Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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fe a ,/KDND EPUODE (N Hi£ LIFE OF AMELIA I , JO ANNA KATHAPINE CPEEN^r . AUTHOt? CF’THf L«VWU08TH CA/l* BEHIND CUVED DCXX2T NEXT DOCtt* «»ODPrBlCHT. 1897. BT ANNA K. POHIW — CHAPTER XV. ▲ PAET»a. It was not till Mr. Trohm had driven away that I noticed in the shadow of the trees on the opposite side of the road a horse tied up, whose empty sad dle spoke of a visitor within. At any other gate and on any other road this would not have struck me as w T ortby of notice, much less comment. Bnt here and after all that I had heard during this eventful morning the circumstance was so unexpected I could not help feel ing astonishment and showing it “A visitor?” I asked. “Some one to see Lucetta. ” William bad no sooner said this than I saw he w r as in a state of high excite ment. He had probably been in this condition when we drove up, but not having my attention directed to him ] had not noticed it. Now, however, it was perfectly plain to me, and it did not seem quite the excitement of dis pleasure, though hardly that of joy. “She doesn’t expect you yet,” he went on to remark as I turned sharply toward the house, “and if you interrupt her— D—u it, if I thought you would interrupt her”— I thought it time to teach him a les son in manners. "Mr. Knollys,” I interposed some what severely, “I am a lady. Wh} should I interrupt your sister or give her or you a moment of pain?” “I don't know, ’’ he muttered. “You are so very quick I was afraid you might think it necessary to join her in the par lor. She is perfectly able to take care of herself, Miss Butterworth, and will do it. I’m afraid”— The rest was lost in indistinct guttural sounds. , I made no effort to answer this tirade. t took tny usual course in quite my usual way to the front steps and went up them without so much as looking behind me to see whether or not this uncouth repre sentative of the Knollys name had kept at my heels or not. Entering the door, which was open, I came without any effort on my pari upon Lucetta and—a young gentleman. They were standing together in the middle of the hall and were so absorbed in what they w T ere saying that they neither saw nor heard me. I was there fore enabled to catch one or two sen tences which struck me as of some mo ment. The first one was uttered by her and was very pleadingly said: “A week—1 only ask a week. Then I can give you au answer which perhaps will satisfy you.” His reply, in manner if not in mat ter, proclaimed him the lover of whom I had so lately heard. “I cannot, dear girl; indeed I tau- not. My whole future depends upon my making today that move in which I have asked you to join me. If I wait a week, my opportunity will be gone, Lu cetta. You know me and you know how I love you. Then come”— I A rude baud on my shoulder distract ed my attention. William stood lower ing behind me and as I turned whis pered in my ear: “You must come round the other way. Lucetta is so touchy the sight of you will drive every sensible idea out of her head. ’ 1 His blundering whisper did what my presence and by no means light foot steps had failed to do. W ith a start Lu cetta turned and, meeting my eye, turn ed scarlet and drew back a step. The young man followed her hastily. “Is it goodby, Lucetta?” he asked, with a liue, manly ignoring of our pres ence that roused my admiration. {She did not answer. Her look was enough. William, seeing it, turned fu rious at ouce, and, bounding by me, faced the young man with an oath. “You’re a fool,” said he, “to take no from a silly chit like that. If I loved a girl as you say you love Lucetta, I’d have her if I had to carry her away by force. She’d stop screaming before you’d got well out of the lane. I know wom en. While you listen to them they’ll talk, but ouce take matters into your own bauds and”— A snap of his fin gers finished the sentence. I thought the fellow brutal, but scarcely so stu pid as I had heretofore considered hint His words, however, might just as well have been uttered into empty air. The young man he had addressed ap peared hardly to have heard him, and &e for Lucetta, she was so nearly insen sible from misery that she had sufficient ado to keep herself from falling at her lover’s feet. “Lucetta, Lucetta, it is then goodby? You will not go with me.” “I cannot—William here knows I cannot. I must wait till”— But here her brother seized her so