Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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FOECED APART By W. CLARK RUSSELL. Avlhor.of the "Wreck of the Grosrenor,'1 "A Sailor's Sweetheart," Etc. CHAPTER IT. BREAKFAST TIME. . Out of his bed rose Cuthbert, to the tune of the school bell, swung by the man who cleaned the boots and thrived on pocket money errands to the destruction of youthful digestions. His own mild hint yesterdaj-, by which he had hoped to put his father off from.grappling questions, had stirred him into perception of . new sympathies in his nature, \1ith thoughts of his wife, and tho secret to be divulged be fore another night should come, had mingled impulses of freedom, a yearning for the shows and struggles of an outer world, and n placid weariness of spirit, whon the school room rose in his eyes, with tho tasks to be set and the ignordhce to be corrected. His resolution to proclaim his secret was a quickening spirit in the soil of his mind, germinating seeds there which he himself knew not of. "Why need I fear my father's angerf he thought, as he threw open his bedroom win \dow, and stood in a stream of sweet warm wind, fresh from the blue water; "I have served him dutifully, nnd will yet justify all his fine thoughts of his calling by sticking to it, if he will lovo Jenny, and bear with me for marrying her. If not, tho world is big enough to find mo werk, surely! What I am fitted for shall not troublo me; but what I can get to do, Til do." This honest soliloquy dose, he betook him self to dressing. Never a looking glass gave back a hand somer face than that hit*> which ho glanced. Such a picture of dark auburn hair, white brow and blue eyes, bright with mind, as would sot a heartless beauty dreaming like a faithful sweetheart And now for tho day's dry work, tho first stage of which was the meeting of tho boys in the schoolroom, to await, amid crackling of yawns and restless shuffling of feet, the arrival of Dr. Shaw in that academic gown of his, which ho donned only to read tho morning prayers in or to birch a boy. Between prayer time and breakfast t?r e there was a half hour, to employ which profitably to his spirits, that stood sorely in need of regen arating influences, and also to escape his father's eyes, tho twist of which, whon they all goj; off their knees, he did not relish, Cuthbert went into the fields before tho home; and so, through "tho glorifying sunshine and tho narrow footway in the barley, down to tho short grass of tho cliff edge, on the swell of which ho stood within a fathom of the sheer fall. A scene of summer beauty and morning splendor was this he overlooked. But Cuthbert was toiling with a giant iu his mind, or d nature was. only blue and green to him; for there is nothing dainty to a troubled miud but ease, and this our young friend could not get, neither by sitting nor by standing. But no use standing moodily conjecturing troublo. So back again to tho school houso through the crops, which went whispering to the passage o::' tho wind, as though they had snatched a secret from it 1 To tho ushers?this old-fashioned term ? is very meaning?was conceded the privilege of breakfasting with the boys. But Cuth bert would, have been glad to exchange places with nay one of them that morning, bo little fancy had he for a tote-a-teto with bis fathor. . wIt mas his fluty, however, to bo in the room when the boys assembled, and observe that grace was duly said by one of the masters, and deliver tie order for the boys to fall to. Under tho dock he stood, punctual to the hour, and in a hungry swarm tho boys tumbled in. Graco having been said by a bachelor of arts, and the order to begin given, out sprang forty- hands from undor tho tables, and the pyramids lost their form and substance. Then" Master Cuthbert, with a pleasant smilo around him, loft the room. Old Dr. Shaw, with Ids legs crossed, and showing no prodigy of calf, bent an eye upon his son as he entered tho room that seemed to twist round and round into him. Cuthbert took a chair and waited, with his father, for the servant to bring in tho ham and teapot Until theso things woro forthcoming tho doctor held his