The ledger. [volume] (Gaffney City, S.C.) 1896-1907, September 27, 1907, Image 2
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
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actively to conjure up Its phantasma
goria before his mental vision. 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.
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