violently by the wrist that she stopped from sheer pain, I fear. However that was, she turned pale as death under his clutch, and when he tried to utter some hot, passionate words into her ear shook her head, but did uot speak, though her lover was gazing with a hist, final appeal into her eyes. The delicate girl was bearing out my estimate of her. Boeing her thus unresponsive, Wil liam flung her hand from him and turn ed upon me. “It’s your fault,” he cried. “You would oome in”— But at this Lucetta, recovering her poise in a moment, cried out shrilly: “For shame, William. What has Miss Butterworth to do with this? You are not helping me with your rough ness. God knows this hour is hard enough for me without this show on pari; cc. sc. of your desire to gel fid of your me.” “There’s woman’s gratitude for you, ” was his growling reply “I offer to take all her responsibilities ou my own shoulders and make it right with—with her sister and all that, and she calls it desrretoget rid of her. Well, have your own way, ” he cried out, storming down the hall; “I’m done with it for one. ” The young man, whose attitude of re serve, mixed with a strange and linger ing tenderness for this girl whom he evidently loved, without fully under standing her, was every minute win ning more and more of my admiration, had meanwhile raised her trembling hand to his lips in what was, as we all could see, a last farewell. In another moment he was walking by us, giving me as he passed a low bow that for all its grace did uot suc ceed iu hiding from me the deep and heartfelt disappointment with which he quitted this bouse. As his figure passed through the door, hiding for one mo ment the sunshine, 1 felt an oppression such as has not often visited my healthy nature, and when it parsed and disap peared something like the good spirit of the place seemed to go with it, leaving behind doubt, gloom and a morbid ap prehension of that something which had in Lucetta’s eyes rendered his dismissal a necessity. “Where’s Saracen? I declare I’m nothing but a fool without that dog, ” shouted William. “If be has to be tied up another day”— But even he hat some sense of shame in his breast, for at Lucetta’s reproachful “William!” he dropped his head sheepishly ou his breast and strode out, muttering some words I was fain to accept as an apology. 1 had expected to encounter a wreck in Lucetta. As this episode in her life closed she turned toward me. But I did not yet know this girl whose frailty seemed to lie mostly in her physique. Though she was suffering far more than her defense of me to her brother would seem to denote, there was a spirit in her approach and a steady look in her dark eye which assured me that I could not calculate upon any loss in Lucetta’e keenness in case we came to an issue over the mystery that was eating into the happiness as well as the honor of this household. Atid this in a measure was gratifying to me. I should hate to take advantage of her despair to discover a secret she would have been able to keep in her better moments. “I am glad to see you,” were her un expected words. “The gentleman who has just gone out was a lover of mine; at least he once professed to care for me very much, and I should have been glad to have married him, but there were reasons which I once thought were very good why this seemed anything but ex pedient, and so I sent him away. Today he came without warning to ask me to go away with him now, after the hasti est of ceremonies, to South America, where a splendid prospect has suddenly opened for him. You see, don’t you, that 1 could uot do that; that it would be the height of selfishness in me to leave Loreen—to leave William”— “Who seems only too anxious to be left, ’ ’ I put iu as her voice trailed off in the first evidence of embarrassment she had shown since she first faced me. “William is a difficult man to under stand,” was her firm but quiet retort. “From his talk you would judge him to be morose if uot positively unkind, but inaction”— She did uot tell me how he was in action. Perhaps her truthful ness got the better of her, or perhaps she saw it would be hard work to prejudice me now in his favor. lue sense o? duty toward one's own has driven many a clear minded woman to her ruin, as the police annals, embodied a* they are for me iu Mr. Gryce, would show That I have not as yet put into definite words the suspicion upon which I was now prepared to work is quite apparent