tongue. Then, wheeling round, cup in hand and tho saucer poised on thumb and forefinger, after on old-fashioned habit of drinking tea, he looked hard at Cuthbert "I have no right yet, I suppose," said ho, in a level voice, "to ask you to explain your mysterious hints of yesterday?" "It was understood, sir, that I should have a day or two for reflection." "For reflection on what?" demanded the doctor, sharply. "In asking that, you ask all, father." ?All!" Tho doctor uttered tho exclamation with a most embracing emphasis. Cuthbert made no answer. "I should be glad to have my doubts set at rest," continued tho doctor, with a gloomy nod of the head, intended to servo as a chal lenge. Still no reply from Cuthbert "Indeed!" exclaimed Dr. Shaw, with a great deal of the schoolmaster in his face and a flourish of the saucer, "I have a right to demand an answer from you." "So you have, sir, unquestionably." "Thon give me, in a fow words, the mean ing of this change in your behavior." "A few words will convey nothing." "Then," shouted tho doctor, "be elaborate. Give me prolixity if you will, so that you ex plain." I "Pray, sit-, moderate your impatience. I pledge myself to be open with you shortly." jj?Dr. Shaw grew rod in th9 face, and de Bositod his cup nnd saucer, that lie might gesticulate unconstrained ly. uWhtU,n said ho, subduing tho passion in his voice, "what I desire to know, is this matter?in your miud, that is?not yet ripe for confession P "I have promised to tell you." "When, Fir?" "Possibly to-morrow." "So, sir, it is a secret ?" said the doctor, with his eyes full of exasperation. "So you will have it," replied Cuthbert. scarcely.smotheriiig a smile. This was stubbornness dreadfully mortify ing to the doctor. But, in any case, the l>est compromise to justify present anxiety and preserve his dignity in the future, was a dark brow and n chilly demeanor. These were not hard to come at and under their shadow breakfast ended. CHAPTEli V. IMPRESSED. Cuthbert might well be thankful that there would be no need for him to moot his father again that day in privacy unless sum moned. It was not quite clear to himself why he should choose to make his'and Jenny's secret known to old Strangfleld before he spoke to his father; but men in mental straits yield often to inclination without much inquiry; and that his father, to his way of thinking, was, of tlie two doses to Us swallowed, tho I more ill-favored for his honesty to gulp at, j was the only reason he could have given i you for carrying his bit of nows to Strang i field first. J Into the .school room he went, wftti his j nervous brooding and face of unpeacefnl I thought, and mounted his stool, loathing the j pantomime of his actions. I At ten o'clock, with the punctuality that Invites av*e, entered Dr. Shaw; up rose the forms and the desks to salute this head, as wigs in the law courts spring into a flourish of vegetation when "my lord" comes rustling to the judgment seat "With a short bow? for pomp is difficult to five foot six of stock ing and tail, though swelling with frill?the doctor took his seat, and with a smart rap on his desk summoned tho Grecians to their I labors. Noon was the hour for a frisk in the play i ground To escape his father, Cuthbort joined the boys, but had no heart to mingle in their sports, though invited by some of the elder ! lads. The English master, a cautions, reddish haired son of tho Borderlani, but of speech untainted by Eisjp, unhaunted by Runic germs, came to him with a trim politeness of air and extolled the sky. ?Sir," said the English master, clapping some book under his arm, "this is weather to make boys fat with pleasure." Cuthbert smiled. "When I was a lad I ran most nimbly when the sun was hottest. It must please your father's son, Mr. CuthWt, to see these boys I so hearty an-1 spirited." "No doubt, lie is pleased," rejoined Cuth bert, listlessly. "You will observe, sir, that health is a larger condition in tho eyes of parents than education." "It should be so." "One should bo a boy to lead boys, Mr. Cuthbert" "Sometime* one gets tired of boys, though." "It is plain, Mr. Shaw, that you And this business of teaching boys irksome." "I need