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••COPYttJGHT. BY ANNA KATHAPINf GPEEN^* AUTHC5R OF " THE LEAVENWORTH CATE*. * BEHIND CUVED DOOB/' 'THAT AFrAItt NEXT DOOe f l897, BY AMNIA ILROHlfiT — CC. Ct CHAPTER XVHL THE SECOND NIGHT. I cannot say that I looked forward to the night with any very cheerful antici pations. The locksmith having failed to keep his appointment, I was likely to have no more protection against intru sion than I had had the night before, and while I cannot say that I especially feared any unwelcome entrance into my apartment I would have gone to my rest with a greater sense of satisfac tion if a key had been in the lock and that key had been turned by my own hand on my own side of the door. The atmosphere of gloom which set tled down over the household after the evening meal seemed like the warning note of something strange and evil awaiting us. So marked was this that many in my situation would have fur ther disturbed these girls by some allu sion to the fact. But that was not the role I had set myself to play at this cri sis. I remembered what Mr. Gryce had said about winning their confidence, and though the turmoil evident in Lu- cetta’s mind and the distraction visible even in the careful Miss Knollys led me to expect a culmination of some kind be fore the night was over I not only hid my recognition of this fact, but succeed ed in sufficiently impressing them with thecontentment which my own petty em ployments afforded me (I am never idle even in other persons’ houses) or them to spare me the harassment of their al ternate and forced visits which in their present mood and mine promised little in the way of increased knowledge of their purposes and much in the way of distraction and the loss of that nerve upon which I calculated for a successful issue out of the possible difficulties of this night. Had I been like most women I would have sounded three premonitory notes upon my whistle before blowing out my candle, but while I am not lacking, 1 hope, in many of the finer feminine qualities which link me to my sex 1 have but few of its weaknesses and none of its instinctive reliance upon others which leads it so often to neglect its own resources. Till I saw good reason to summon the police I should not summon them, a premature alarm being in their eyes, as I knew from my many talks with Mr. Gryce, the one thing suggestive of a timid and inexperienced mind. • Hannah had brought me a delicious cup of tea at 10, the influence of which was to make me very drowsy at 11, but I shook the weakness off and began my night’s watch in a state of stem com posure which I verily believe would have awakened Mr. Gryce’s admiration had it been consonant with the proprie ties for him to have seen it. Indeed the very seriousness of the occasion was such that I could not have trembled if I would, every nerve and faculty being strained to its utmost to make the most of every sound which might arise in the now silent and discreetly dark- ened house. The precaution which I took the night before of pushing my bed against the door of my room I omitted, being anx ious to find myself in a position to cross its threshold at the least alarm. That this would come I felt positive, for Han nah in leaving my room had taken pains to say, in unconscious imitation of what Miss Knollys had remarked the night before: “Don’t let any queer sounds you may hear disturb you, Miss Butterworth. There’s nothing to hurt you in this house; nothing at all.” An admonition which 1 am sure that her young mis tresses, after all that had passed between us this day, would not have alio-, ed her to utter if they had been made aequaint- ed with her intention. But though in a state of high exp-c- tation and listening, as I supposed, with every faculty alert, the sounds I appre hended delayed so long that I began aft er an hour or two unaccountably to nod in my chair, and before I knew it I was asleep, with the whistle in my hand and my feet pressed against the panels of the door I had set myself to guard. How deep that sleep was or how long 1 can only judge from the state of emo tion in which I found myself when 1 suddenly woke. I was sitting there still, but my usually calm frame was in a vi olent tremble and I found it difficult to stir, much more to speak. Some one or something was at my door. An instant and my powerful nature would have asserted itself, but before this could happen—Hannah having con fessed to me afterward that she had put a few harmless grains of morphine into my tea—the stealthy step drew nearer and 1 heard the quiet, almost noiseless, insertion of a key into the lock and the quick turn which made me a prisoner. This, with the indignation it caused, brought me quickly to myself. So the door had a key after all, and this was the use