Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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^etvy. Take II Now. BY U. C. DOUUK. If you’re waiting for a day In the future—far away— When, with gold enough to span*, You will rest from trial. nd care And enjoyment find supreme, Let me tell you—’tls a dream. If you’re slaving all for wealth , j At the cost of life and breath And the present you reject For a future you expeet, If your joys are yet to be— Pain, not pleasure, yon will see. If you’re waiting to be old E’re you tak - the good of gold And enjoy your rightful duo Of life’s pleasures, sweet and true— ¥ou will find, alas, too late. Woful disappointment great. Live life's journey by the way; While the s*n shines make your hay; Now—now only you are sure Oi the pleasures that endure, PleiBures that make memory bright When life noon has turned to night. O, the heart grows hard and cold Piling up the yellow gold, Throwing present good away, Dreaming that a future day Never coming may bestow Joys you now or never know. Wait not till a life is spent Ere you know its sweet contents; Take its pleasures, good and true, While they still belong to you. Then upon a future day. They, and more with you, will stay. By WALTER BE3ANT. CHAPTER XL T»TK SALS OS THK COTTAOB. When the old woman came homo with the boy. the story which she had to tell surpassed all her yarns of salt spa experi ence. She told her tale nightly In each tnge for glasses of strong drink. And jven Cuddy, the boy. was in request, and sold his information for mags of beer After the first laughter, which wa like an explosion, or a great thunder st rm, one of those during which the rain wuter rattles and slates fall off the roof; a uni versal burst of laughter when all the men ran together laughing their loudest, bold ing each other up, loosing neckties, pump ing on the apoplectic, and encouraging each other to fresh hilarity by pointing to Nan the bride, the question naturally arose if anything should be done to mark their sense of the attempted crime by those In authority. A most grievous and in tolerable thing it was. Indeed, that a young woman should be violently kid naped and carried away like a sailor by a press gang, forced to ride thirty miles and more on a winter’s night across the cold and rainy fells; married willy-nilly In the morning without church or parson; and this wheff she had not once, but many times, refused so much as to listen to pro posals of marrisge from the man. All were agreed that this was a thing not to he permitted. Yet. what could be done? To run away with a girl of her own free will and accord, and when she would marry the man but for wickedness of guardians, la a different thing; many a maiden has fled across the Border with her lover, amidst the sympathy of her friends. But In this case It was like the carrying away of the Sabine women, and no words could bo found by the moralists too strong to condemn the set. While everybody talked about it, that is to say, for a whole week, there was so much Indignation that if Mathew had ap peared it would have gone bard with him among the men. to say nothing of the women, who wonld think of no punish ment too bad for Mm The townsfolk talked of ducking in the river, of pillory and stocks, and I confess that the thought of Mathew In the pillory was not disagree able to me. Yet, considering the way of the world, perhaps, if he had been young, handsome, and of pleasant speech, he might hare been forgiven the attempted abduction, on the plea of love Inordinate. One man, we know, may steal a horse— but then he must be comely and gener ous—while another, if he Is churlish and harsh, is clapped into jal for looking over a hedge. While, however,' they talked, Mathew kept away, nor did he return for three or four weeks, leaving his private affairs neglected; and no one knew where he was In hiding. We had, however, a visit from Barbara. She came, she said, not out of any love to me or my mother, who had used words so injurious as regards herself, but to express her abhorrence of the crime which her unhappy brother had attempted, and her thankfulness that this madness of his was defeated. She said that she knew nothing whatever of him; where he was or what he was doing; but she hoped that when he returned he wonld be in a better frame of mind, and feel the remorse which ought to follow such an action. ' As for the pretended marriage with the old woman, she said that was a thing not to be considered seriously My mother received her excuses coldly, and she presently went away, after another attempt to discover whether I knew any thing fresh about “the boy. ” She desired to know, she said, not out of curiosity, because she was not a curious person, as everybody knew, but because she feared that I might, by representing the late affair in its worst light, bring about a hostile feeling and even a conflict between her brother and the boy, which could not fail of being disastrous to the latter My mother reassured her on this point, be cause. she said, Mathew was already well acquainted with Ralph’s cane, and. having shown so much bravery In the late affair, which took two men to carry off one woman, would now most certainly have the -courage to turn a submissive back to #e chastiser when he should ap pear