not deny it," replica Cuthbort, can didly, with a glance round the playground. "But?pray pardon my freedom?you nro a younger man than I, of bright promise, Mr. fihaw?forgive me?and ardent, as I may fairly presume from your abilities. I some time* respectfully wender that your father does not give scope to your ambitions, and deliver you, with such opportunities as hl< position warrants, to th i world you could not fail to grace." "Ah, Mr. Saunderson, there is much to wonder at," replied Cuthbert. gently. "Tim ? squares everything, if we luivo patience for the rou**?ie of phases. There is the lltrl< baroneterj-ing?who has been bullying hlnif ?with which excuso be left tho Engli-li master. So tho day wore away and the evening came, end when tho boys had trooped to tlie dormitories Cuthbert weut to his room tc prepare his mind and person for the lx'gin ning of a difficulty. He had no acquaint ance with Mr. Strangfield, but knew hin: wpII by sight, of course, as Jenny's father, add by hearsay as a mule of a man in preju dice, rancorous as a moslom in his mannor of belief, and with those disdains of blood prece dence and factitious rights which tilled th< pot-houses of tho time with eloquence, and gave a strut to tho low man's stride. So, as a tacticinn should who knows that big ends are often compassed by small provisions. CntMbert dressed himself in his sobered npparcl?a well-worn monkey jacket nn ! dark small clothes?resolved, at least, with true world cunning, that tho hard-eyed Bap tist should find nothing foppish in his dress to smell rankly to prepare prejudice. Then, with his lips twitching to the strength of his silent arguments, our hero wont lightly down the staircase, and softly passed his father's study, and out by the house door. He bad hoped to get away unseen; but lo! in front of tho garden gate stood Mr. Saunderson, smoking a pipe and contemplat ively enjoying the strong evening breeze. The twilight was small, and the moon red dening behind the glowing foreland lamp, Had Cuthbert chosen to walk on Mr. Saunderson wuuld not have recognized him; but in his embarrassment ho must needs stop and speak, whereat the master whipped his pipe out of his mouth and stared cere moniously. "A fresh evening, Mr. Saunderson. Pray continue, to smoke." "It is, I may truly say, my only Indul gence," replied Mr. Saunderson, giving his pipe a loving snake. "There is less chance of I my being observed here by the boys, than I wero I to light my pipe at the back of the j house. You nro going for a stroll, sir." "Ay; one cannot do without exercise." And with a nod Cuthbert went on his way. Mr. Saunderson looked after bim earnestly, j and when the young fellow had vanished in tho folding shadows, shook bis head and be took himself to his pipe again, sucking strongly. Mr. Strangfleld's house was a long twenty minutes' walk from Groystone school, step ping it briskly; but even if the dust, when the curve was compassed, that drove fu'l in his face had proved no hindrance to Cuthliert, tho obnoxiousnoss of his mission, and the thoughts that it bred tweaking savagely at his nerves, would account for tho froqucnt drag of his pace. He had passed his trysting-place, and had turned the ell>ow of tho road which laid the town broad under hia eye,when the sounds of men's voices came up with the wind, and. in a few moments, be perceived a crowd of per sons approaching him. Tho moon, stooping clear of a pillow-shaped cloud, threw out a full radiance, by which ho saw that the crowd j was ti company of sailors?some ten of them at least?and that they walked in two gangs, one on either side throe men, who strode abreast with heads dejectedly hung and t^ir hands pinioned behind them. "Deserters," thought Cuthbort stepping aside. "Stand!" sboutcd a youthful vojee, -in tho king's name! Thompson, her? is a toe-and j heeler for us. He'll make the complement, j and no more sweethearts to bru.