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l. if. grist's sons, Publishers. J % cjfamilg JJeirspaper: Jfor th$ promotion oj th* political, Social, ^griculiuiial and Commercial Interests oj the people. { TEEs?nol?c2pVfivVce^8VANCL established 1855. YORKVILLE, S. C., TUESDAY, JULY 16, 1^07. NO. 57. HVGUTSft By ETTA A CHAPTER XVI. A Few Days. In a letter to her absent father, Mlgnon Vye related the story of her brief acquaintance with Shlrlaw, confessed their mutual love, spoke of the opposi- I tion which she expected to meet from her Uncle Philip, and begged the faroff cattle king to give immediate consent to her open engagement with the young soldier. The letters at Rookwood usually passed through the hands of Philip Vye. With a growing distrust of her uncle, Mlgnon determined that he should not so much as look upon this precious, this all-important message to her father, so she donned her outer garments, and stole away to ost it herself. Maud Loftus was reading aloud to Aunt Elinor in the latter's dressingroom. Migmn thought it best not to disturb her. Philip Vye and his son were, as she supposed, at their law of flee in town. With a light step she descended to the lawn. The post-office was a half mile away. .She crossed the long garden, and was just pushing through a narrow gate into the open high road, when she heard a pursuing step and then a voice. "Whither so fast, belle cousine?" said Cyril Vye; "and all alone, too!" "I am going to the Dale post-office," answered Mignon, coldly; "and to be alone is far better than to endure undesirable company." "I suppose that shot was meant for me," said Vye, fixing his glass carefully in his eye; "but I shall not take offense?I am in a pacific mood today? I wish to do you a real service." She saw that he was looking hard at the letter in her hand, and she gave it a little defiant pat. "You wish to do me a real service?" she echoed, dryly; "what can you mean by that?" If he was striving to establish confidential relations with .her, this beginning was not promising. However, he went on, undaunted: "Mignon. there is a certain person of whom you are very fond, you know." She stared, coloring guiltily, then met his pale, weak eye, and grew composed again. X T*a tci laitnj . "I mean your father." "Oh, I adore papa, of course." She stopped short on the open highway with a protesting air. "Whither are you going. Cyril Vye?" she demanded. "To the Dale postofflce," he answered, coolly. "I will walk with you. That letter which you carry must be particularly precious, since you dare not* trust my father, who has always taken charge of those things, to post it." "It is very precious," she answered; "it holds a great secret." She walked on with a disdainful air. her lovely head held high. A baleful gleam shot into his jealous eyes. "Mignon. I have been very good of late, have I not? I have not intruded upon you in any way, eh? You see I am trying patiently to conquer your cruel prejudices. Ah, your eyes begin to flash! You will not tolerate a word from me upon this subject? Well, then, let us talk about your father. Recently I have had our cattle-king in mind a good deal. He must lead a very lonely life in your long absence, Mignon. By the way, who has charge of his household?" Surprised at the question, Mignon answered, coldly: "An old Mexican woman, ruled the kitchen when I was a child?Mellta was her name. I dare say she is still there." "Of course your father tells you about the routine of his daily lite?his occupations and all that?" said Vye, blandly. "You get particulars of everything going on in your old home. ru . "Papa does not live by routine, and he writes always like a man and not like a woman. No, he gives me very few particulars, indeed." "Possible? Do you like that?" "I like whatever papa likes?he suits me in everything." A wicked smile curled the red mustache. "Did it ever occur to you, Mignon, that things may have changed somewhat since you left the west? That your father may not be precisely the same man that he was eight years ago?" "No," she answered, scornfully, "nothing of the kind has ever occurred to me. Papa not the same? Ridiculous! What do these questions mean, sir??to what are they leading? Iain sure you have no particular interest In papa." "I have a great interest in papa's daughter. Not even Victor Shirlaw has more. Don't frown. I told you Just now that I wanted to do you a service. As a lawyer, it Is part of my business to make discoveries. I have lately stumbled upon one of a startling nature, and it concerns you very close ly. Mignon, your father?the father whom you adore?is in deadly peril!" At last he was master of the situation. Her eyes dilated, her face grew scared and white. "You say this to frighten?to torment me. Cyril!" she gasped. "Papa in peril? Of what nature, and how do you come to know of it?you, who hold no communication with him?" "Oh, your father is scarcely the person to tell what I chance to know," he answered, airily. "I assure you, the discovery was made through another course. I will explain everything, Mignon, but only on one condition. I wish to serve you, but I expect and insist upon receiving a suitable rewarl ?I cannot afford to act unselfishly In this matter. Your father can be saved from the danger that threatens him by a word of warning. I am the only person who can give that word, and it depends entirely upon you whether it sh^ll be given or withheld." She began to understand him. The color flew back to her face. # $ OF M V. PIERCE "You mean"? "I mean that you must permit me to love you, Mignon," he answered, frankly. "Yes, you must look, not only with toleration, but absolute favor, on my suit, or you will find me transformed into an enemy powerful enough to crush both you jmd your father! | When I first spoke "0 you of love, I did not