to me Up to this time it had been too vague, or rather of so monstrous a char acter, that I 1 ad felt ready to consider other possibilities, as, for instance, the possible connection of old Mother Jane with the unaccountable disappearances which had taken place in this lane. But now the very definite assurances I had been constantly receiving from the mo ment 1 bad set foot in this house that something extraordinary and out of keeping with the ordinary appearances of the household was goiqg ou in secret in some one of the innumerable c ain^ bers of that long corridor correspondirW' to my own, and which for very obvious reasons I had as yet failed to find any exeuse for penetrating, was taking shape in my mind, and I no longer affected to deny to myself that everything I had thus far seen and heard went toward es tablishing the fact that these young wo men held in charge a prisoner of some kind of whose presence there and per-, sonality they dreaded the discovery. Novi’, who could this prisoner be? Common sense supplied me with but oue answer—silly Rufus, the boy who within a few days had vanished from among the good people of this seeming ly guileless community. Once settled in this idea, I applied myself to a consideration of the means at my disposal for determining its truth. The simplest and perhaps the most sure as well as the least satisfactory to one of my nature would be to sununou the police and have the house thoroughly searched, but this involved, in case I had been deceived by appearances—as was possible even to a woman of my ex perience and discrimination—a scandal. and an opprobrium which I would be the last to inflict upon Althea’s children unless justice to the rest of the world demanded it. It was in consideration of this very fact, perhaps, that 1 had been placed here instead of some regular police spy. Mr Gryce is a man who has made it his rule of life never to risk the reputa tion of any man or woman without rea sons so excellent as to bear their own exoneration with them, and_ should I, a "impossiDie," sue was going to say, but caught herself back in time and changed the imperative word to one more conciliatory if equally unyielding. ”1 am sorry. Miss Butterworth, to deny you this gratification, but the con dition of the rooms and the unhappy ex citement into which we have been thrown bv the unfortunate visit paid to Lucetta by a gentleman she is only too much attached to—I hope you will uot expect me to talk on the subject—make it quite impossible for me to consider any such undertaking today. Tomorrow I may find it easier; but, if not, be as sured you shall see every nook and cor ner in it if you so desire before you leave the house. * ’ “Thank you,” I retorted dryly. “I will remember that. To one of my tastes au ancient room in a time honored mansion like this affords a delight not to be understood by one who knows less of a century ago’s life. The legends only connected with your great drawing room below (we were sitting in my room, I having refused to be cooped up in their dreary side parlor and she not having offered me any other spot more cheerful) are attractions sufficient to hold me en tranced for an hour. I heard one of them today.” “Which?” She spoke more quickly than usual and for her quite sharply. “Mrs. Carter,” I went on, “endeav ored to amuse me by relating the story of Lucetta’s namesake—she who rode through the night after a daughter who had won her lover’s heart away from her.” “Ah, it is a well known tale, but I think Mrs. Carter might have left os to tell it to you. Did she relate anything else?” “No other tradition of this place,” said I. “I am glad she was so considerate. But why—if you will pardon me—did she happen to light upon that? We have not heard those incidents spoken of for years. * ’ ‘ ‘ Not since the phantom carriage flew through this road the last time,” I ven tured, with a smile that should have disarmed her from suspecting any ulte rior motive on my part in thus intro ducing a subject which could not be al together grateful to her. “The phantom carriage! Have you heard of that?” I wish it had. been Lucetta who had V- Pri mw WILL BE HEBE ON YOUR RETURN," SUE MURMURED. CHAPTER XVX IXiKKEN. In a week, Lucetta had said, she might have been able, had he been willing or in a position to wait, to give him a more satisfactory answer. Why in a week? That she shrank from leav ing her sister so suddenly or that she had sacrificed her life’s