\k our heads j with frying pans." Tho word "Stand f* thWjSk Tory forpibly i Jelivered, produced no epfec on Cuthbert, i ivuo could scarcely Credit, indeed, that it j was meant for him; and ho v??s passing on j when a young man In a cloak stepped in ! front of him. "Now, my bantam, turn about! You're 1 wanted." ! uDo you address mef exclaimed Cuthbert j so much amazed that he looked behind him, half persuaded that there must be somo one i tlu re for whom the accost was intended, j "You or the man in tho moon, nry hearty: whoever is the nearest." "Suffer in" to pass you, sir." "N<>w, this is t->o bad," cried the young fel : low, in u ;:io.-k voice of consolation. "Oaths ! we are used to, but politeness in a son of a I quid is Hi for nothing 1 ut to get lush on tick j with. Stand. 1 tell you: Damn it, don't y?m imdi-i>t?ii(l king's English!" for Cuth ! tin ! was pushing past. ! "Mate way for me. You are overstepping ] your I'tity, or tailoring under an error." j ?. sy. we always do that Thompson, : j.- ? ' ??: n -!r? r \>- ] ort We'll argue as we i .'? I ushy-whiskered fellow approached ; Cu'i !??!who sprang back ? yard before the ? otitstr-!--hed arm. j "Touch me at your peril!'- he uhoutvd. j '*Cometcome, takeIt <50oUv,man, AHtho nrguftration in the world H do no good, xne MT-.: ??? wants ye, so give us j-our hand upon ft P" With a bound the bushy-whiskered man ;-ra-p->d Cuthbert's arm. 'lhe thre-j pinioned men looked on with a dull interest: tho sailors turned their tobacco junks unconcernedly, glancing back at the town or tip at the moon, muttering over the wet pull before them. Cuthbert had one of those nervous systems which, in a fury, make steel of the hand and steam engines of the muscles. His white fist sped, like a .snow flake on a rush of wind, right into the bend of the man Thompson's brow, and a pigtail wriggled hi the dust, and a pair of boots tried to hit tho moon. A pigtail wriggled in the dust Now, having done this, hnd he used his hoots, ho would have saved himself, for he was cf tho build for swift running; whereas sailors are bad runners, though do cent dancers. But his chivalrous courage, not disdaining flight, for tho honorable reason that it never thought of flight, held him rooted, with nostrils quivering and gleaming eyes. Thompson of tho bushy whiskers, gathered himself off tho road, and rubbing the bridge of his nose, looked with a cast in his ovo at tho gentleman hi tho cloak. "Wowtntuo bloodshed," exclaimed that worthy. "Thompson, Jenkins, hero, three r.i you ma ;o his hands fast and bring him along." This was an order not to be disobeyed under pain of a whipping; willing backs must not bo bloodily plowod for boyish obstinacy. So thoy went with a rush; the dust soared in a cloud as from under tho neels of a flying horse. It was a wild fight, a mad resist ance, with tho hardhitting which tho ago of Mendoza and the slogstor Crabbo made free with. But a sudden blow must end the unfair contest Down wont Cuthbert liko a snuff seller's Scotchman under tho lurch of a drunken man. In a moment his hands were bound; but his legs declining to exert them selves, he was hoisted on to the shoulders of a couple of stout seamen and the party pro ceeded smartly up the lull toward the gorge that led to the sea. CHAPTER VI. TnE STIUNOEIELDS. Hard Ly an open space of yard, rudely railed, stood a house of wood; n fair-sized house, and strong as an oak-built hull Tho yard that adjoined this houso was a shipwright's yard, and often as tho tar cal dron belched its smoky stench in the midst of it, the fumes could never kill tho sweet flavored smells that filled the uir around from tho white deals and shavings of tho pine, and tho blocks of red-hearted oak and- teak from India. And now even at this stagnant season, when the Frenchman's and the Yankee's Jovo of small sweet pickings was so voracious, ? that the art of the British coasting trade was j n plucky coquetting with wind and haven, I even now in this yard wore the skeletons of I two vessels?a lugger and a schooner?to l?o ; finished, equipped, and afloat by August, 1 under th? signed contract of Michael Strang- J field, who wanted.neither pen nor witness to . make his word binding. On this evening of Cuthbert's impressment the master shipwright sat in the parlor of his Wooden home, filling the room with the mist ; of navy tobacco. In this matter of the pipe 1 his flesh was weak. Mr. 