possess the weapon which I now hold?It was then safe, my dear cousin, for you to defy me?now it is not." Luckily the Dale postoffice was just before her. She turned upon her companion like a young queen. "I do not believe one syllable that you have spoken," she said. "This is simply some ruse by which you think to force yourself again on my notice. It is not possible that you could help or hurt my father, even if he was in danger. But he is not. It is all a falsehood! He is strong, rich and powerful, and far beyond your reach, Cyril Vye." with scorn unspeakable in her ana o oMl/o MT urill tallf wUh ?va c auu v j vo a ii??? ii you no more?I am done with you!" At that moment her letter chanced to slip from her hold to the ground. He snatched It up, but did not restore It to her. "My fair, incredulous cousin," he hissed, "your father Is not beyond my reach. I can destroy him. If I will! I can bring him to a fearful death?I can also strip you of wealth, good name, social position?yes, of the very last rag of respectability?I can overwhelm you with such black disgrace that Victor Shlrlaw, with all his love ?all his admiration for your beauty, will fly from you in horror. Yes, and this I will do?I swear it! unless you take back every unkind word you have said to me. Come, belle cousine, what is the secret that you have sealed up in this envelope?" "Give it to me!! she cried, Imperatively, holding out her hand. "At some future time, maybe," he answered with an exasperating smile, and put the letter in his pocket. This was more than Mignon could bear. She cast one swift look around, and saw a handsome trap just dashing up to the Dale postoffice. Down from it hopped Abel Lispenard. Mignon rushed impetuously up to him, her lovelv eves suffused with indignant tears. "Help me!" she panted. "Oh, Mr. Lispenard, help me! Cyril Vye has taken and is holding my letter?he will not give it back." Lispenard walked quickly up to Vye. "Be so good as to restore Miss Mignon's property at once!" he said. The two men looked at each other. Dwarfed as Lispenard was in stature, there was yet a powerful suggestion of reserved strength about him. Cyril Vye grew as red as a turkey cock. "Suppose I do not choose to do so at your bidding?" he answered, insolently. "Then," replied Lispenard, "I shall take means to compel you." "My cousin, it seems, does not understand a jest." fumed the lawyer, as he rudely tossed the letter back to Mignon; "and, as for you, Abel Lispenaird, when I seek a quarrel, it shall be with a man, and not a monstrosity." He turned on his heel and walked away. Mignon ran to Lispenard, the angry crimson flaming in her cheek. "The brute?the coward!' she stormed. "But for me, he would not have spoken to you like that. Forgive me, Mr. Lispenard. I am sorry?so sorry, that I exposed you to his Insults!" "My dear child," answered Lispenard, quietly, "do not distress yourself in the least. Such things, coming from a man like Cyril Vye, cannot hurt much." But Mignon's righteous wrath would not be so easily allayed. "I know how it Is," she cried; "he is under obligations to you, and were I in your place, I would crush him?I would, indeed." He kept a calm, smiling front. "I am sure you would do nothing of the kind. Miss Vye?you are generous enough to forgive a petty affront. Now, lest he should annoy you further, will you permit me to take you home to Rookwood in my trap?" She had always felt a certain terror in his presence. It assailed her now, and set her stammering: "No, thank you?I am not afraid of Cyril." Then she added, sweetly: "Be lieve me, Mr. Lispenard, I am very, very grateful for your kindness," and darted into the office to mail her letter. When she came forth, Lispenard and the trap had vanished. Mignon went back to Rookwood, agitated with strange fears and forebodings. Her father in peril of his life? No, it could not be. It was all a miserable fabrication, framed to frightened and mislead her. She would not give it a moment's credence. Cyril Vye had accomplished nothing by his publicity except to increase her detestation of him. There was a water-party on the river that day. and a gypsy tea In a chestnut wood on the bank. Reginald Berkely and Shirlaw burnt their awkward fingers in making a fire, and the tea had a smoky flavor; but the sandwiches and cold chicken and English game pie were faultless, and of merriment there was no lack. The graver portion of the company clustered around Abel Lispenard. Nina Berkely. full, as usual, of sighs and yearnings for the impossible, flitted hither and thither, still intent upon making eyes at the deformed aristocrat. A score of young people were present, but pre-eminently the belle of the occasion, the bright, particular star of the gypsy tea, was Mignon. Twilight gathered in the Chestnut grove. Shirlaw, picturesque, handsome. sat upon the trunk of a fallen tree playing upon a little mandolin, to which the whip-poor-wills in the distant wood responded at intervals. "My darling." he found time to murimur to Mignon, "I told Lispenard our | secret, and he behaved superbly. Per sonally. I know, he is very repellent to women, but try and like him a little for my sake." "I begin to like him for his own sake," answered Mignon, and then she related the incident of the morning. "Noble old chap!" said Shirlaw. "I know he has loaned your uncle large sums, but he will take no revenge on Cyril, he is quite above such things. As for that nonsense about your father, do not give it a thought, my darling, and if your cousin dares to annoy you further, I shall take the liberty to settle with him myself." Lispenard's gondola led the way homeward along the rippling, star-lit Charles. Mlgnon and Shirlaw occupied seats therein. The afterglow made flecks of gold and crimson light upon the restless current. In the dls- i tance the