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x... * . HORSE-SHOE ROBINSON A TALC OF THE TORY ASCENDENCY ”Y JOHN P. KENNEDY CHAPTER XXXIV. Mildred put t© ■ Sever* Tri»l:—Her - Firmness. “My mind troubles me," said Lind say: “Mildred, hear me—and mark what I say. Our fortunes are coming t© a period of deep interest; It i s there* tore no time to deal In evasive speeches, or to dally with coy and girlish feelings. I wish, my daughter, to be understood.’’ , “Father, have I offended you?" In quired Mildred, struck with the pain ful and almost repulsive earnestaess of Lindsay's manner. “Arthur Butler has been at the Dove Cote," he said, sternly, “and you have concealed It from me. That was not lihe my ch ,l d.” “Father!’ exclaimed Mildred, burst ing into tears. “Nay—these tears shall not move me from my resolution. As a parent 1 had a right, Mildred, to expect obed ience from you; but you saw him in the very despite of my commands: here, on the confines of the Dove Cote, you saw him.’’ “I did—I did." “And you were silent, and kept your secret from your father’s bosom.” “You forbade me to speak of him,” replied Mildred, in a low and sob bing voice, “and banished me from your presence when I but brought his name upon my lips." “He is a villain, daughter; a base wretch that would murder my peace, and steal my treasure from my heart.” Mildred covered her eyes with her hands, and trembled in silent agony. “I have received letters,- ^^ntinued Lindsay, “that disclose to me a vile plot against my life. This same But ler—this furious and fanatic rebel— has been lurking in the neighborhood of my house, to watch my family mo tions, to pry into the character of my guests, to possess himself of my sa cred confidences, to note the incom ing and the out going of my most at tached friends, and thereupon to build an accusation of treason before this unholy and most accursed power that has usurped dominion in the land. I am to be denounced to these malig nant masters, and to suffer such pen alties as their passions may adjudge. And all this through the agency of a man who is cherished and applauded by my own daughter!” “My dear father, who has thus abused your mind, and led your thoughts into a current so foreign from that calm judgement with which you have been accustomed to look upon the things of life?” “Can you deny. Mildred, that this Butler followed Tyrrel to the Dove Cote; lay concealed here, close at hand; sought by discourse through some of his coadjutors with Tyrrel’s servant, to learn the object of Tyrrel’s visit; and offered gross outrage to the man when he failed to persuade him to betray his master? Can you deny this? Can you deny that he fled pre cipitately from his hiding place when he could no longer conceal his pur pose?—and, knowing these things, can you doubt he is avillain?” “He is no villain, father," said Mildred, indignantly. '‘These are the wretched forgeries of that un worthy man who has won your con fidence—a man who is no less an enemy to your happiness than he 1b a selfish contriver against mine. The story is not true; it is one of Tyrrel’s basest falsehoods." “And Butler was not here; you would persuade me so, Mildred?’’ “He was in the neighborhood for a single night; he journeyed south wards in the course of his duty,” ans wered Mildred, mildly. “And had no confederates with him?” “He was attended by a guide—only one—<ind hurried onwards without delay." “And you met him on that single night—by accident, I suppose?” “Do you doubt my truth, father?” Mildred, Mildred! you will break my heart. Why was he here at all— why did you meet him?” “He came, father—” said Mildred, struggling to speak through a sudden burst of tears. Silence* I will hear no apology!” exclaimed Lindsay. Then relenting in an instant, he took his daughter’s band, as he said; “My child, thou art innocent in thy nature, and know- est not the evil imaginings of this world. He wickedly lied, if he told you that he came casually hither, or that his stay was circumscribed to one short night. I have proofs, full and satisfactory, that, for severol days, he lay concealed in this vicinity; and, moreover, that his scheme was frustrated only by an unexpected dis covery, made through the Indiscre tion of a drunken bully, who came linked with him in his foul embassy. Ft was a shameless He, Invented to impose upn your credulity, if he gave you room to believe otherwise.” “Arthur Butler scorns a falsehood, father, with the deepest scorn that belongs to a noble mind, and would resent the charge with the spirit of a valiant and virtuous man. if Mr. Tyrrel have such