'Strangfield sat in a high-backed arm- | chair ner-r the table, and opposite to him was his wife. Both of them were busy; the ono with his Tiipo and a design on paper of tho hull of the schooner?a -skeleton yet in the yard?and J the other with knitting needles. On tho table, at Mr. Strangfleld's elbow, J was a big horn Bible. "I belfeve," said he, hi a slow, hard voice, ! withdrawing his pipe, and speaking slightly through his nose to retain the flavor of tho j tobacco, "that the lines here laid down bo those that'll give Mr. Wainwright the speed he looks for." He eyed the paper earnestly. And as ho said this ho laid down the draw ing, and looked at his wife through a pair of thick-rimmed spectacles. The siiectaCiCS of those days were disfigure ments, r-s all persou* know who are familiar with old prints and paintings. But neither the irresistible enlargement of Mr. Stilingfield's eyes, nor the goblin circles through which they*surveyed Mrs. Strang field, could deform tho stern und worn beauty of his countenance. Fifty-live his age was, and ten years added would still have left his days behind his faco ?duo to a half-weary expression of nsceti oism, and the puckering of mi over-hanging brow, and an acidulated droop of the under lip. His dark hair, well laced with white, hung in decent profusion over the white cel lar of IiIk coat, and bis attiro wns gray, coarse stockings, stout broadcloth, furnished with dingy metal buttons, and square-toed boots, with soles thick enough to warrant him ro skulker. "H the mjou wasn't so clean I should al low thero was a galo of wind in tho sound of the sea." Ho yawned loudly. "Wife, I've smoked enough, and enough is contentment to a thankful heart." He roso to place his pipe on the mantel shelf, and reared a figure that brought his head close to tho low ceiling. "Jenny is in her bedroom, and there she sits and sits. What ails tho girl? Hast thee noticed her, Michael?" said Mrs. Strangfield, who, though she put her questions with a touch of fretfulness in her voice, went on knitting very placidly. This was a woman to bo admired for In pretty hands, soft eyes, and rich brown hair neatly smoothed beneath a full cap. Otherwise, her face disarmed criticism by its vacant, good-natured and cheerful in sipidity. Strangfield turned to look at her, und re sinned Iiis chair. "You have seen me watch her," said be. "Why, therefore, do you say, 'Hast thoc noticed hor, Michael?* You are apt to speak without care, wife. Your lips go one way and your mind another." "Well, well, I havo my faults." "Truly you havo, my dear."1 "As gospel says, 'Who is without sin? Un loss it's theo, Michael; and that one should know by your readiness to cast stones." Mr. Strangneid frowned, but was wise enough to hold his peace. "What ails .Tonny, then?" continued tho mother. "You should know. You be a man of long sight J never could hide a secret from thee." Mr. Strangfield snt for a space behind his spectacles., pondering, while his wife laid down her needles to pass her hand over her hair. "What should be the matter with her?" de manded Mr. Strangfield, presently. "Her health is sound?" "I hope so!" cried Mrs. Strangfield, ner vously. "No one has been meddling with her heart, to my knowledge." "Meddle! Certainly not Should I not know?" "Unless," continued Mr. Strangfield, "she be fallen into that state against which the Apostlo warned the Corinthian damsels, put ting it in" this way?that the unmanned woman careth for the things of the Lord; which wjis, doubtless, a true thing to say of those ancient people, but will not hold now." Mrs. ?Strangflold shook her head softly. "If she had a sweetheart she would tell me," said sho, looking rather vaguely, how ever, at her husband, as a woman, might whose conscience does not place her perfectly at ease. "I could not imagine that sho would not," said the husband, sternly. "As to Mrs. Mead's gossip, it's idler than the wind Being known to her somehow," continued Mrs. Strangfield, who was not very easily repressed, and who, when sho had a point to get at, always traveled to it along tho most roundabout paths?"for che chit will not explain how their acquaintance be gan?is it not proper that Mr. Shaw, who is a born gentleman