bells of Cambridge and Wa- : tertown rang like dream music. Nina I Berkely, seated on a pile of crimson 1 cushions, with a Spanish mantilla flung i over the brunette "lead, played a guitar with exceller.' effect. Maud Loftus sang a Canadian boat-song, and pres- i ently another voice arose there in the < soft darkness?a tenor, sweet as the I starlit summer night, strong as the i rush of the river. And this is what It l sang: ' I " 'From too much love of living, . From hope and fear set free, I We, thank, with brief thanksgiving, Whatever gods there be? ' That no life lives for ever, I That dead men rise up never, I That e'en the weariest river Tin 11 can Mignon started and looked around. The voice seemed to go through her like a sword. "Who is that?" she said, awe-struck, to Shirlaw. "Oh, that's Lispenard," he answered. "Good voice. Music Is a passion with him. He might be famous If he would." "He takes my breath!" she shivered, In a sort of nameless rapture. The boat went on; the river murmured softly; the Cambridge bells rang on In the dusky distance; the big stars throbbed in the purple sky. Oh, the fragrance of vagrant winds, and the mystery* of shadow and silence; and oh, the happy love folded in Mlgnon's heart like perfume in a flower as she sat there with Ehlrlaw by her side; his gray eyes on her face, his tender voice in her ear, his strong hand closing unseen around the white fingers that she was dabbling in the water. Luckily the other members of the party paid little heed to the young pair. In all her life would Mignon ever be so happy again? "It is a foretaste of heaven!" muttered Shirlaw. "My darling, would it not be blessed to go on for ever like this?" "It would be very damp," replied Mignon. lightly; but her long lashes < were heavy with tears. e When Mignon reached Rookwood with Maud Loftus, she found Philip Vye moving restlessly about the draw- < ing-room. In a deep chair under a > gas jet crouched Aunt Elinor, with her s tremblincr fineers twisted in a bit of 5 embroidery. As Mignon hurried up to * her the unhappy lady made a quick, but ineffectual attempt to conceal her hands under her work, and then Mig- t non saw that the frail wrists were all swollen and livid, and spotted with s the ugly purple print of violent fingers. ( "Aunt Elinor," said Mignon, "what- 1 ever is the matter with your poor wrists?" < Before his wife's pale lips could ? frame a word, Philip Vye broke forth gayly: "Heaven bless me! my dear Mignon, 1 how radiant you look! I need not ask 1 if you and our fair Canadian friend ' have enjoyed the river. How good it ' is to be young! There is really nothing in life that one can call pleasure 1 after flve-and-twenty. Your Aunt 1 Elinor's wrist? Oh, she has been J twisting her embroidery silks too tight- ' ly about them, that is all." * 1 Aunt Elinor never lifted her eyes. "Yes, that is all," she echoed, faintly. j "I suppose you did not miss Cyril from your water-party?" continued Philip Vye. He has been called to 1 New York on pressing business. You 1 will not see him again for the present." ! "I am very glad of that, Uncle Philip," said Mignon, frankly. "Cruel child! Your aunt is greatly < disturbed by his sudden departure." * At- - AknlM 1 Mlgnon leanea over me ueep guau, and whispered, softly: "I understand it all, Aunt Elinor. ' You condemn Cyril for still torment- 1 ing me, and Uncle Philip pinches and ! abuses you for daring to lift a voice in 1 my behalf. Oh, you poor dear! I am ' so sorry that you are made to suffer for my sake!" But Elinor Vye worked the faster at ' her colored silks, and did not lift her head or answer a word. 1 Following close upon the waterparty came a hop at the Berkely man- I sion In the Dale. It was Mlgnon's first 1 ball. She wore a dress of moonlight- ( blue faille, looped with long sprays of ' sweet-brier. Maud Loftus, in pale i pink, with her corsage full of fluted 1 laurel blossoms, made a charming picture. No jealous fears concerning Guy 1 Fleetwood tormented her this night. Stumbling upon Abel Lispenard in the embrasure of a window, she seated 1 herself by his side. "We will be lookers-on in Venice," she said, gayly. "I am always a looker-on," answered Lispenard, with a grave smile; "but this is no place for you, Miss Loft us. You should be dancing. "1 prefer a little rational conversation with a superior mind, as Nina Berkely would say. Yonder go Mignon and Shtrlaw. Is she not lovely tonight?" "Miss Vye is always lovely." "Pray look. She was surely made to waltz with Shirlaw. What perfect poetry of motion! I could watch them for ever!" His dark, volcanic eyes followed Maud's, and rested on the lovely shape in moonlight-blue as It swayed through the dance in the arms of Shirlaw. The pair were utterly absorbed in each other. He marked their tell-tale glances, their happy whisper, their dreamy smiles. Was the sight pleasant to this lonely man, shut out for ever from the destiny of his kind? Directly a Cambridge student whirled Maud Loftus away, but a little later Elinor Vye glided into the embrasure, and took the fair Canadian's vacant chair. Absorbed in watching the dancers, Ltspenard nodded silently to her. With j his broad, short figure half concealed t behind a satln-damask curtain, he kept f his eyes fixed with a greedy, overpondering gaze on Shlrlaw and Mlgnon. 3 "I hope their joy may last," sighed Elinor Vye; "but It will not?no, It I cannot." s "It must?It shall!" Llspenard groan- i ed; "at any cost she shall be happy." * Elinor Vye leaned forward In a start- r led way, and peered into the dwarfs t face. This weak, downtrodden woman t had sharp eyes. t "Mlgnon compels all hearts to love t her," she faltered; "she was born to 1 ma Ira r>r mar the nwifA nt mil nv" "True!" he answered, bitterly; "too F true!" 8 Her thin, jeweled hands closed to- h gether rather convulsively. He knew n for what purpose she was searching ii his sombre face, and he turned from her abruptly, unable to bear her scrutiny. n "God help you, Mr. Llspenard!"