accusations to make, it would be fitter they should be made face to face with the man he would slander, than In my father’s ear. But It Is the nature of the ser pent to sting in the grass, not openlv to encounter his victim.” “The first duty of a trusty friend is to give warning of the approach of an enemy—and that has Tyrrel done. For thin act of service does he de serve your rebuke? Could you ex pect aught else of an honorable gen tleman? Shame on you, daughter!” “Father, I know the tale to he wickedly, atrociously false. Arthur Butler is not your enemy. Sooner would he lav down his life than even indulgfe a thought of harm to you. His coming hither was not unknown to me—his delay, but one brief night: business of great moment called him hastily towards the army of the south." “You speak like a girl. Mlldr^ft I avoi have, agalnat this tale, the avowal of * Jpyal and brave soldier. Aye, and ■ let me toll you—favorably as you may deem of this false and traitorous re bel—his wily arts have been foiled, and quick vengeance is now upon his path—his doom is fixed.” “For heaven’s sake, father, dear father, tell me what this means. Have you heard of Arthur?” cried Mildred, in the most impassioned accents of distress, at the same time throwing he r head upon Lindsay’s breast. “Oh. God! have you heard aught of harm to him?” “Girl! foolish, mad, self-willed girl?” exclaimed Lindsay, disengag ing himself from his daughter, and rising from his scat and angrily strid ing a few paces upon the terrace. “Dare you show this contumacy to me* No, . did not mean that—have you the heart, Mildred, to indulge these passionate fervors for the man I hate more than 1 can hate any other living thing* He. a wretch, upon whose head I invoke nightly curse! A loathsome, abhorred image to my mind! Hear me, Mildred, and hear me, though your heart creak while I utter it—May the felon’s death whelm him and his name In eternal disgrace! —may his present captivity be beset with all the horrors of friendliness, un pitied—” “His captivity, father! And has he then fallen into the hands of the enemy? Quick! tell me all!—I shall die*—my life is wraped up in his!” ejaculated Mildred, in agony, as she sprang towards her father and seiz ed his arm, and then sank at his feet. “For God’s sake, my child!” said Lindsay, becoming alarmed at the voilence of the paroxysm he had ex cited. and now lifting his daughter from the ground. “Mildred!—speab. girl* This emotion will drive me mad. Oh„ fate, fate!—how unerring ly dost thou fulfill the sad predictions of my spirit* How darkly does the curse hang upon my household! Mil dred, dear daughter, pardon my rash speech. I would not harm thee, child —no, not tor worlds!” “Father, you have curelly tortured my soul,” said Mildred, reviving from the lifeless state into which she had fallen, and which tor some moments had denied her speech. *TeH me all: on my knees, father, I implore you.” “It was a hasty word, daughter,” replied Lindsay, 111 concealing the perturbation of his feelings “I meant not what I said.” “Nay, dear father,” said Mildred. “I am prepared to hear the worst: you spoke of Arthur’s captivity.” “It was only a rumor,” replied Lind say, struck with apprehension at his (laughter’s earnestness, and now seek ing to allay the feeling his hint had aroused in he r mind; “It may be ex aggerated hy Tyrrel. whose letter, hastily written, mentions the fact, that Butler had been made a prison er by soiim bands of Tories, amongst whom he had^jashly ventured. The clemency ofJngrfng may yet win him back to hidnHMeglance. a salutary conflnementfMAt 'least, will deprive him of th$. tmrer of mischief. His lands will fee .'.confiscated—and the close of the war, now fast approach ing, will find him a houseless adven turer. balked in his treason, and un- pitied by all good men. This should persuade you, Mildred, to renounce your unnatural attachment, and to think no more of one whose cause heaven has never sanctioned, and whose condition in life should forbid all pretension to your regard—one, above all, repulsive even to loathing to the thoughts of your father.” “I loved him, father, in his hap piest and brightest day,” said Mil dred, firmly; “I cannot desert him in his adversity. Oh, speak to me no more* Let me go to my chamber; I am 111 and cannot bear this torrent of your displeasure.” “I will not detain you, Mildred. In sorrow and suffering, but still with a father’s affection a? warmly shining on you as when, in earliest infancy, I fondled thee upon mv knee, I part with thee now. One kiss, girl. There, let that make peace between us. For