Barbara thereupon went away. Though I loved her not, I could not but feel pity for a woman who had done and suffered so much on behalf of this thank less brother. She was grown much older to look at daring the last year or two; her face was pinched, and wrinkles had mul tiplied round her eyes with her constant cares. This Is an age when gentlemen of exalted rank think it no sin to be put to bed helpless after a debauch of wine or punch; I hope that more aober customs may shortly prevail, else one knows not what will become of us all Yet. though drunkenness is in fashion, I think nothing can be more miserable for a woman than to sit, as Barbara sat dally, knowing tfr^t the only man In the world she eared for la slowly getting drunk by himself in an other room, which is what Mathew did. As to the idle talk about the other will and the rightful heir, I know not what she believed in her heart, or how far she joined In the wicked designs of her brother, which were about to be frus trated. Then Mr. Carnaby, accompanied by his [ lady and by the vicar, came la person to Shis horror of the crime and his i that It was providentially pre- i,” said his worship, > we should take in the have to go who Is, she if such be iot give evi- ; of the boy Cuday, an ignorant, "air wild lad. wb<> knows not tho nature oi an oath. Abduction is a great crime, but then Mathew, whatever were bis Intentions, my child, did actually only run away with an old woman, and sfio makes no com plaint. but rather rejoices, while he Is rendered ridiculous To kidnap a young girl is a hanging matter; but then, my dear, you were not kidnaped. In short, we feel that to bring Mathew to justice would be difflcnlt and perhaps tmpoAib.e " To be sure, one would not wish to bang any man for the worst of crimes, and we had ne desire to bring Mathew before any court of law or justice, being quite con tented that the offender should feel cer tain of sharp and speedy justice if ho made another such attempt. “Can we not see him. at least." asked my mother, “placed In pillorj-?" “1 would place him in pillory,’' his worship went on, “if the old woman who new calls herself his wife—heaven knows with what right—would lodge a com plaint But site will not. He deserves pillory at the least And as for the rotten eggs. I would myself bring even a basket of new laid eggs, so that ho should want for nothing And I would condescend to throw them But she will not complain. She even laughs and boasts that sho has gotten a young husband And then, wmea is a oimcmt point in tms doubtful case”—his worship blushed and looked confused, while the vicar hemmed, and Mistress Carnaby coughed—“he was run ning a venture across the border, and no one knows—1 say that no ono can tell— I who may be compromised In this affair os to what he took across or what he brought, back, for though Mathew hath great faults, there is no one moru skilled—more skilled. I say.” “No one." said the vicar, which com pleted the sentence for his worship. “Wherefore, my dear girl,” continued his worship, "I propose waiting until the man returns, when 1 will reprimand him with such severity as will servo to deter him—and any others of a like mind with himself—from a renewal of his wicked ness/’ Mathew did come back, three weeks later; but although his worship sent the fugleman, carrying his pike, to the mill with a command that Mathew should in stantly repair to him far admonition, and although the vicar also repaired to Mr. Carnaby’s house in his best gown in order to receive the offender, and to give greater authority to tho discipline, Mathew came not. He positively and discourteously refused to obey. , There, it would seem, was a direct break- Ingof the law, or, at least, contempt for au thority, upon which Imprisonment, I dare say, might have followed. But, whither from leniency, or on account of that difficulty connected with the late venture, his worship refrained from severity, and ordered Instead that Mathow, for violence and contumacy, should do penance in the church. Here, indeed, was righteous retri- butionl He would stand, I thought, in the very place where he had caused Ralph to stand nine years before; ho would bo made to rise up beforo all the people, and in a loud voice to ask their pardon, and to recite the Lord's prayer I hope 1 am not a vindictive woman, yet I confess that J rejoiced on learning from the fugleman that this punishment had been meted out to the evil doer. Wo both rejoiced, and we congratulated each other, because we thought that Ralph would also rejoice. Little did we know of that great and lofty mind when we foolishly imagined that ho would ever rejoice over the fall of his enemy. There was great excitement in the town when it became publicly kuowu by means of the barber, who had it direct from hts worship, that this godly discipline was to i be enforced on tho person of Mathew Humblo—a substantial man, a statesman, a miller, a man supposed (but errone ously) to be wealthy and a man al ready 34 years of ago or thereabouts. Why, for a schoolboy.or a lad of 10 or a plain rustic to stand up in this whito sheet was joy enough, but far such a show of such a man this. If you pleaso, was rapture Indeed for tho simple people. I confess that I for one looked forward with pleasure to the spectacle. Alas! who