? Elinor Vye breathed rather than t spoke; then she sank back behind the ti :urtaln, and the orchestra crashed, a the ballroom lights flashed merrily, c md the dance went on, as though d there was neither sorrow, nor sacri- o flee, nor despair In the world. P The belle of the evening was Mlg- y [ion. It surely was no fault of the a nrllllant company that the girl's gol- h Jen head was not quite turned with n flattery this night. The wee sma' lours had come. Mlgnon had Just left :he clustered lights, the gold and sliver and crystal, the terrapin and truf- 1 les, and Bordeaux and spiced meats E ind confections, of the supper-room tl jehind her, and was passing along a 6' lower-wreathed corridor with Shiraw, when some one in ambush there E vhisked her suddenly away from her A over, and sliuight through the open E loor of a conservatory. It was Regl- t< lal Berkely, dark, bilious, melancholy, ? vlth a bunch of daffodils stuck in the wttonhole o his cutaway coat, and si lis soul on Are with secret agitation. s "Do you like to be admired?" he lemanded, resentfully, as he drew si tfignon, and unwilling and indignant aptive, into the solitude of the palms rl md orchids, and tiny, tinkling foun- n ains. E "Certainly," she answered; "I should w ie very stupid if I did not." . ' "It is sacrilegious?It Is offensive to n ny very soul?I cannot, I will not bear P t!" he cried. "Mignon, I love?nay, I ?l idore you! Here Is my hand, spoiled >eauty?will you take or reject it?" si He thrust out the member In ques- S ion?a limp, flabby, nerveless affair, dignon drew back. n "I am greatly obliged to you. Mr. a 3erkely, but, oh, tear! I could not 't hlnk of taking it?no, Indeed, you are y oo generous." C And then overcome by his melan- si :holy crow-like aspect, she burst into w m hysterical laugh. He stared at her gloomily. cl "So fair and yet so heartless!" he eS :ried. "You laugh while your lovers v?ep? You dance "while they sit In C tack-cloth and ashes! Nemesis will si pt flnri vmi r>ut! TpII me Is mv ador- d; ition altogether In vain?" tl "Decidedly!" gasped Mignon. Is He bent and pressed his burning lips jpon her bare white arm. ei "Matchless flesh," he muttered, "but ti soulless?pre-eminently soulless! Adieu b 3alatea! upon whom no Pygmalion ias yet breathed." tt And with his hand to his heart, he larted through the palms and daphnes a ind broad-leaved aloes, and vanished, g Mignon ran to the door of the con- b servatory, and there encountered Maud L,oftus, fresh from the light and mer- y, iment of the ballroom, but wearing a iale, frightened face, and holding in q ler hand an open telegram. "jOh, Mignon!" she gasped, "a ser- s< ,'ant has just brought this from Rook- p vood. I must go?I must leave you. ^unt Fleetwood?Guy's mother is?dy- a ng and I am called at once?at once? tl :o Canada!" ' g ei CHAPTER XVII. n t< At the Inn. Esther slept on till midnight; then, vith her husband's name on her lips, l< ihe awoke to And herself alone, for- s iaken. b At first she could not comprehend it. ? "Guy!" she called, like a frightened 8 ihlld. "Oh, Guy, where are you?" But there was no answer. Guy, by s that time, was Journeying swiftly to- h ivard Canada. She read the message d tie had left?It seemed mysterious and F ;ruel! Some of the lines were as San- y * * ? Kto /I naantA/1 Knirln fnr hi. h stance, what did he mean by saying C that he should love her, though she tl were ten times her father's daughter? n Why did he object to her unknown? tier far-away miner-father? And what p was the great mistake which had been p made? His mother was dying, and he had gone to her; but, oh, that he should go a in this way, and with this strange, Incoherent farewell! And how lndefl- e nltely he spoke of his return! As she ^ stood in that lonely chamber, trying to a comprehend the full measure of her g trouble, a foreboding of evil, sharp, ? agonizing, seized upon Esther, and c forced a bitter cry from her lips. 0 "He will never come back! He has n ceased to love me?he will never come t back!" n Then she grew ashamed of her own p weakness. Did she not love him more a than life, and could she not trust him? y Surely he would return soon and explain everything. Meanwhile she must t be patient. d She was patient. For the first week she waited quietly at that old inn; v but no message, no token of remem- f brance came from the absent bride- s groom. t Upon the arrival of the stage from r Barton, the postofflce, in the old fish- r house down the street, became the a daily recipient of a mall. Esther was p always on the spot when the leather t bag was tossed down to the gruff post- a master; but day after day that griz- c zled official poked his head through a f hole in the wall and called out, "Nothin\" In answer to her brief inquiry, f Esther would then lower her veil and i walk quickly away. f The second week, however, matters \ grew worse. Her handsome face put a on a sharpened, rigid look. She did \ not eat or sleep. A feverish restless- y ness got possession of her. The peo- r pie at the Inn began to watch her with I curious eyes. a One day she went, as usual, to the f fish-house, and this time the gruff f jostmaster thrust out to her throug he hole a letter. With a cry of Jo the seized It, tore It open, and -read "My Dear Daughter?I hope to se rou soon"? In the anguish of this disappointmen >er sight failed. She stripped th iheet to atoms, and tossed It, unreac ipon the Clndervllle beach. It was no jer father that she hungered to seelot her father from whom she longe< o near. ?ne sianea unnuiy uu.uk u he Inn. Tomorrow would complet he second week of his absence. In i urn of the village street she met oh rom Dexter. "Your