it was reserved for. Rising quickly to my feet, I shouted out the names of Loreen, Lucetta and William, but re ceived no other response than the rapid withdrawal of feet down the corridor. Then I felt for the whistle, which had somehow slipped from my hand, but failed to find it in the darkness, nor when 1 went to search for the matches to relight the candle 1 had left standing on a table near by could I by any means succeed in lighting one, so that 1 found myself shut up in my room, with no means of communicating with the world outside and with no light to render the situation tolerable. This was having the tables turned u, ion me with a vengeance and in a way for which I could not ac count. I could understand why they had locked me in the room and why they had not heeded my cry of indigna tion and appeal, but I could not com prehend bow my whistle came to be gone nor why the matches which were plentiful enough in the safe refused one and all to perform their duty. On these points 1 must bo satisfied before I proceeded to iuveut some way out of my difficulties. So, dropping on my knees by the chair in which I had been sitting, 1 began a quiet search for the petty object upon which, neverthe less, hang not my safety perhaps, but all chances of success in an undertaking which was every moment growing more serious. I did not find it, but I did find where it had gone. In the floor near the door my hand encountered after awhile a hole which had been covered up by a rug, which I distinctly remembered having pushed aside with my feet when I took my seat there. It was not largo, but it was deep, so deep that my hand failed to reach to the bottom of it, and into this bole by some freak of chance —I have noticed in my short but event ful life that chance, or rather let me call it Providence, for there can bo no such thing as chance, frequently seems to lend itself to the cause we are fight ing against—had slipped the small whis tle I had so indiscreetly taken into my hand. The mystery of the matches was less easy of solution; so I let it go after a moment of indecisive thought and bent my energies once again to listen, when suddenly and withont the least warning there rose from somewhere in the house n cry so wild and unearthly that I started np appalled, and for a moment could not tell whether this was some fearful dream I was laboring un der or a still more fearful reality. A rushing of feet in the distance and an involuntary murmur of voices soon satisfied me, however, on this score, and drawing upon every energy I possessed again I listened for a renewal of the cry which was yet curdling my blood. But none came, and presently all was as still as if no sound had arisen to dis turb the midnight, though every fiber in my body told me that the event I had feared—the event of which I hardly Whether the almost deathly quiet into which the house had now fallen or the comforting nature of my medita tions held inexorably to the topic I had chosen acted as a soporific upon me 1 cannot tell, but greatly as I dislike to admit it, feeling sure that you will ex pect to hear I kept myself awake all that night, I gradually aud insensibly sank from great alertness to an easy lis tening to my own heart beats and from that to vague dreams in which beds of lilies a- d trellises covered with roses mingled strangely with narrow, winding, staircases whoso tops ended in the sway ing branches of great trees, and so into quiet and a nothingness that were only broken into by a rap at my door and a cheerful: “Eight o’clock, ma’am. The young ladies are waiting.” I bounded, literally bounded, from my chair. Such a summons, after such anight! What did it mean? I was sit ting half dressed in my chair before my door in a straightened aud uncomfort able attitude, and therefore had not dreuu.ed that 1 hud beon upon the watch all night, yet the sunshine in the room, the cheery tones such as I had not hoard even from this woman before, seemed to argue that my imagination had played me false and that no horrors had come to disturb my rest or render my v. aking distressing. Stretching out my hand toward the door. I was about to open it, when I be thought me. “Turn the key in the lock,” said L “Somebody was careful enough of my safety to fasten me in last night.” An exclamation of astonishment came from outside the door. “There is no key here, ma’am. The door is not locked. Shall I open it and come in?” I was about to say yes in my anxiety to talk to the woman, but remembering that nothing was to be gained as yet by letting them know to what an extent I had carried my suspicious I hastily dis robed aud crept into the bed 11 id not pressed before that night. Pulling the coverings about me, I assumed a com fortable attitude and then cried: “Come in. ” The door immediately opened. “There, ma’am. What did I tell yon? Locked—this door? Why, the key has been lost for months. ” “I cannot help it,” I said, but with little if any asperity, for it did not suit mo that she should see I was moved by any extraordinary feeling. “A key was put in that lock about midnight, and 1 was locked in. It was about the time that scream was given by some one in your own part of the house. ” “Scream?” Her brows took a fine pucker of perplexity. “Oh, that must have been Miss Lncetta. ” ‘ * Lucetta?’ ’ “Yes, ma’am; she had an attack, I believe. Poor Miss Lucetta! She often has attacks like that.” Confounded, for the womau spoke so “THIS IS WILLIAM'S DEN.” dare mention the charades even to my self—had taken place, aud that I, who was sent there to forestall it, was not only a prisoner in my room, but a pris oner through my own folly and my in ordinate love of tea. The auger with which I contemplated this and the remorse I felt at the conse quences which hiid befallen the inno cent made me very wide awake indeed, and after an ineffectual effort to make my voice heard from the window and various other small attempts of which I am not proud enough to relate I called my usual philosophy to my aid and said that since all this had happened and I was shut up there and had to await events like any other weak and defense less woman I might as well do it with calmness and in a way to win my own approval at least. The dupe of William and his sisters, I would not be the dupe of my own fears or even of my own re grets. The conseqtlence was renewed equa nimity and a gentle broodiqg over the one event of the day which brought no regret in its train. The ride with Mr. Trohm and the acquaintanceship which it had led to were topics upon which I could rest with great soothing effect through the weary hours stretching be tween me and daylight Then of Mr. Trohm let me think as far as modesty would permit, since shame, trouble and horror lay in other directions into which my now vividly arousod thoughts might stray L naturally that none Lint a suspicious na ture like mine would think of suspect ing her, I raised myself on my elbow and gave her an indignant look. “Yet,” said I, “you said just now that the young ladies were exp 1 cting me to breakfast.” “Yes, and why not?” Her look was absolutely guileless. “Miss Lucetta sometimes keeps us up half the night, but she does not miss breakfast on that acconnt. When the turn is over, she is as well as ever she was. A fine young lady, Miss Lucetta. I’d lose my two hands for her any day. ” “She certainly is a remarkable girl, ” 1 said, not, however, as dryly as I felt “I can hardly believe 1 dreamed about the key. Let me feel of your pocket, ” l laughed. She, without the smallest hesitancy, pulled aside her apron. “I am sorry you could think I would deceive yon, ma’am, but Lor’ me, ma’am, this is nothing to what some of our guests have complained of—in the days, I mean, when we did have guests. I have known them to scream themselves aud vow they saw white figures creep ing op and down the halls—all non sense, ma’am, but believed in by some folks. You don’t look as if you believed in ghosts. ” * . “And I don’t,” I said, “not a whit It would be a poor way to try to frighten me. How is Mr. William this morning?” "Oh. he’s well and feeding the dogs. ma’am. What made you thfnk of him?” “Politeness, Hannah,” I found my self forced to say. “He’s the only man in the house Why shouldn’t I think of him?” She fingered her apron a minute and laughed. “I didn’t know you liked him. He’s so rough, it isn’t everybody who under stands him,” she said. “Must one understand a person to like him?” I queried good humoredly. I was beginning to think I might have dreamed about that key. “I don’t know, ” she said, “I don’t always understand Miss Lucetta, but I like her, like her through and through, ma’am, as I like this little finger. ” And holding up this member to my inspec tion she crossed the room for my water pitcher, which she proposed to fill with hot water. I followed her closely with my eyes. When she came back, I saw her eyes fall on the break in the flooring, which she had not noticed in entering. “Oh,” she exclaimed, “what a shame,” her honest face coloring as she drew the rug back over the small black gap. “I am sure, ma’am,” she cried, “you must think very poor of us. But 1 assure you, ma’am, it’s honest poverty, nothing but honest poverty, as makes them so neglectful,” aud with au air as far removed from mystery as her frank, good natured manner seemed to be from falsehood, she slid from the room with a kind: “Don’t hurry, ma’am. It is Miss Knollys’ turn in the kitchen, and she isn’t as quick as Miss Lucetta. ” "Humph,” thought I, “supposing I had (‘ailed in the police.” But by the time she had returned with the