your Bake and my own, I pledge my word never to distress you with this subject again. Destiny must have its way. and I must bide the Inevitable doom.” With a heavy heart and an exhaust ed frame. Mildred slowly and tear fully withdrew. Lindsay remained some time upon the spot where his daughter had left him. He was lihc a man stupe fied and astounded bv a blow. Hi« conference had ended in a manner that he had not prepared himself to expect. The imputed treachery of Butler, derived from Tvrrel’s letters, bad not struct alarm into the heart of Mildred, as he had kupijok^-i it could not fail to do. The wicked fabrication had only recoiled noon the inventor; and Mildred, with the resolute, confident, and unfaltering attachment of her nature, clung with a nobler devotion to her lover. To- Lindsay, In whose mind no distrust of the honesty of Tyrrel could find shelter; whose prejudices and pecu liar temperament came in aid of the gross and disgraceful imputation which the letters Inferred, the con stancy and generous fervor of his daughter towards the cause of But ler seemed to be a mad and fatal in fatuation. Ever since his first interview with Mildred on the subject of her attach ment. his mind had been morbidly engrossed with the reflections to Which it had given rise. There was such a steadiness of purpose appar ent in her behavior. H uch an un changeable resolve avowed, as seem ed to him. in the circumstances ofHpr condition, to defy and stand apart from the ordinary and natural Im pulses by which human conduct is regulated. H® grew daily more ab stracted and moody in his contemp lations; and as study and thought gave a still graver complexion to his feelings, his mind fled hack upon his presentiments; and that intense, scholar-like superstition, which I have heretofore described as one of the tendencies of his nature, began more Searching for the Beet Has Led Us to the Ederheimer- Stein Make Clothes for Young Men r AKE up your mind now to see our new, different and better clothes fbrYoung Men. G, Decide today that you will buy a suit with the style, appearance, fit and tailoring every Young Man should get—must get if he is to avoid the common, ordinary look most clothes have. G.Each and every Ederheimer-Stein garment is a separate piece of work. Each is cut,planned, constructed individually. Rich patterns add style, distinction,"swing" and “go” that mark the clothes superior in every respect G. Ask to see the “ Yale,” “Longworth ” or "Standard.” Remember the names. Remember they are found here only. 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A predominating trait of this supersti tion was an increasing conviction that, in Mildred’s connection with Arthur Butler, there was associated some signal doom to himself, that wag to affect the fortunes of his race. It was a vague, misty, obscure con sciousness of impending fate, the loss of reason or the loss of life that was to ensue upon that alliance if it should ever take place. It was such a presentiment that now, in the solitary path of Lindsay’s life, began to be magnified into a ripe ning certainty of ill. The needle of his mind trembled upon its pivot, and began to decline towards a fearful point; that point was—frenzy. His studies favored this apprehension— they led him into the world of visions. The circumstances of his position favored it. He was perplexed by the intrigues of politicians, against whom he had no defence in temper nor worldly skill; he was deluded by false views of events; he was embarrass- !ed and dissatisfied with himself: | above all, he was wrought upon, be wildered. and glamoured (to use a most expressive Scotch phrase) by the remembrance of a sickly dream. Thus hunted and badgered bv cir- cumstances h • fie,) with avidity to the disclosures rnudo ih Tyrrel’* let ters. to try, as a last effort, their ef fect upon Mildred, hoping that the tale there told might divert her from •* i urnoRo which now fed all his me lancholy. Yhe readej- has Just seen how the experiment bad failed. Lindsay retired to his study, and. through the remainder of the day. “ought refuse from his meditation In the converse of ills books. These mute comnanions. for once, failed to bring him their customary balm. His feelings had been turned, oy the events of the morning, into a current that bore them impetuously along towards a dark and troubled ocean of thought; and when the shades of evening had fallen around him, he was , seen pacing the terrace with a slow and measured step. “It is plain she passionately loves Butler,” he said, “In despite of all the visible influences around her. Her education, habits, affectionsi, duty- all set In an opposing tide against this passion, and yet does it master them all. That I should be )ouna to mine enemy by a chain, wfcpM strong- est link 1b forged by my own daught er. She—Mildred!