pardlng, ma'am!" he said lulling at his battered hat?he ha( Town very deferential to Esther sine ler marriage with Fleetwood. "An; lews from your husband this morn n'?" "No, Tom," she answered. He shuffled uneasily about for a fev moments, then blurted out: "There's bad news Jest come fron he lighthouse, ma'am. Your gran' her went out In his boat yesterday nd there was a squall, and he wai apslzed, all in sight of the Light, an< rowned. Rube, he happened to g< ver to the rock last night with sup' lies, which was mighty lucky foi our Aunt Deb. He stayed all nigh nd tended the lamp for her. She sen Im back this morning to tell you th< ews." She felt a great thrill of horror. "Where is Rube?" she cried. "Down at the wharf," answered olt 'om, "getting ready to sail back to th< lock. He's a-golng to keep the Llghi >11 somebody can be properly app'lntd." "He must take me with him," salt Jsther, and, pale and breathless, sh< ew to the old wharf and sprang Ink tube Dexter's boat, much to the asmishment of Rube himself, who stard at her as though she was a spirit. "I cannot wait to ask your permlsIon," she cried, hysterically; "I musi o without delay to Aunt Deb." "You're welcome to a sail with me,' tammered Rube. He had not seen her since her marlage, and something In her beautj ow filled him with awe and wonder lis bruised and aching heart swelled ith wrath against the man who hac 'on this pearl of the Island from th< atlve youths who vainly panted tc ossess It. Out shot the boat from tht hore. "Old Joe Runnel went off the hooks udden like," broke out Rube, at last he nodded, but did not answer. "He missed you mightily after yoi in away from the Rock. You mads hasty match, Miss Esther. Maybt u 1 1 ,m? l< wwutu Iliive uecn as ncn iui .. ou'd have taken up with one of youi Indervllle lovers, who would not have (tipped and left you at the end of a -eek." A streak of red shot Into her white heek and then faded, leaving her palr than before. ' ^r. Fleetwood has been called tc fcnStla by the death of a relative,' fie answered, with stern dignity. "How are you speak of your superiors ir lat way. Rube Dexter? Left me? It i a lie!" The bitterness of a disappointed lovr was rankling in his heart. He -immed his sail and answered, stubornly: "Cindervllle folks are beginning tc ilk." "Cindervllle folks!" she echoed, wltt grand disdain. "Let them! Theii ossip can matter little to my husand or to me." "They say he's run ofT and forsook ou for good." She gave him a look that made hire uail. "Enough, Reuben Dexter!" she anwered; "if you speak another word tc le I will capsize your catboat." Rube, terrified, relapsed Into silence nd maintained the same till he made le land at the Rock. She arose then rand as Elizabeth Tuder, at the Towrstair, and stepped ashore, flying ather than walking up the rock patt j the house. Esther found Aunt Debbie In the old imlliar living-room, taking an inven:>ry of the dead light-keeper's possesions, with which the apartment was estrewn. At sight of Esther in th< pen door the old spinster uttered i roan. "Oh, you wicked, ungrateful girl!' he began, shrilly; "you ran away fron Im, and now he's good for shark's ant og-fish, and I've got to leave th< lock, where I've lived this seventeer ear and more; and, oh, Lord! we'vi ad nothing but bad luck since thai Canadian deceiver first set his foot or he Island. Have you brought youi larriage lines with you?" "Yes," answered Esther, and whiped from her pocket a paper in th< lev. David Lane's own handwriting Read for yourself, Aunt Deb." Aunt Deb read, then looked critically t her niece. "You're awfully peaked," she sneerd, "and as white as a ghost. Wha o you s'pose this slip of papei mounts to?" snapping her bony fin ers contemptuously at the certificate He's deserted you a-ready, I hear? leared out as soon as the first weel f his honeymoon was over. More thai ikely he's got a wife in Canady? here's plenty of slch men a-goinf ow-a-days?you can't take up a newsaper but that you read of 'em. Sun s you're born, Esther, that man ain* our lawful husband." "Oh. don't say such dreadful thing! i> me!" shuddered Esther; "you wll irlve me mad!" "Serves you right!" cried Aunt Deb iclously; "why did you go and run of rom your gran'ther and me, that ha; laved late and early for you eversinci he time your ma died and left you, i nlserable, week-old baby. It's a judg nent, Essie, and you can just take 1 -s slch! And whatever Jim Hart, you >a, will say when he hears how you'vi hrown yourself away on a stranger ^fter all the money he's spent on you lothes and board and eddlcation, 1 or one, don't know!" "Aunt Deb." said Esther, regalnini ler self-possession Instantly, and flash ng lightning upon the old splnste rom her black eyes, "I went awa; vith my husband because I loved him ind believed?yes, knew that he wa vorthv of my love. You are besid< murself when you tell me that I an lot his wife. His mother was dying t was light that he should go to her ind alone. Everything is right"?de lantly. "I would have nothing dlf erent?nothing! I love him, I trus h him as I trust Heaven, and he lovei y me!" Aunt Deb smiled scornfully, e "Maybe, Essie, maybe. I reckoi you're a right-down happy bride, eh!' t "I am unspeakably happy!" crie< e Esther, fiercely. I, Up rose Aunt Deb, sniffing wrath t fully. "Look here, Esther Hart, you're i i precious hypocrite, that's what yoi o are! But you don't deceive me. I cat e read you without spectacles, and youi a Vioort'a a .hnutln' thla VflrV Tttiniltf*! 3 Oh, I wish to mercy your pa woult come home. Have you heard from hln I, lately?" 