and knows mnnners, should take off Iiis hat to her and pass a pleasant word when they meet? Now, through some blockhead neighbor, Mother Mend hears of their talking on tho beach, whither Jenny had gone for shells for a pin cushion. And to me she comes with a wise tossing of tho nose. But, says I, 'Ma'am, I am my daugh ter's niolhcr, and what concerns mo shall be my proper trouble, under Providence, that our neighbors may have full timo for their own affairs.' That was well said Michael, dost thee not think?" "Let Mrs. Mead bewaro how she meddle with Jenny's namo! But there should be no cause, neither for her nor any other gossip, to talk." "Cause!" cried Mrs. Strangfield, opening her mild eyes, with a littlo toss of the knit ting noodles. "A pretty pass, truly, if Mr. Shaw cannot pull oft" his hat to Jenny, and praiso the weather, without his politeness be ing called a cause. A cause to set Mrs. Mead's tonguo going.' You need not stand ou your head to do that" "I'll not have Mr. Shaw's name chimed with my wench's,"- exclaimed Strangfield. "Beelzebub himself is not harder on us than the doctor up at the schoolhouse." "Dear heart alive, j know naught of Mr. Shaw," exclaimed Mrs. Strangfield, with a corner glance at her husband. "If Jenny lias set him gaping, his mouth is not tho only one her beauty has opened. I like to look at his hnnd6ome face in the street when I meet him, and his eyes never were matched for tho blue of them. These are the Lord's doings, and a woman may admire the works of creation, I hope. But Jenny would not make a sweet heart of him without opening her heart to mo." "What does Jenny do in her bedroom nil these tioursf" said ho. "These mopings have come upon her since her return from Syden bam. Did sho leave hor heart behind her there?1;! . . 'jJTow, how you talk! "Were that so, would not Rachel have written/"' "Jane, Jane, I do not liko thy habit of flee ing. It is an old taint of saueiness." "I'll go and call Jenny, and she shall argue with theo herself," said Mrs. Strangfield, quite unruffled by her husband's reprimand. She put down her knitting, and leisurely rising, with a pretty waddle left the room. Up the staircase. ?Wide enough for a big house, .sho went, and, with a smart turn of the door haudlo, entered a bedroom. Hero all was dark, until a few moments' gazing exposed Jenny's figure seated at tho window, with the windy moonlight streaming upon hor and the summer gale tossing her hair. "Jenny, Jenny!'' exclaimed Mrs. Strang flold, advancing quickly, "what sickness art thou courting at that open window, foolish child.'?letting the cold wind fill your bones! Come away from the draught, nnd shut tho window. Father wants thee down stairs." I "It is past nine, mother. "What does father want? I liko this cool wind, and tho stars : arc pretty to watch*, running among the ! clouds." "Father does not understand your moping. > Here have you l>een sitting for nbovo im hour. We have been talking about thee, and I ho has some questions to ask." j "What questions?" exclaimed the girl, quickly. "Let me stay here, mother. It will j be time for bed soon. "What questions ha3 j Cathc-r to ask/"' "Why, you speak as if you wero scared! . Jenny, if you would fly in tho face of tho i Lord, tho way to do it is to flout thy mother, j What ails you? A dozen times I have asked, J and you say nothing nils you. Are you not j well? Is thero somo secret to trouble you? j Are you wear}'of home? Come down, come , down, and open your heart to your parents." ! And saj'ing this she took Jenny's hand, but I finding it cold as stone, cried out, "See, now, i if this wind will not put thee in a sick bed!" I Aud in a littlo passion of nnxiety nnd nnnoy I ance, she closed the window sharply. Tho sweet and faithful heart, bidden to I watch for her husband'? coming, felt tho ; closing of the window to bo the true ending j of her hopes and fears for that night. It ! was a repriove that left deep yearning and . ; faint beartcdness nnd sorrowful wonder. J Never had he failed her before. It could not be feartliat made him shirk the interview he I had himself planned; neither fear of ln.