknowledged fact, Mr. and Mrs. Stanley made the best of it, and received the young lovers into their cordial regard. Edward expects to graduate shortly, and immediately after that event the still more important one of his marriage will take place. And in the anticipation of a happy future we will leave the pair, trusting that the brightest dreams of each loving heart will be fully realized. The old farm in Connecticut has passed into other hands. Mr. Eustace, now that the one anxiety of his life has been satisfactorily removed, has settled down quietly in a pleasant English villa, having become too much accustomed to life in Europe to care to return to his old home. Besides, he has thus greater facility of access to his favorite daughter, to whom he regularly pays a long visit, at stated intervals, in her pretty abode. Eugene prosecutes wine making with success ; and has long since overcome his roving propensities. He is very popular with his tenants, and is especially beloved by the family of Jean Favel, in whose behalf his efforts proved eminently satisfactory, Marie's recusant husband having been forced to acknowledge her rights. Mrs. Stanley is deeply engaged in u work of all absorbing interest and importance?the ordering of Jennie's bridal outfit. Maude and Florence look on with admiring, and perhaps envious eyes ; and with a natural love of excitement and change, wait with impatience for the time when their young ears shall be gladdened by that joyful sound? "The tin? Tinabulation of the merry wedding bells!" [the end.] JJfairs. THE NEW FEE BILL. An Act to amend an Act entitled "An Act to regulate the costs of plaintiffs' and defendants' attorneys and the costs and fees of Clerks of Courts, Probate Judges, Sheriffs, Trial Justices, and other officers herein mentioned," Approved March '.2d, 1878. 1. Be it enacted by the Senate and House of Representatives of the State of South. Carolina, now met and sitting in General Assembly, and by the authority of the same: Section 1. That the Act entitled "An Act to regulate the costs of plaintiffs' and defendants' attorneys and the costs and fees of Clerks of Courts, Probate Judges, Sheriffs, Trial Justices, and other officers herein mentioned," approved March 22d, 1878, be, and the same is hereby, amended by striking out Sections 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9 and 10 therein, and inserting in lieu thereof the following Sections: Sec. 2. Plaintiffs' attorney costs: For rule on Sheriff or other officers of the Court, three dollars ; for issuing summons, four dollars; for issuing complaint, four dollars ; for entering up judgment and issuing execution, three dollars; where special bail is required, one dollar; for every subpoena, writ and ticket, one dollar; for every renewal of execution, one dollar; for every demurrer or joinder in demurrer, three dollars; for every motion for a new trial when granted, five dollars ; for every trial of the cause in the circuit, five dollars ; for every commission to examine witnesses or filing cross-interrogations, or for issuiog writ of partition, eight dollars; proceedings before trial on appeal from Trial Justice Court, three dollars; for trial of the cause, five dollars; when the amount sued for is under twenty dollars only two dollars and fifty cents for trial; for all proceedings in dower, from beginning to end, twenty dollars; for cases in attachment in addition to common costs, ten dollars; for the jury in each case tried, one dollar ; for examination of a party or witness before trial, three dollars ; for issuing summons and complaint on the equity side of the Court and necessary exhibits, twenty dollars; if for the partition of real estate valued at one thousand dollars or less, only ten dollars to be charged for the summons, complaint and exhibits; briefs for Circuit Judge, five dollars ; special matter and argument en the circuit, five dollars ; for the appointment of a guardian or guardian ad litem for an infant, ten dollars ; one attorney representing all the infants in a cause to charge only ten dollars for the appointment of a guardian ad litem for them; for exceptions to Clerk's or Referee's report, five dollars ; for each day attending before Clerk or Referee on reference, five dollars; for making and serving a case or cases containing exceptions, ten dollars; for procuring an order of injunction, five dollars; on appeal to the Supreme Court, fifteen dollars; on argument in Supreme Court, twenty doli lars. Sec. 3. Defendants' attorneys' costs: For giving notice of appearance when necessary, four dollars; for answerer demurrer, four dollars; for entering up judgment and issuing | execution, three dollars; for trial ef the cause, on the circuit, five dollars ; to the jury, one ! dollar; for motion for new trial, when granted, five dollars; for every commission to examine witnesses or filing cross-interrogations, eight dollars ; for all proceedings before trial on ap| peal from Trial Justice Court, three dollars ; l ibr trial of the cause, five dollars; when the amount sued for is under twenty