3' "I received a letter today," acknowle edged Esther, with pale lips, "and deV stroyed it unread." "Gracious goodness! why did you d< that? There may have been news ir It." / "Perhaps. I do not know or care,' cried Esther, wildly. "Tell me about \ my father, Aunt Deb. Is he a gone man? Does any cause exist for me , his daughter, to be ashamed of him 3 or for others to despise him? Whj 1 did he go west? Had he ever?ever? > done anything wrong here?" Aunt Deb stared, r Esther was leaning toward her wit! t pale, parted lips, and an air of fevert Ish eagerness. s "Goodness me!" cried the old woman: "whatever put such notions Ir your head? Jim went west to gll money, as most men go. He nevei 1 did anything wrong that I know of i except to marry a silly chit of sixteer t ?Drusle Runnel, your mother?and at her death leave his young one foi gran'ther and me to bring up. H? 1 come of rich folks in Massachusetts i did Jim. They didn't like his marriagf > with Drusle, and there was trouble We never knew much about it. Jim was mighty close-moutnea regarding his folks; but he was well-born, and he'd been to college. No, Esther Hart, t you've no reason to be ashamed ol your pa. I reckon he's worked hard out ' there In the Colorado silver mines, for he's sent us a good deal of money, first and last?Jim was always generr ous with his money. I don't want tc hear anybody," and Aunt Deb bristled 1 like an indignant hen, "talking against I Jim where I am." s Strange, nameless fears had been > tugging, of late, at Esther's heart. - The relief which she experienced from this speech of Aunt Deb's brought the i tears of relief to her eyes. "Oh, I'm glad?so glad!" she gasped. "I thought somebody at Clnderi vllle had been slandering my father to > ?to? But no matter. Now that > gran'ther if dead, Aunt Deb, what will f you do?" "I'm going to live over on the maln? land," answered Aunt Deb, with decls1 Ion. "I can't abide this Rock any longer. Moreover, there'll be a new > appointment, and I shouldn't be allow ed to stay, anyway. Gran'ther has left a little property?I shall take charge > of It until I hear from your pa. 1 was only a stepdarter, but I ought to r have my share," whining. "You see his i belonging Esther," waving her bony t hand tov. ard the medley of things which she had collected In the kitchen ?articles of clothing, fish-nets, spy - glasses, foreign curiosities of all kinds, for Joe Runnel had been a sailor In his youth. "If you see anything here," ? said Aunt Deb, with great generality, "that you'd like to have for a keepsake, i Esther?a remembrancer of your floor, - drowned gran'ther, you may take It." Esther looked around on the gar ments once worn by the dead?on! odd i shells from tropic islands, lovelyi bits of Chinese handiwork, Ivory an 1 ooi rals, and silver filigree from India What arch-fiend stood behind hjer, tc . prompt the selection which she finally > made? There were the old glasses through which she had watched the , wild sea and the distant tints sd many > times, but she passed them br, and , from the dead man's possession, tdoh . up a small sliver-mounted revolver. ' r "Oh. lor", you don't want tlfct, Esi trier!" cried Aunt Deb. Guy Fleetwood's wife put tile wea, pon quietly in her pocket. "Yes. I do," she answered. I "I; will . keep this to remember gran'th4r by." 3 "Maybe you mean to kill yourself, 11 ? the man you think you've ; married l don't come back to you," said Aunl Deb, suspiciously. "How long be you a-going to stay over there at Clnder, vllle tavern, waiting for him?" ' j Esther blazed up again like a flre? brand. j "A lifetime, if need be!" ? Aunt Deb groaned, t "You always was a headstrong i piece, Esther. Thank the Lord, no mar r ever came coaxing me to run away with him afore I had known him a . week. Too much beauty is worse thar ? none. Now you may as well make ur vour mind to the worst. He's surely got another wife somewhere?perhapi r two or three. I writ to your pa tht trar-ir mnrnlnff nftpr VOII pinned With thf . Canadian, and told him what you hac t done." r "I do not care," answered Esthei . Fleetwood, wearily. "I am no longei under my father's control?I belong . not to him, now?but to my husband c We will talk no more of this matter j Aunt Deb?I cannot bear it!" throw_ ing out her hands with a wild gesture , Aunt Deb wisely relapsed into si. lence. a Esther Fleetwood remained at the t Rock that day and the night following: then she returned to the inn al 3 Cindervllle. j No message had arrived in her absence?no letters. Sick at heart, she , ascended to her lonely chamber. The f sun was setting on the sea. A schoon9 er lay at the old wharf, bathed in 8 B splendor of gold and purple light t Happy voices arose from the beach , The peace and quiet of the scene filled t this forsaken bride with a sort ol r dumb anguish. She flung the silverB mounted revolver, that "remembran. cer" of Gran'ther Joe, which she hac r brought from the Rock, into a drawei r of her old-fashioned bureau. Her las) hope died, and a desperate determina^ tion took possession of her. "I will stay here no longer!" she said r to herself. "Anything is better thar y suspense. I must find him?I musl , know the worst?it is my right. Thb 3 very night I will start for Canada. 1 e will stand race to race wun mm unc? , more. And if he is, indeed, false?il . he has deceived me- if ho has coasct 1 to love me, it will be time for ine t( die!" To Be Continued. 4 'JW Europe has 22,000 newspapers. 