-r j father, nor want of passionate love for her. With (;nrs straining to catch at every sound, she gazed through the closed window at th<j ! vision of dancing lights without, and tho \ I flare of the moon sweeping beyond the clouds and silvering the tossing tops of the j bay trees. "What questions ha? father to ask, ! mother?" 1 "Why, what these mopes signify. Re j doubts if you brought your heart back with j you from Sydenham. But / say i't was ! your spirits you left there." "Mother, let me lw here. I am low in ; spirits to-night. Father would easily make ! me cry, nnd what would he think to see me ! in tears?" "Jenny, just tell me this, then, that T may oswer him when I go downstairs?hath Mr. haw talked soft things to thee? Come, I come, speak up, my child. Surely, I need ? not lie angry, if your beauty has pleased I him, and be has saddened you with foolish j fancies. Is that it.' We will make you smile again when we know what troubles you, ; sweetheart!" "Why do yon say 1 mop.- and. am low hearted, mother? Is not my laugh merry? ; Am I not a cheerful help to yon in the Mise? I One cannot always be glad. The noise of the sea, nnd tho cry of the wind to-night, and the struggling of the sweet moon with the clouds have?have?" Sho faltered, and con tinued, in a voice a* soft as a flute's?"Some times one has pleasant sorrows which one likes to nurse. There is no reason that 1 should mope. I can feel very happy. Ah, dear Lord! would that he had como and saved me from another day of fear!" And breaking out thus, sho threw her head upon her mother's breast and cried. But Jenny wept rarely?at least, in her mother's sight; therefore, the honest l?osom on which hor faco was hidden was rent by the unaccustomed sobs, and anxious, plain tive sympathy spoke in-the poor woman's voice, as she exclaimed, with her pretty fingers tenderly kneading tho girl's rich hair: '?Oh, my child, my dearie! you will break my heart with your misery! What is your fear? Has any one wronged you? Kind Lord, what trouble is this that Jjath como upon you? Jenny, Jenny, raise up your eyes?see how bright tho moon shines in the room; it makes thy hair like yellow silk Oh, my pretty lamb, who is he that hath not come? and what is thy fear, Jenny?" Now, the door of the bedroom and the door of tho parlor both standing open, and the staircase measuring but a small space be twixt the low floor and the jjassago, it was scarcely possible that Mr. Strangfield, sitting in expectation of his daughter's arrival, should fail to catch his wife's words. When, therefore, in her clear, pained voice, sho cried, "Who is he that hath not come?" and "What is thy fear, Jenny?" up roso tho mas ter shipwright, nnd tho staircase groaned under his boots. Jenny, hearing him coming, drew away from her mother with a quick movement of terror, nnd backed through the glare of moonbght into the shadow near the bedstead. "Wife," exclaimed Strangfield, in his strong voice, "how Is it that Jenny does not como to me?" " To which no reply was vouchsafed. Ho advanced by a stride and said, "What has tho girl been saying, and what is her fear? Jenny, come forth. I can see you standing there. Give me thy hand, foolish wench, and now down stnirs with us all. If thero lw aught to fear, pray that the Lord may deliver us from evil." So speaking, Ire held forth his hand, nnd the shrinking girl, not dnring to disobey, came to him fearfully and dropped fingers of ice into his palm. As they went down the stairs there was a lifetime of suffering in Jenny's thoughts. For what now was she to do? Must she con fess under the crushing gaze of her father's eyes? Beyond her strength of voice, beyond control of passionate weeping, would, the confession take her. Cuthbert would be hero nnon?to-morrow, surely?and shift the heavy load of her secret upon himse'f. And with him nt hnnd those stern oyes would not be terrifying, nor the anger unbearable. "Now, my girl," said he, h? voice insen sibly softening under the beaut}- of hb only child, "speak boldly, and acknowledge tho trouble that has come to j-ou. I will toll you," laying a forefinger on his thumb, "when this habit of moping first became vis ible to me; that was a full month before wo sent you to your nunt