would believe that man could be found so daring? Mathew refused contumaciously to perform tho penance! This was a great blow and heavy disap pointment to oil of us; and we looked to see the vicar excommunicate him. But he did not, saying that disobedience to tho church brought of itself excommunica tion without need of any form of words. Let Mathew look to his own soul. And as there seemed no means of enforc ing the punishment if the offender re fused to undergo it, there was nothing more to be said. The behavior of Nan at this time was worthy of admiration. On Math off's re turn. but not until then, she walked to the mill and informed Barbara that, os her brother’s wife, she was herself the mistress, bat that, being accustomed to her own cottage, she should not for the present molest her in h«r occupation. Then she sought her husband. It was really terrible to mark how the ravages of drink and disappointment to gether had made havoc with the appear ance of this unfortunate man. Unfort unate, I call him, though his punishment was but the just reward of his iniqnitiea. The failure of his plot; the consciousness of the ridicule which overwhelmed him; his shame and discomfiture; the thought of the old woman whom he had called hfs wife; the messages which ho had received from his worship and the vicar—his diso bedience being connected in sorqe way with partnership in the recent venture; a dreadful vague looking forward to the future, and the constant terror lest Ralph should return, filed his mind with agita tion. and gave him no peace, night or day. He neglected the work of mill and farm; he would take no meals savo by himself, and ho drank continually. He looked up from his last half drunken torpor when Nan came In. “I expected you before,” he said. “■What are you going to do?” She poured out a dram and tossed it off. “I came to see my bonny husbohd,” she said, “before I am a widow onco more. Eh, man. It’s an unlucky wife yo have gotten." “Wlfel” he repeated; “wife! Yes, I suppose you would pretend sailor's jacket. roUsrf up her aieaffes, and 1 seized tho cudgel wfth a gesture and look so menacing that Mathew hauled down his colors "How much do you want?" he naked. “Short will be the voyage,” she said. "Give me ten guineaa Yea, I will take ten guineaa to beglh with. But don't think it's pay day. Pm not paid off, nor shall be so long ae— Pity 'tta that I cant read those cards plainer. WeB, my dearie. I'm going. If I think I should like the mill better than my own cottage. I’ll come and stay here. You shall see, off and on, plenty of your wife. Hoi ho! The bonny bride! and the happy groom!” She left him for that time. But she money I cottage w< ourselves Ralph's letter would set all right. I know not, now, what l expected. 1 lived In a kind of fool's paradise Ralph was my hope, my anchor ] looked nut for but for protection; he tyould be a When the fuglemaBcdine to the we would fall to cori&rntulatlng upon the flight of time which brought my letter the nearer. He even made notches on a long pole for the days which might yot remain. Yet. oh what a slender reed was this on which I leaned 1 For my letter to him might hare miscar ried. Who is to insure the safety of a letter for so many thousand miles? Or his reply might be lost on board tho ship. A letter is a small thing and easily lost. “vmians m. ne aam. “» can asora no more I cannot afford so much. Poor Orustllal Thou must go out after all." “Going 1 going!” cried the man, looking round. i “Ftth HoirnuKDl" ] Mathew sprang to his feet with a cry as of pain, for he knew the voice. More than that, In the doorway he saw the , man He reeled and wonld have fallen, bat that someone held him. his cheeks were white, his eyes were staring The blow be had so long dreaded had fallen at last. Bis enemy was upon him tFe went often, during the brief space which j Or ho might be up the country with some remained of Mathew’s reign at the milL Each time she came she demanded money, and rum or usquebaugh; each time she threatened to live with her husband; each time sho terrified Barbara with the pros pect of staying there. And the man sat still in his room, brooding over fho past, and thinking not of repentence but of more wickedness. One day, he rode away without telling his sister whither ho was going or what he designed. He did not retorn that night, but two days later be rode into the town, accompanied by a grave and elderly gentleman, and after leaving the horses at the inn he walked to our cottage. I sww them at tho garden gate, and my heart felt like lead, because I saw very clearly what was going to happen. In fine, I felt certain that the money wonld bo demanded and our house sold. Mathew, goaded by his sister, who clamored without ceasing for the money supposed to have been lent to us. and un able any longer to endure his suspense and anxiety regarding their cousin, re solved to bring matters to an' issue. Fort unate indeed was it for us he had delayed so long. uative prince; or he might be fighting; or he might bo too much occupied to write. A slender reed of hope Indeed Yet I had faith Call It not a fool's paradise; ’twas the paradise of love. Then came the day. tho lost day, when the money must be paid ot wo lose our bouse. That day I can never forget. It was the 23d of December The mum