dollars, only two dollars and fifty cents to be charged for trial; for subpoena writ and ticket, one dollar; for answer on the equity side of the Court and necessary exhibits, twenty dollars; briefs for Circuit Judge, five dollars; special matter aud argument on circuit, five dollars; each ? ? ...... i ? ... ?c i. nay s atienuuncc on reicrenue uwuie vier& ui Referee, five dollars ; exceptions to'Clerk's or Referee's report, five dollars ; for making and serving a case or cases containing exceptions, ten dollars; for procuring an order for injunction, five dollars; on appeal to Supreme Court, fifteen dollars; on argument in Supreme Court, twenty dollars. Sec. 4. Clerks of the Courts of Common Pleas and General Sessious: For signing and sealing summons, fifty cents; for filing complaint, fifty cents; for filiug each answer, demurrer, or joinder in demurrer, tyenty-five cents; for signing and sealing subpoena writ, fifty cents; for docketing a cause, one charge only at each term, fifteen cents; for attending the trial of a cause, whether civil or criminal, and swearing witnesses, fifty cents; for entering verdict or other order for final judgment on minutes of the Court, twenty-five cents; for making assessment on reference, twenty-five cents; for special order for bail, fifty cents; for filing and entering on the journal every rule or order for arbitration, twenty-five cents; for filing affidavits for continuance, when ordered by the Judge, twenty-five cents; for signing, entering and enrolling judgment, seventy-five cents; for signing and sealing first execution, fifty cents; for signing and sealing each renewal of execution, twenty-five cents; for entering satisfaction on judgment, twenty-five cents; for taking security for costs, entering order therefor, if made, fifty cents ; for recording judgments, one dollar and fifty cents; for recording decrees of foreclosure, partition and reports, per copy sheet of ninety words, nine cents; for administering oath other than on trial of cause, proof of service on Sheriff's return, oath to jurors or by order of Court, fifteen cents ; for taking and filing bonds in attachments, trover or in other cases, one dollar; for signing and sealing commisoinn tri oromino U-itneoflpfl HPVPntV-fivft fifintfi ! exemplification of proceeding or other office copy, per copy sheet of ninety words, nine cents; recording plat of land under order of the Court, or copying the same, fifty cents; rule of survey, fifty cents; each official certificate, under seal of Court, not herein specified, fifty cents; issuing writ of attachment for contempt or other special writ, one dollar; signing and sealing writ of hab.fae. possessionem, fifty cents; receiving and paying over money officially, two per cent, if under three hundred dollars; if over that sura, two per cent, for the first three hundred dollars and one per cent for the balance; every appeal from Trial Justice, all services inclusive, except for entering up judgment and issuing execution therein, one dollar; on bill nol pros., before given out, one dollar; on bill thrown out by grand jury, or found and nol. pros. abated, discontinued or struck off, two dollars; on bill found and verdict by petit jury, three dollars; all orders for bastardy and taking recognizance, one dollar; issuing bench warrant, writ of habeas corpus, seiera facias, and each execution in sessions, one dollar and fifty cents; for issuing warrants, taking recognizance or other services in the sessions as Trial Justice ex officio, same fees as allowed that officer ; for each writ of venire facias, including all services incident to summoning juries, two dollars; for preparing and issuing certificates for grand and petit jurors and Constables, and furnishing returns to County Commissioners for each term of the Court of Common Pleas ! and General Sessions, five dollars; for filiog petition and signing writ de lunaiico inquiren ' do, one dollar ; for furnishing advertisements in cases of escheat, exclusive of printer's bill, 1 one dollar; for recording whole proceedings therein, two dollars; for license to an attorney, all services included, five dollars; for filing and entering notice of alien's intention to become a citizen, one dollar; for filing and recording report of alien, one dollar: for administering oath of intention, one dollar; for filing and entering application to become a 1 citizen and administering oath, two dollars ; for giving certificate (over seal of office) of citizenship, one dollar; for taking renunciation of dower or inheritance, two dollars; for every search for a paper found (not to be charged to the parties or attorneys when for papers in a case pending,) fifteen cents; for every search necessary for a certificate that a paper is not to be found in office, twenty-five cents; forswearing a Trial Justice or Constable in office, taking Constables' bonds and giving certificates thereof, one dollar; for every probate in writing, twenty-five cents; for signing and sealing dcdimus potestatem, one dollar; for official certificate to exemplification of record, one