happiness to any childish idea of decorum I did not think probable even. The spirit she had shown, her immovable attitude under a temptation which had not only romance to recommend it, but everything else which could affect a yfraug aud sensi tive woman, argued in my mind the ex istence of some uncompleted duty of so exacting and imperative a nature that she could uot even consider the greatest interests of her own life until this one thing was out of her way. William's rude question of the morning, “What shall we do with the old girl till it is nil over?” recurred to me in support of this theory, making me feel that I need ed no more confirmation to be quite cer tain that a crisis was approaching in this house which would tax my powers to the utmost aud call perhaps for the use of the whistle which I had received from Mr. Gryoe, aud which, following his instructions, 1 hud tied carefully about my neck. Yet how could I asso date Lucetta with crime or dream of the police iu connection with the serene Loreen, whose every look was a rebuke to all that was false, vile or even com mou? Easily, my readers, easily, with that great, hulking William in my re membrance. To shield him, to bide per haps his deformity of soul from the world, even such gentle and gracious women as these have been known to enter into acts which to any unpreju diced eye and an unbiased conscience would seem little short of fiendish Love for au unworthy relative or rather woman, with full as much heart if uot | quite so much brain (at least iu the es timation of people iu general), by any premature exposure of my suspicions cast a mantle of shame over this family they are far too weak aud too poor to ever rise above again? No, rather would 1 trust a litti- longer to my own perspicacity and make sure by the use of my own eyes or ears that the situation called for the interference I had, as you may say, at the end of the cord I was even now fin gering. Lucetta had not asked me how 1 came to be back so much sooner than she had reason to expect me. The unexpected arrival of her lover had probably put all idea of her former plans out of her head 1 therefore attempted no explana tion with her and a very short oue with Loreen when I met her at the dinner table. Nothing further seemed to be necessary, for the girls were even more abstracted than ever before, and Wil liam positively boorish till a warning glance from Loreen recalled him some what to his better self, which meant si lence. The afternoon was spent in very much the same way as the evening before. Neither sister remained an instant with mo after the other entered my company, and though the alternations were less free ent than, they had been at that time their peculiarities were more marked and less naturally accounted for. It was while Loreen was with me that I made the suggestion which had been hovering on my lips ever since the noon. “I think this,” said 1 in oue of the pauses of our more than fitful conversa tion, “one erf the most interesting bouses it has ever been my good fortune to en ter Would you mind my roaming about it a bit just to enjoy the old time flavor of its great empty rooms? I know they are mostly closed aud possibly unfur nished, but to a connoisseur like myself in colonial architecture this would rather add to their interest than detract from it.” said this ami to whom my reply was due. The opportunities would have been so much greater for an injudicious dis play of feeling on her part aud of a suit able conclusion on mine. But it was Loreen who never forgot herself, aud I had to content myself with the persuasion that her voice was just a w hit less clear than usual aud her serenity enough impaired for her to look out of my oue high and dismal window instead of into my face. “My dear”—I had not called her this before, though the term had fre quently risen to my lips iu answer to Lucetta—“you should have gone with me into the village t«lay. Then you would uot need to ask if I had heard of the phantom carriage.” The probe had reached her at last Bbe looked quite startlc-d. “You amaze me,” she said. “What do you mean, Miss Butterworth? Why should I uot have needed to ask?” “B<-cause you would have heard it whispered about iu every lane aud cor ner. It is common talk in town today You must know why, Miss Knollys.” Bhe w as not looking out of the win dow now. She was looking at me. “I assure you,” Bhe murmured, “I do not know at all. Nothing could be more incomprehensible to me. Explain yourself, I entreat you. The phantom carriage is but a myth to me, interest ing only as involving certain long van- islied ancestor* of mine. ” “Of course,” I assented. “No one of real heuse could regard it in any other light. But the villagers, they talk, and in short—you will soon kn<rw, if I do uot tell you myself—more than one of them declare it pa sued through the lane on Tuesday night. ” “Tuesday night!