Rachel. That visit did not improve theo, but, on tho contrary, has made thee worse. Now you have your date, and so you shall not bo at a loss for the reason. Tho girl tried to meet her father's eyes, whereof the severity appeared intensified by the spectnelo rings that concentrated their forces of fire and feeling; but to stand to them hardily wus an impossible feat; hor gaze went downward, and in a scarcely uu diblo tone sho replied: "I do not mope, father; sometimes I liko to be alone." "Bo honest, wench, lw honest!" exclaimed Strangfield, harshly. "What was the mean ing of those words your mother was repeat ing just now?" "Jenny, they were, 1 Would that he had cotne and saved me from another day of fear."" whispered Mrs. Strangfield. "Havo no fear, my pretty. Thy father is stern, but ho loves theo." "Jenny, will you ansiccrme or notf" The girl refused to speak. Then Mr. Strangfield repeated his question, and her hps turned pale, as under tho pressure and torment of a thousand words which they would not part to deliver, and one most tear ful, wildered, pleading look she cast around. Her father watched her steadily, and with nn ever-deepening shadow on his face. Her want of speech was want of honesty, ho thought, and his mouth took a sullen curve. "Jane, speak to her. She may answer thee." "I have questioned her, Michael. Jenny, Jenny, answer thy father, dear heart, Tell him thy trouble!" ami sho snatched at her breast with both hands, crying: "Oh, Michael, what has come to our child?" "Jenny, will you answer me or not?" "Father, you shull \*> answered, but not by me." ? Who is he that should have come and tavrd you from another day of fear?" "(.'h, father," cried the poor girl, clasping her hands, "have pif.y on mo?do not ques tion me now." "Not question you!" returned Strangfield, in an inexorable tone. "Not question you 1 What has happened to you, that you nre not to l?e questioned by your father?" Sho shook her bond and sighed, with a low moan in her sigh. Ah, that she had the courage to speak the truth now, and intrep idly make herself known! But it was her husband that should speak for her, and ho would be hero to-morrow surely! Oh, she might be sure. "Child," he cried, iu a grating voice, "I have asked you for tho truth. Have it I will, if it cost thee and mo our lives!" To say which, and in his bitter energy, he jerked his body forward, whereat tho girl shrieked and became hysterical. "Oh, mother! Oh, mother! what would he do to me? Oh, mother! Oh, mother! save mo from hi in!" and with wild alternate sobbing and laughter she backed away from tho table, until she felt Ler mother's arms about her, when she fainted, ns a person dies, with horrid suddenness. (TD UK COXTINTK!.?.) Win. M. Johnson, ;i colored preacher, at Stoko's Bridge, Darlington, was sent to jail Saturday, charged with digging into ;i smoke-house and stealing hams. S?L ALTGHjTEE ? THIS MONTH II FINE DRESS GOODS, The critical time in the Dress Goods trade of the season has arrived and HENRY KOHN will not delay the usual CUT Which he makes in the prices of his .Spring Dress Goods Stock in order to close them out! Those who desire to get the most for their MONEY m always respond to my notice of "OUT PRICES." Cashmeres, Plaids, Albertross, French RaZCs, Mikado Suitings and Tricot ClotliS, have been reduced fully 2.1 per cent, to re duce'the stock. Fine White Embroidered Robes in boxes from g:J.50,S2.7." and?."., these prices are one half of former price SHOES. ""HENRY KOI INS new Shoes and Slip pers, the best and cheadest stock ever offer ed in the City. NO SHODDY SHOES! NO TRASH SHOES : II EN It Y KOHN'S stock of Ribbons and Laces, is beyond comparison, the largest ami cheapest assortment in the City. RIGS, MATTINGS AND SHADES. Shade and patent rollere complete 7."?cents. Cents reinforced Shirts, linen fronts ?u cents. No use in talking, HENRY KOHN leads in the Clothing trade for Men, Roys and Children, be sine and look when you want a suit of Clothing. Thousands of Uargains-in Corsets, Fans, Domestics, Cassimiers, &c., limited space forbids the mention of. IT ?'1>ST* rvOTail.?K'TO IjOOK. It will save you money to do so. HENRY KOHN, LEADER OF LOW PRICES.