dollar; for official certificates without the seal, twenty-five cents; each day engaged in holding reference, one dollar; making up and returning report, but no more than one report in each case, three dollars; deed of conveyance or mortgage, two dollars; for official record of estray and filing papers, one dollar; for recording and copying deeds or other papers, per copy sheet of ninety words, nine cents; for entering satisfaction on mortgage, twenty-five cents; for recording or copying plats of not more than six corners, one dollar; and for every corner over six, ten cents; for granting charter of incorporation, two dollars; for granting charter to church, one dollar. Sec. 5. Sheriffs' costs: For entering every writ, summons, process, execution or other paper in writ or execution book and making endorsements thereon, twenty-five cents; for serving every writ, summons, notice or rule, not otherwise herein specified, besides mileage, one dollar; mileage from court house to defendants' or witness' residence or place where found, going and returning, per mile, five cents; commitment and release of prisoner, each fifty cents; issuing each venire for grand jury, fifteen dollars; serving each venire for petit jurors, twenty-five dollars ; serving subpoena writ and mileage on each ticket, fifty cents; serving bench or other warrants, scire facias from the Court of Sessions, or writ of attachments for contempt, beside mileage, one dollar and fifty cents; search for person or goods not found and return on the execution of non est inventus or nulla bona, fifty cents; each execution returned to Clerk's office on schedule, twenty-five cents; levying excutions or attachments, besides mileage, one dollar; dieting prisoners in jail, per day, thirty-five cents; executing convict, inclu- , ding all charges for burying and other expenses, twenty dollars; bringing up prisoner under habeas corpus, to be paid by prisoner if able, (if not, the County) besides mileage and necessary expenses, one dollar; conveying prisoner from one place to another, for every mile going and returning, besides all necessary expenses, six cents; commissions on all moneys collected by him, if under three hundred dollars, two per cent., if over that sum two per cent, for the first three hundred dollars and one per cent, for the balance, and one-half of one per cent, on all sum9 paid to plaintiff, his agent or attorney on execution lodged with the Sheriff; execution lodged to bind with order not to levy, fifty cents; for advertising defendant's property, in addition to printer's bill, one dollar; drawing and executing a deed of conveyance or taking mortgage two dollars; drawing and executing each bill of sale (when required by purchaser,) two dollars. No sheriff shall charge more than one bill of sale for property bought at the same sale by the same party; for executing a writ of habere facias possessionem, be sides mileage, one dollar; transferring money, bonds or other securities for money to party, one-half of one per cent,; for selling land under decree of Court, in lieu of commissions and all other charges, except for advertising, two dollars; for serving notice on each set of Managers of Election, besides mileage, one dollar ; summoning freeholders to try suggestions of fraud, five dollars; for every fine paid before levy, fifty cents; for every fine paid after levy and before sale, one dollar. Sec. 6. Probate Judges: For a citation, fifty centa; for qualifying executo r, administrator or guardian, issuing letters to cither and recording such letters, two dollars and fifty cents; for taking bond from administrator or guardian and recording same, one dollar; for issuing warrant, of appraisement and oath, fifty cents; for proving a will in common form and filing and certifying the same, one dollar; for proving a will in solemn form afid filing and certifying the same, five dollars; for recording will, probate and certificate, per copy sheet of ninety words, nine cents; for filing and entering renunciation of executor, fifty cents; for didemus potestatem to prove will or qualify as executor, one dollar; for recording each inventory and appraisement of account of sales, each figure counting for a word, per copy sheet of ninety words, nine cents; for receiving, examining and filing the annual or final accounts of each administrator, executor or guardian, for first year, three dollars; for each succeeding year, one dollar; for recording said accounts, per copy sheet of ninety words words, nine cents; for hearing and filing petition for sale of personal estate and order, one dollar; for hearing and filing petition for guardianship and appointment of guardian or guardian ad litem, one dollar; for entering a caveat or withdrawing the same, fifty cents; for hearing every litigated case, three dollars for each day engaged, not to exceed twelve dollars in any one case; for swearing and examining each witness ntteen cents; for certifying copy of any paper on file in his office, fifty cento; for copying such paper, per copy sheet of ninety words, nine cento; for