“ Her composure had been regained, but uot so entirely but that her voice slightly trembled. “That was before you came. I hope it wa* uot au omen. ” 1 wa* iu no mood for pleasantry. “They say it denote* misfortune to those who see it. I am therefore obvi ously exempt. But you—did_jou |ee it? I ain just curious to know if it is vis ible to those who live in the lane. It ought to have turned in here. Were you fortunate enough to have been awake ct that moment and to have seen this spectral appearance?” bhe sueddered. 1 was not mistaken in lx lieving I saw this sign ct emotion, for 1 was looking at her very rlocely, and the movement was unmistakable. “I have never seen anything ghostly in my life, ” said sha “I am not at all superstitious. ” If 1 had been ill natured or if I had thought it wise to press her too closely, I might have said: “Then why do you look bo pale? Why tremble so visibly, you whom I have never before seen disturbed?” But my natural kindness, together with au instinct of caution, restrained me, aud 1 only remarked: “There you are sensible. Miss Knollys —doubly so as a denizen of this house, which Mrs. Carter was obliging enough to suggest to me was considered by many as haunted. ” The straightening of Miss Knollys’ lips augnred no good to Mrs. Carter. “Now I only wish it was, ” I laughed dryly “I should really like to meet a ghost, say, in your great drawing room, which I am forbidden to enter. ” “You are not forbidden,” she uttered hastily. “You may explore it now if yon will excuse me from accompanying you, but you will meet no ghosts. The hour is not propitious. ” Taken aback by her sudden amenity, I hesitated for a moment Would it be worth while for me to search a room she was willing to have me enter? No, aud yet any knowledge which could be obtained iu regard to this house might be of use to me or to Mr. Gryce. I de cided to embrace her offer, but first I must test her with one other question. “Would you prefer,” said I, “that 1 should steal down these corridors at night and dare its dusky recesses at a time when specters are supposed to walk the halls they once flitted through in happy consciousness?” “Hardly.” She made the greatest effort to sustain the jest, but her con cern and dread were manifest. “I thiuk I had better give you tue keys now than subject you to the drafts and chilling discomforts of this old place at mid night. ” I rose with a semblance of eager an ticipatiou. “I will take you at your word,” said L “The keys, rny dea”. I am going to visit a haunted room for the first time in my life. ” I do not think she was deceived by this feigned ebullition. Perhaps it was too much out of keeping with my ordi nary manner, but she gave no sign of surprise and rose iu her turn with an air suggestive of relief. “Excuse me,” said she, “if I precede you. I will meet you at the head of the corridor with the keys. ” I was in hopes she would be long enough iu obtaining them to allow’ me to stroll along the front hall to the open ing into the farther corridor, iu which I felt a special interest. But the spryness I showed seemed to have a correspond ing effect upon her, for she almost flew down the passageway before me and was back at my side before I could take a step iu the coveted direction.. “These will take you into any room ou the first floor,” said she. “You will meet with dust and Lucetta’s abhor rence, spiders, but for these I shall make no apologies. Girls who cannot provide comforts for the few rooms they utilize cannot be expected to keep in order the large and disused apart ments of a former generation. ” “I bate dirt and despise spiders, but I am willing to brave berth,” I assured her, “for the pleasure of satisfying my love for the antique.” At which she hauded me the keys, with a calm smile which was not without its element ol sadness. “I will Ire here ou your return,” she murmured, leaning over the banisters to speak to me as I took my first steps down. “I shall want to hear whether yon are repaid for your trouble. ” I