—No, no—that link was not forged by her.; it hath not Its shape from human workman ship. Oh, that like those inspired enthusiasts who. in times of old,— | yea. and in a later day—have been able to o)>en the Book of Destiny, and to read the passages of man’s future life. I might get one glimpse of that forbidden page*—To what a charit able use might I apply the knowledge. Wise men have studied the Journey- ings of the stars, and have—as they deemed—discovered the secret spell by which yon shining orbs swsy and compel the animal existences of this earth; even as the moon governs the flow of the ocean, or the fever of the human brain. Who shaji »ay wnat is the Invisible tissue—wnat the in numerable cords—that tie this planet and all its material natures to the millions of worlds with which it is affixed? What is that mysterious thing which men call attraction, that steadies these spheres in their tan gled pathways through the great void? —that urges their swift and fearful career into the track of their voyage, without the deviation of the breadth of a single hair—rolling on the same from eternity to eternity? How awfui_ ly does the thought annihilate ouf feeble and presumptuous philosophy! Is it, then, to excite the scorn of the wise, if we assert that some kindred power may shape out and direct the wanderings of man?—that an unseen hand may lay the threads by which this tottering creature is to travel through the labyrinth of this world; aye. and after it is done, to point out to him his course along the dark and chill valley, which the dead wan- through companionless and silent? Have not men heard strange whispers in the breeze—the voice of warning? Have they not felt the fanning of the wing that bore the secret message through the air? Have they not seen some floating fold of the robe as it pased by? O God!— have they not «een the dead arise? What are these 'but the communlngs, the points of leontact. between the earthly and splr- j tual worlds—the essences or Intel ligences that sometimes flit across the confine of our gross sphere, and speak to the children of clay? And wherefore do they speak, but that the initiated may regard the sign, and walk in safety? Or. perchance, some mischief-hatching fiend,—for such, too. are permitted to be busy to mar the good that God has made—may speak in malice to allure us from our better purpose. Aye, as aptly this, as the other. Miserable child of doubt, how art thou blest! Let the vain pedant prate of his philosophy let the soldier boast his valor, the learned scholar his scepticism, and the worldling laugh his scorn, yet do they each and all yield homage to this belief. There comeg a time of honest sel-confession, of secret me ditation to all, and then the boding spirit rises to his proper mastery: then do the torrent, the lonesomeness of the forest and the field, shake the strong nerveg; and the feeble pigmy man, trembles at his own imagi nations.” In such a strain did Lindsay nurse his doubting superstition; and bv these degrees was ft that his mind soothed Itself down into a calmer tone of resignation. In propwnton as this fanciful and distempered philo sophy inclined his reflection towards the belief of preternatural infinences. it suggested excuses for Mildred’s seeming contumacy, and inculcated a more Indulgent sentiment of for bearance in his future intercourse with her. Towards the confirmation of this temper an ordinary incident, which, at any other time, would have passed without comment, now contributed. A storm had arisen; the day, towards its close, had grown sultry, and had engendered one of those sudden gusts which belong to the summer in this region, it came, without premonition, in a violent tornado, that rushed through the air with the roar of a great cataract. Lindsay had scarcely time to retreat to the cover of the porch, before the heavy-charged cloud pour ed forth its fury In floods of rain. The incessant lightnings glittered on the descending drops, and illuminat ed the distant landscape with more than the brilliancy of day. The most remote peaks of the mountain were sheeted with tfce glare; and the tor rents that leaped down the nearer hill-sides sparkled with a dazzling radiance. Peal after peal of abrupt and crushing thunder roared through the heavens, and echoed with ter rific reverberations along the valleys. Lindsay gazed