every rule issaed against defaulting witness or party failing to account, two dollars; for every attachment issued on the return of such rule, one dollar; for furnishing and certifying copy of proceedings in case of appeal, three dollars; for every search, 15 cento; for every certificate not hereinbefore specified, twenty-five cento; for hearing petition to sell real, estate in aid of assets and granting order therefor, two dollars; for taking administrator's or executor's bond, in each case, one dollar; for final discbarge of executor, administrator or guardian, two dollars ; for proceedings in dower, inclusive of all charges, where the rmount is under two hundred dollars, five dollars; when over that amount ten dollars; for proceedings in lunacy, ten dollars: Provided, where proceedings in lunacy are only had by certificate of physicians, three dollars; for proceedings and services setting off homestead, including titles, five dollars: Provided, That in case the amount of estate in the Probate Court does not exceed two hundred and fifty dollars, the costs to be taxed on the case shall not exceed one-half of the amount above allowed. Receiving and paying over money officially, two per cent., if under three hundred dollars; if over that sum, two per cent, for the first three hundred dollars ana one per cent, for the balance. Sec. 7. Trial Justices : Oath and warrant in any criminal case, forty cento; each recognizance, forty cento ; each commitment and release, twenty cents; administering and certifying oath in writing, other than above, thirty cents; issuing writ of hcbeae corpus, to two Trial Justices jointly, one dollar and fifty cento; issuing summons and copy for defendant in civil cases, thirty-five cento; issuing summons for witness in any civil case, twenty cento; taking examination of witness in writing, in any case, as prescribed by law, fifty cents; for giving judgment on hearing litigated case, twenty-five cento; for giving judg meat in case not defended, twenty cents; for Issuing execution or renewal, twenty-five cents; report of case and taking bond to appeal, sixty cents; issuing attachment returnable to Court or to Trial Justice, including all notices, one dollar ; filing return of garnishee and order thereon, fifteen cents; proceedings on behalf of landlord or lessor against tenant or lessee, to the two Trial Justices, five dollars ; proceedings on certifying indenture of apprentice or assignment, one dollar; for the trial of any criminal case, inclusive of all costs, except for issuing papers, one dollar; for every preliminary examination of aoy criminal case, fifty cents; proceedings on Coroners' inquests as prescribed by law, eight dollars and fifty cents ; proceedings on estray of horse or mule, fifty cents; proceedings on all other estrays, each 15 cents; taking and certifying renunciation of dower or inheritance, two dollars; granting order for special bail, fifty cents; for qualifying each appraiser in settting off* homestead, besides five cents per mile for all travel actually necessary, twenty-five cents; issuing summons for jurors in a criminal case, twenty cents. Sec. 8. Constables: Summoning witness in a civil case, twenty cents; for summoning freeholders to try question before Trial Justices between landlord and tenant, to be paid by unsuccessful party, three dollars; for summoning Coroner's jury and witnesses, to be paid by the County, two dollars; for serving a summons, rule or notice by a Trial Justice in a civil case, no mileage to be allowed, fifty cents; for serving attachment on persons absconding or about to abscond, and making inventory and return, besides commissions of five per cent, on sale of effects, but no mileage, one dollar; for selling estray, five per cent, on the proceeds ; for levying execution, - ^ ? ? --1- ' ? ? mhaaaaJQ aaverusmg saie uuu puling uvci piuwcuu, upsides commissions at five per cent, on amount to be collected, but no mileage, to be paid by the defendant in execution, twenty cents ; for _ every day in search for stolen goods, to be paid by party complaining, one dollar; for serving warrant in any criminal case, one dollar, besides five cents a mile for each mile necessarily traveled ; for conveying prisoners to County jail, five cents per mile going and returning: Provided, That the Constable be reimbursed for necessary ferriage. Sec. 9. Jury Commissioners: Three dollars per day, for every day's actual service in performing his duties; such number of days not to exceed the number of days the Court, for the county, shall be in session, together with five days to complete the lists and draw the juries, and also five cents per mile for all necessary travel, going and returning. Sec. 10. That Sections 329, 330, 331, 332, 333, 334 and 335 of Title 10, Part 2, of the Code of Procedure, in reference to costs of Plaintiffs and Defendants be, and the same are hereby repealed. Sec. 11. That this Act shall not apply to costs or fees of Constables or Trial Justices, in criminal cases, in those counties where they are entitled by law to annual salaries.