water my doubts had awaken ed again. She was not changed, though I have no doubt she had told what 1 had said below, but I was, for I remem bered the matches and thought I saw a way of tripping her up in her self com placency Just as she was leaving me for the second time I called her l ack. “What is the matter with your matches?” I asked. “I couldn’t make them light last night.” With a wholly undisturbed counte nance she turned toward the bureau and took up the china trinket that held the few remaining matches I had not scraped on the piece of sandpaper I myself ha fastened up alongside the door. A sheep ish cry of dismay at once escaped her. “Why, these are old matches!” said she, showing mo the box in which a half dozen or so burned matches stood with their burned tops all turned down. “I thought these were all right. I’m afraid we are a little short of matches.” I did not like to tell her what 1 thought, but it made me doubly anxious to join the young ladies at breakfast and see for myself from their conduct and expression if I had been deceived by my own fears into taking for realities the phantasies of a nightmare or whether 1 was correct in ascribing to fact that ep isode of the key with all the possibilities that lay behind it. I did not let my anxiety, however, stand in the way of a very manifest duty. Mr. Gryce had bid me carry the whistle he had sent me constantly about my person, and I felt that ho would have the right to reproach me if I left my room without making somo endeavor to recover this lost article. How to do this without aid or appliances of any kind was a problem. I knew where it was, but I could not see it, much less reach it. Besides, they were waiting for me, and the whistle I must have. It occurred to me that I might lower into the hole a lighted caudle hung by a string. Nothing unnerves one so much as the consciousness of being waited for, but the whistle 1 must have, aud that, too, by the simplest device possible. Look ing over my effects, I cl*jse out a hair pin, a candle, two corset laces (Pardon me. I am as modest as most of my sex, but I am not squeamish. Corset laced are strings, and as such I present them to your notice. That you will regard them in any other light is not to ho feared after this explanation) aud—a buttonhook, you will say, hut, alas—for a buttonhook would have been very use ful in this emergency—I have not yet forsaken the neatly laced boot of my an cestors, and I could only produce a small article from my toilet service which shall remain uumentioned, as I present ly discarded it and turned my whole at tention to the other objects I have named, a poor array, but out of them 1 hoped to find the m^Nins of fishing up my lost whistle. My intention was to lower first a ligoted candle into the hole by means of a string tied about its middle, then to drop a line on the whistle thus discov ered aud draw it up with the point of a bent hairpin, which I fondly hoped I could make do the service of a hook. To think was to try. The candle was so; u down in the hole, and by its light the whistle was easily seen. The string and bent hairpin went down next. I was VDccessful in hooking the prize sind pro ceeded to pull it up with great care. For an instant I realized what a ridic ulous figure I was cutting, stooping over a hole in the floor on both knees, a string in each hand, leading apparent ly to nowhere and I at work cautiously steadying one and as carefully pulling on the other. Having hooked the whis tle hand string over the first finger of the hand holding the candle, I may have become too self conscious to notice the slight release of weight on the whis tle hand. Whatever the reason, when the end of the string came in sight there was no whistle on it The charred end showed me that the candle had burned the cord, letting the whistle fall again out of reach. Down went the can dle again. It touched bottom, but no whistle was to be seen. After a long and fruitless search, such as it was, I con cluded to abandon my whistle fishing excursion, and rising from my cramped and undignified position I proceeded to pall up the candle. To my surprise am) delight, I found the whistle firmly stuck to the lower side of it. ^ome drops of candle grease had fallen upon the wbis- tlqyvbere it lax The cmnllo coming ip •••*»****'• '‘T'i••-•••**» ... contact "withTt, they adheredT to each other, aud I became indebted to acci dent and not acumen for the restoration of the precious article. This story will be continued next Friday’s issue of The Ledger. in HOUSEWORK Too much housework wrecks wo men’s nerves. And the constant care of children, day and night, Is often too trying for eren a strong woman. A haggard face tells the story of the overworked housewife and mother. Deranged menses, leucorrhosa and falling