upon this scene, from his secure cover, with mute interest, inwardly aroused and delighted with the grand and sublime conflict of the elements, in a spot of such wild and compatible magnificence: the solemn and awful emotions excited by these phenomena were exaggerated by the peculiar mood of his mind, and now absorbed all his attention. After a brief Interval, the rain ceased to fall as suddenly as it had begun; the thunder was silent, and only a few distant flashes of wide-spread light broke fitfully above the horizon. The stars soon again shone forth through a transparent and placid heaven, and the moon sailed in beauty along a cloudless sea. The frog chirped again from the trees, and the far-off owl hooted In the wood, resuming his mel ancholy song, that had been so brief ly intermitted. The foaming river below, swollen by the recent rain, flung.upwards a more lively gush from Its roeby bed: the cock was heard to crow, as if a new day had burst uj)on his harem; and the house dogs barked in sport as they gambol led over the wet grass. “How beautiful is the cnange; But a moment since, and the angry ele ments were convulsed with the shock of war; and now. how calm! My an cient oaks have weathered the galf. and not a branch has been torn f their hoary limbs: not the most icate of Mildred's flowers; not tenderest shrub has been scrat by the threatening fires of hea The Dove Cote and its inmates L_ seen the storm sweep by without vestige of harm. Kind heaven, g that this may be a portent of our tune; and that, when this tempo human passion has been spent, Dove Cote and its inhabitants may come forth as tranquil, as safe, as happy, as now—more—yes, more hap py than now! Our ways are in thy hands; and I would fee at mjesH $p submit to thy providence with patient hope. So. let it be! I am resigned.” As Lindsay still occupied his posi tion in the porch, Stephen Foster ap peared before him dripping with the rain of the late storm. “A letter, sir,” said Stephen . “I have just rode from the post office, end was almost oversot in the gust: it catched me upon the road; and it was as much as I could do to cross the river. It’s a mightly fretful piece of water after one of these dashes.” Lindsay took the packet “Get your supper, good he said. “Order lights for me in the library* Thank you—thank you!” When Lindsay opened the Isttar, he found it to contain tidings of the victory at Camden, written by Tyrrel. After he had perused the contents, it was with a triumphant smile that he exclaimed. "And it is come so soon! Thank God, the omen has proved true* a calmer and a brighter hotf at last opens upon «a. w He left the study to communicate the news to his children and spent the next hour with Mildred and Hen ry in the parlor. His feelings had risen to a happier key; and it was with gome approach to cheerfulness, but little answered in the looks or feelings of his children, that he re tired to his'chamber at a late hour, where sleep soon came, with its sweet oblivion, to repair his exhausted spirits, and to restore him to thO quiet of an easy mind. (CONTINUED NEXT FRIDAY.) Mc- List of Unclaimed Letter* The following is the list of un claimed letters remaining in the Gaffney postofflee for week ending September 23rd, 1907: L. Humphries, Mrs. J. R. Williams, Miss L^na Wilburn, M3ss Laura White. J. E Vickers, Mrs. Emma Tur ner. Mrs. E. A. Talbor. Miss Teener Smith. (2). Mrs. Hattie Smith. Miss Eller Smith, Mr. Louis Sanders, Mr. John Rodgers, Mr. ames Porter, Mrs. H. J. Porter. Miss Kathrine Harper, Mr. Charlie Parker, Mr. Otes McKis- slck. J. E. McAllister, Miss Mary Gill, Mr. Sam McGuinn, Miss Hatt Moore, Rurel Moore, Miss Emi Moore. (2). Mrs. Violet Linzey, Mr? Dolpb Ganier, Miss Sarah Jones, Mias Fannie Jones, (2), Miss Mhry M. Jef feries, Lenord Jackson, Mollie Han* rick, Larkin Huskey. J. Frank Harrflj Mr. J. F. Howell. L. C. GreVn, John Graham. W. Q. Elliotte. (2), Mias Mary Haulsin, Mr, John L. Delarge, (3), R. W. Dupy. Miss Adie Dalson, Miss Minnie Davis, Mr. 1C T. Davis, Mks. Lizzie Oory, Miss Elizabeth wn. Mr. Alfred Budges, Mr. M. R. t I Call for advertised letters. On# leant due on each. * *». A. R. N. Folger, P. M. '* Health >n the Canal Zone. The high wages paid mata mighty temptation to oar yonag a ns to join the force of skillet meo needed to eoutraet the ma Canal. Maay are rest however by the fear of fevi malaria. It Is .the knowing those who have need Dectrle who go thsre witbent this fser. knowing they are safe from lallnsnce with Electric hand. Cures blood poison toe, aess, weaknsos and aD and kidney troubles. Cherokee Drag Co. I