9 fftisctllancous Beading] CONTRACT LABOR LAW. * Attorney General Appeals From Jud] Brawley's Decision. The decision of Judge Brawley d< clarlng the act of the legislature, mal 1 lng the breach of a farm labor cot 1 tract a misdemeanor to be invalid is l 1 be submitted to the supreme court < r the United States for a ruling. In the office of the district court t< * day, the necessary papers were file 1 (appealing from Judge Brawley's dec slon and taking the case to the hlghe tribunal. The papers were filed I Attorneys William Henry Parker ar W. St. Julien Jervey, acting for Attoi y uey General Lyon with whom they wei 1 associated in the recent hearing ot tl test cast of Elijah and Enoch Draj ton, in which the court rendered i 1 decision and released the negroes fro: ' custody. A lengthy bill of exceptions, prepai * ed by the attorneys, is filed in tt ' case, setting forth the reasons for tl appeal. The court is held to have ei red in taking the position that the in prisonment of the negroes on the chal 1 gang for violating their contract was violation of the thirteen and foui teenth amendments of the constitutlc of the United States. The view < the court is objected to on the purpoi of the act In question, the bill of e> ceptlons stating that "it is respectfu ly submitted that both the purpoi and effect of the said act Is not to s< cure compulsory service in the paj ment of a debt, but, in the legitimai exercise of the police power of tt state to punish crime in repressir fraud, in the breach of a civil contrac and incidentally thereby to prevent tl commission or sucn crime. ' The court is held to have erred i ' finding- that "there is no essential dii ; tlnction between an act which pena: Izes the breach of a contract for pei sonal service without sufficient ej cuse to be adjudged by the court, an ' the act in question here which penal Izes such breach made 'wilfully an ' without cause' that is fraudulently 1 It is pointed out that there is "an ei sential difference in the eye of the labetween fraud in the making or pre 1 curing of a contract for personal sei ' vice and fraud in the failure to pei 1 form the same." ' "The essence of the South Carolln statute," it is declared, "is the repres sion of the fraudulent practice < breaking contracts of a personal sei 1 vice, of the kind indicated, this is b laborers on farm lands 'wilfully an 1 without just cause' and incidental! only to induce the performance < stipulated service in liquidation of th debt which was the consideration fc the promise." The,court is further held to have ei red in holding that the breach of contract of personal service, even ' dishonest and fraudulent, can not t a crime under the constitution of th ' United States and can-not be realize 1 as such by any state in this Union. Error in judgment is also held in th 1 construction of the court that the thli 1 teenth amendment to the constitutio not only provides that there shall t 'neither slavery nor involuntary servl tude except as punishment for crim< whereof the party shall have been dul convicted,' but also that there sha not be 'involuntary servitude' evenfc crime, If the crime arise from th breach of a contract of personal sei ' vice." In prn"ir>lii?lnn thA hill nf ATAAntlor states that the court "failed to die tingulsh between criminal legislatloi ' directed to the end of securing pay , ment of debt and like legislation fc the purpose of preventing fraud an \ Incidentally inducing the laborer n< , to commit fraud." The case is a very interesting an ! important one and its consideration t the supreme court will be followed wit much concern. The decision of Judg Brawley declaring the state law ur constitutional caused much demora ization of labor conditions on accoui I of the peculiar relations of much < the farm labor to the farmer and muc , pressure has been brought to bear ui I on the attorney general's office I t press the case further and if posslb ! secure a favorable decision to sustal the farm labor law.?Charleston Pos THE HEART'S MECHANISM. Dr. Hugo Kronecker Tolls of Hit Moi Recent Discoveries. | A Paris cablegram published in th New York Times referred briefly I the fact that a paper read by D Hugo Kronecker of Berne, in whic 1 he discussed his experiments on tt r mechanism of the heart, had evoke ( keen Interest among the members < the Academy of Sciences. Dr. Kroi [ ecker, who Is professor of physlolo? | in the University of Berne, and dire* tor of the Institute Mercy, Paris, sei to the New York Times for the ben* . fit of its readers detailed lnformatlo , regarding the results attained by hii and the opinions in connection wit them which he has been led to forn In general Professor Kronecki says the heart is marvelously re9ls ant toward mechanical irrltatioi Hundreds of punctures with a need! may fall to kill it, and, Indeed, puncture of the heart, or prickln | with a needle, was recommended t Stelner In 1871 as a means of restoi Ing the activity of the heart In th syncope (faintness or collapse) pr< ! duced by chloroform. It was showi however, by Doctor KronecKer, i 1884, that there exists a spot in th septum or partition between the ver tricles which, if injured by the mei J puncture of a needle, at once cause ^ a condition of distinct diastole or dilt tation with a widely inco-ordinate quivering contraction of their constb I uent muscular fibres. The creatui whose heart has been thus injure t dies with its ventricles widely dilatei Doctor Kronecker explained th paralysis of the nerves of the heai which follows the localized injur above referred to by supposing tbi 1 In the region of the septum mentlone there exists a nerve centre preslcln | over the innervation of the coronar arteries, and that when this centre 1 Irritated blood vessels of the musct lar walls of the heart become emptie of blood, leading to inco-ordinate ' movements of the latter, which ai analogous to the paralysis of certal groups of skeletal muscles, which ar observed as a result of cerebral ap< piexes IIIVUIVHIB tcuucs picaiuing 1 over the muscles Involved. _ Not only can the arrest of ventricular contraction, with lnco-ordlnated fibrillar quivering, be brought about by Injury of the centre of the septum '* previously referred to, but by moderate cooling or faradlzing of the heart by the plugging of branches of the coronary arteries, or by the action of to certain poisons, such as chloroform. ^ If In any such cases the arteries are again