of the womb result from overwork. Every housewifo needs a remedy to regulate her menses and to keep her sensitive female organs in perfect condition. iWINE 0F CARDUI is doing this for thousands of American women to-day. It cured Mrs. Jones and that is why she writes this frank letter: Glendeane, Ky., Feb. 10,1M1. I am so glad that your Wine of Cardui is helping me. I am feeling: better than I have felt for years. I am doing my own work without any help, and I washed last weei- ind was not one bit tired. That sho that the Wine is doing me good. 1 am getting Cashier H than I ever was before, and sleep good and eat hearty. Before I began taking Wine of Cardni, I used to have to lay down five or six times every day, but now I do not think of lying down through the day. Mas. Richard Jones. «1.»0 AT Dftl'GUlKTS. For advice and literature, addreaa, giving aymp. tenia, ** The Ltdlea' Advlaery Department ”, Tie Chattanooga Medicine Co., Chattanooga, Tens. i Summons'for-Relief. State of South Carolina, i Court of Com- County of Cherokee. ( mon metis. S. M. McNeel, Plaintiff, against Fannie E. Roes, Defendant. Summons for relief, complaint not served To t ite defendant above namedYou hereby summoned and required to answer the complaint in this action, h j,^ 1(j . duy filed in the office of the Clerk of tl Court of Common Pleas, for the said countv and to serve a copy of your amour to the said compliiint on the subscribers at their office at Yorkvllle, South Carolina, within twenty days after the service hereof ex elusive of the day of such service; ;,nd if you fail to answer the complaint within the time aforesaid, the plaintiff i n this action will apply to the court for the relief de manded in the complaint. Witherspoon & Spencers, Plaintiff’s Attorneys. August30th, A. D. 1002. Sept. 5th,l-awk-fit. THE STORY OF STONEWALL JACKSON, KIDNEY DISEASES A" ' ~ — 1 sa are the most fatal of all dis eases. EM EV’C kidney cube it i lUUrl uBuarantttdRanedf or money refunded. Contains remedies recognized bv emi nent physicians as the vest for Kidney and Bladder troubles. PRICE 50c. and $1.00. I iiave taken the agency in Cherokee county to sell the Story of Stonewall Jack- son—a narrative of his career from written and verbal accounts of his life. It is ap- proved by his widow, Mary Anna Jackson, and dedicated to Julia Jackson and Thomas Jackson Christian, grandchildren and sole surviving descendants of General Jackson, who are beneficiaries in the publication of this book, written by William C. Chase. The book lias son pages with over 150 illustrations. Tliis is a work of the Confederate veterans and sons and daughters of Confederate vet erans to show some tangible proof of their appreciation of the high Christian character ami soldierly qualities of their illustrious chieftain. Stonewall Jackson, by helping his sole descendants, who are tone the benefi ciaries of this work. Mere is wnat Gi-n’I. C. 1. Walker, comman der of the U. C. veterans army of Northern Virginia, says: ► Cokesbitry. 8. C . June 4th. 1902. To my Comrades:— This will introduce Comrade J. L. strain, wiic Isciieoged in the patriotic work of pre senting to our people ‘ Th - Story of Stone wall Jackson,’’which sets forth will, won- dertul cleurn(s<- the noble Ilf.. high charac ter and magnificent services of our great Christian heio. The grandchildren of Cen’l. Jackson are directly interested in the sale of tiie book and will be benefitted thereby. I have consented to take charge of this work in South Carolina. Any favor or cour tesy you mav extend him will be to my per- sonal advantage and I will appreciate most highly any assistance you may give him. Yours very truly. C. Irvine Walker. Aside from what Generals Wade Hampton, Fitzhugh Lee. W. L. Cabhell and others say of it the book is its own exhorter. The life character of thisgre..t man is a benediction upon the worlo of mankind, and should be read and studied by every boy and girl, rot only in Cherokee county but throughout Christendom. I expect, as soon as possible, to make a canvass of Cherokee county witli the book, but In the meantime would beglad toflll any orders I may receive for it and will deliver It at the earliest convenient moment. The price of the book is: On fine grey elotii and silver emlKissing, - $2.75 On plain morocco and gold emboss ing. $3.75 Address J. L. STRAIN. Etta J ane. S. C. Foley 9 s Kidney Cure makes kidneys and bladder right One Minute Cough Cure For Coughs, Colds and Croup* ‘For sale by Cherokee Drug Company. NOTE HEADS, 1000 FOR . . . $1.50 ti M 2000 ii • . . $2.50 ii ii 5000 ll • . . $5.00 ENVELOPES, 1000 II • ..$175 ll 2000 II • . . $3.00 II 5000 II • . . $6.25 LETTER HEADS, BILL HEADS, STATEMENTS, AND EVERY KIND OF PRINTINC AT LOW PRICES. ORDERS BY MAIL PROMPTLY FILLED. THE LEDGER, GAFFNEY, S. C.