thanked her and proceeded on my way, somewhat doubtful whether by so doing I was making or not the best use possible ot^uaj opportunities. This *tory will be continued in next Friday’s issue of The Ledger. “While picoicking last month mjr i 11-year-old boy was poisoned bv *eea or plant,” sa>e W. H Djoble, of Sioux City, la. “He rubbed tho poison off his hands into bis eyes and for awhile we were afraid he would lose his s'ght Finally a neighbor recommended DeWitt’s Witch Hazel Salve. The first application helped him and in a few day she was as well as ever.” For skin diseases, cuts, burn = , scalds, wounds, insect bites. DeW itt’s Witch Kazei Salve is sure cure. Relieves piles at < nee. Be ware of counterfeits. Cherokee Drug Co. B to pit the Cough and Work* Off the Cold Laxative Bromo-Quinme Tablets cure a cold in ore daj. No Cure, no Pay. Price 2y c ! nt«. The girl who steels her bi-art will not have it stolen. When stage flies bite their victims seldom recover. % It Needs a Tonic. Thtre are times when your liver needs a tonic. Don't give purgatives that gripe and weaken. DeWitt’s Little Early Risers expel all poisou from the system and act as a tonic to the liver. W. Scott, 531 Highland ave., Milton, Pa., says: “I have car ried DeWitt's Little Early Risers with me for several years and would not be without them.” Small and easy to take. Purely vegetable. They never gripe or distress. Cherokee Drug Co. Some people are so mean they wouldn’t spend a counterfeit bill. “I Connumption Threatened. was troubled with a hacking cough for a year and I thought I bad consumption,” says C. Unger, 211 Maple street, Champaigo. III. “I tried a great many remedies and I was under the care of physicians for several months. I used one bottle of Foley’s Honey and Tar. It cured me and I have not been troubled since.” Sold by Cherokee Drug Co. It takes a girl to wink her eye without doing it. Foley’s Kidney Cure Will cure Bright’s Disease, Will cure Diabetes. Will cure Stone in Bladder. Will cure Kidney and Bladder Dis eases For sale by Cherokee Drug Co. Resignation sweetens bitter disap pointments. (Julck Relief for AHthnua Sufferer*. Foley’s Honey and Tar affords im mediate relief to asthma sufferers iu the worst stages apd if taken in time will eflect a cure. Sold by Cberokee Drug Co. Married life is a plain salad that n^eds a tin-top dressing. A World Wide Reputation. Chamberlain’s Coiic, Cholera and Diarrhoea Remedy has a world wide ieputation for its cures. It never fails and i* pleasant andbafe to take. For sale by Cherokee Drug Co. Tb.*re ate just as many April fools in every other month. H enry L. Shattuck. of Shellsburg, Iowa whs cured of a stomach trouble with which he had been afflicted for years by tour boxes of Chamberlain’s Stomach and Liver Tablets. He had previously tried many other remedies and a number of physicians without reii;-f For sale by Cherokee Drug Co. When the world gets pimples we shall read of earthquake shocks Dickey’s Dyspepsia Cure cures in digestion, sour stomach, heartburn, costiveness. gnawing and burning pairs at pit < f stomach, sick head ache. Try it One bottle will give youreluf. S. B Orawley & Co. The seed- of discontent often remit in a crop of wild oats Foley’s Kidney Cure will cure all diseases arising from disordered kid neys or bladder. For sale by Chero kee Drug Co. “I had diabetes in i*s wars' form writes Marion Leath, of Duni<-attt, lod. “I tried eight physicians with out relief. Only three bottles of Foley'* Kidney Cure made me a well man.” For sale ky Cnerokee Drug Co. Trntb and a woman’s age are soon parted. Foley's Kidney Cure i* a medicine free from poison* and will cure any case of kidney disease that is not be yond the re..chof medicine. For sale by Cherokee Drug Co. Wi im ■ forgives and forgets; man never forget* that be ban forgiven. The best—Chamberlain’* Stomach and Liver Tablet*. E*fy to tske. Pleasant in effect. For *ele by Cberokee Drug Co. KIDNEY DISEASES ■■ | - ————"M are the most fatal of all dis eases* FOLEY’S SKI or money refunded* Contains remedies recognized bv emi nent physicians as he Best for Kidney and Bladdtr troubles* PRICE 50c. andfMA. OneMlnute Cough Caro For Coughs* Cotdsuiuf Croup. Foley 9 s Homy mad Tar •urcacoM*, preveta pneumoala. FOR Foley’s Kidney Cure Up-to-DataJob Print- tnmkea kUneya and bladder right | OnaMlnutaCaughCure For Coughs* £#M§ tuad Croup* ink call at the Oaa Mimita Gmi|Ii Gara LEDGER (ffice. Gffney, S. C,