caused to dilate, as by the application of moderate heat, by the actlon of chloral hydrate, or by contlnt' uous electric currents of high tension above 240 volts, the heart again begins to nulsate. ^ In the researches which formed the basis of his recent communication to r~ the Academy of Sciences Doctor re Kronecker applied ligatures to the ie coronary arteries supplying both ventrlcles or one. He found that the llgature of the left coronary artery. m which supplies the left ventricle, causes anaemia of this ventricle, which r" passes into the condition of qulverie ing dilation, and which usually is 16 shared by the right ventricle. On p" passing a continuous current of 240 l" volts through the ventricles during a ln brief period the right ventricle rea commences to beat, but never the left. r" Doctor Kronecker concludes from m all his observations that acute anaeif JL mia (bloodlessness) is the essential ,e cause of the fibrillar quivering (flimc" mern) of the heart, and that all the causes which have been enumerated ** as leading to this quivering act. by bringing about this ventricular anaem la te Further, he considers that his oble servations Indicate that the two ventricles are not Inseparably connected in their action, but that they are un>e der the influence of co-ordinated nerve-plexuses which may be sepan rately paralyzed by partial anamle. '* In connection with these physlologleal experiments are to be cited the ** cases of disease of the heart (only rarely put on record) in which one ld ventricle pulsates and the other does not, or in which the normal simultad neous rhythm of the two ventricles is " greatly disturbed. They also afford '* an explanation of the fact that curw rents of extremely high tension which have been employed in judicial executions often have failed to kill, or, '* at any rate, often killed tardily, while slight contact with wires or cables a conveying currents at a much lower potential often have caused death instantaneously. V MOSLEM ETIQUETTE. d y One Must Always Be In Good Humor >f and Talk Pleasant Things. >e Here are some interesting Mussulx* man injunctions of conviviality, says the London Lancet. The hotaor of belng served first belongs to the Invited & guest who is in possession of any high K title or who was in any way or sphere '0 distinguished himself. It the host hlmself is the oldest in the company or has *d any high decoration of merit -be must first begin the meal without delay, in 10 oraer not to iei uie uuicia uuuui/ wait. It shews bad upbringing to be n In a melancholy mood at table or to * speak of disagreeable things or to engage In Inappropriate discussions on e- matters of religious piety. Foremost y of all, one must always be In good hull mor and talk of pleasant things, as . >r did the Prophet himself. ie You must always help yourself from > the side of the dish nearest to you and never try to And out the best bits, is which ought to be left for the other i- guests. If one of the invited has not a, much appetite, you must ask him up r- to three times to partake of the meals. >r A longer insistence would cause ennui id and would be most Inappropriate. You >t must never stop eating before others, because In doing so you will embarrass id them and cause them to finish quickly ly in Imitating you. :h Never eat gluttonously, but also re never attempt to conceal your good l- appetite. Always eat little by little. 1- Exaggerated compliments are always it misplaced. The host's duty Is to make >f his guests feel as comfortable as pos;h slble, encourage the timid and shy. It >. Is contrary to good taste to address to and to fix the attention of a guest le when he Is eating. Even If the host In Is not accustomed to eat much, he it. must always try not to finish before others. Should any dish be forbidden him by his medical attendant, lie certainly must not partake of It, but must, at the same time, excuse hfmself before his guests. It Is absolutely necessary to avoid Ie every movement or gesture which Is to apt to create disgust. h TO AVOID A MAD DOG. 1(j He Will Attack No One Who Does Not >f Bar His Way. 1. Mad dogs do not attack people. This ^ Is the statement made by Dr. P. M. Hall, city health commissioner, says lt the Minneapolis Journal: ?_ "When a dog has the rabies," said ,n Doctor Hall, "he has lost control of his body and what he does Is mechanh leal. His Jaws snap Involuntarily, and n If he encounters any object, whether ,r animate or Inanimate, he is likely to bite it. But a mad dog does not at^ tack as does an angry dog. He does ie not pick out a victim and use any a strategy. ,g "For this reason dogs suffering from rabies are less dangerous than Is supr posed. No grown person need fear >? them, for all he has to do is to get >. out of the way. The dog will not i, chase htm. Of course, young chlln dren are in danger, as they do not ie know how to dodge the brute. A well i- directed kick In the Jaw delivered by e a man of ordinary strength will put js a mad dog out of business for a time, l- at least, and is much easier to land d than It would be If the dog were meret ly angry and had control of himself, -e "Most mad dog panics are false d alarms. Doctor Ohage, of St. Paul, J. told me of one case which Is typical, ie A dog was taken by his owner Into a rt large department store. They became y separated and the dog, as a good dog. it should, began to run about In search id of his master. Some one raised the 8 cry of 'mad dog' and there was a pan y 1c. The dog was as badly scared as Is any one else, and tried to get away, i- A policeman tried to stop him, and I(* the dog very properly bit the pollced man In self-defense. e "That dog was perfectly well, and, in according to his reasoning powers, acted In a rational manner. Yet the "e affair was magnified Into another mad )- dog scare."