mers, I know, were getting ready for the next evening. In the night wo were awa kened by tho waits singing beforo our house; God rest you, merry gentlemen, Let nothing you dismay, and I, who ought to have taken tho words for [an exhortation to lift my heart to heaven, lifted it only as high as—my lover. To bo sure, ho was always a good deal nearer heaven than his unworthy sweetheart. In the night there was snow, and whau the sun rose tho garden was beautiful, and the leafless trees had every littlo twig painted white; a dear bright day, . such as seldom conies to this county of ! rein and wind in the month of December, j If ono has to be thrust into tho street. ono would wish for a day of sunshine. They came In, therefore, and the grave Is u not ft monstrous thing that tlds jus old geutlemau opened tho business. He tico should bo possible? Will there ever said that ho was an attorney from Mor “mo a timo whtn J ustico equity petb; that the mortgage, of which men wiu ^ administered, liko fresh air and tion had already been made to Mistress spring water, for nothing? Hetheringtou, had been drawn up by him 80 cortaln WftS Mathew of his prey that at the request of Mr Mathow Humble, that he had my father. witnessed the signature of and that the business, in short, was regularly conducted in accord once with the custom and tho require ments of the law. I asked him If he had seen the money paid to my father. Ho replied that he had not, but that it was unnecessary l informed him thereupon that the money never had been paid ut all, but that my father, a demented person, as was very well knoffn. yet not so dangerous or so mad that h® must bo locked up, was per suaded by Mathew that lie was signing an imaginary deed of gift conveying lands which existed only In Ids own mind, be cause he had no land. Tho lawyer mode no reply to this at all, “Now, mistress," said Mathew roughly, “is the time to show tho proofs you talked about.” “My proofs, sir,” I addressed the law yer, “are, first, that my father believes himself prodigiously rich, and would scorn to borrow money of such as Mathew he sent the crier round at 0 o’clock in the morning to announce the sale for noon. And directly after 11 o’clock ho canio him self, with tho attorney and a man to conduct the auction or sale of the house. Wo put together. In order to carry with us, our wearing apparel. Mathow was for preventing us from taking anything— even, I believe, the clothes we stood in— I out of the honse. Even the family Bible i must stay, and tho very account books; ! but he was rebuked by bis lawyer, who Informed him that the mortgage included only the tenement or building, but not its contents We should keep our beds, , then. But where to bestow them? Whither to gu? My heart began to sink. I could have sat down and cried, had that been of any avail, and if my mother bad nut set a better example and kept so bravo a f ree. "Tho daughter of a substantial London merchant, my dear.” she said, “must not show signs of distress before such cattle” —she meant the attorney and his honest client. "Get your things together, and we will see where we can find u shelter Ilia enemy ttaa upon him. The figure In tho doorway was that of a gentleman, tall and stately, still In th® bloom and vigor of early manhood, gal lantly dressed in scarlet, with gold laced bat. laced ruffles, diamond buckles, and his sword In a crimson sash. Alas for Mathew' The girl had told no lie. The fugleman, being on duty, contem plated things without emotion, even so surprising a thing as the return of the wanderer But he saluted his superior officer and then, grounding his pike, looked straight before him. Tltls was the answer—this was the reply to my letter Every woman in love Is a prophet I knew, being In love, that my sweetheart would make all well; I knew not bow. he wouM bring peace and protection with him, for those I loved as well as for myself. Great and marvelous are the ways of Providence i knew not. nor could I so much as hope that the answer would be such as it was—nothing short of my lover’s return, to go abroad no more bo continued.) street car Dens. The next da; carried oat her threat and left u&te. As she entered th® car a gentleman got up with a smile of welcome. “On, l£r. Grafton!” Nancy said gay ly. “How are you ? I heard you were sentenced for life to hard labor." “Is that the way you put it!" said her acquaintance, a well known cler gyman ; “I believe they have appointed me chaplain of the peniteqgiary.” “What on earth are you going for?" Nancy persisted. “It must be horrible. Fancy Being shut up all the time with a lot of burglars and cut throats I" “It won’t be all the time,” said Mr. Grafton, with an indulgent smile; “besides some one has to look after these poor wretches, you know." “Yes, I suppose so," said Nancy, ruefully; “but I wanted you at St. Luke’s. Do you know, Mr. Grafton, I’ve never been in iail in my life?” “I suppose not, T ’ said the clergy man, laughing. “No," Nancy persisted, “I mean that I have never even seen a peni tentiary. I should liko awfully to go througn some time.” “And see all the burglars and cut throats?” ho asked. Quizzically. “Just for onco. Do you su could some time?” “There is nothing easier, if you like,” Mr. Grafton replied. ‘‘I am go ing over there to-morrow, and if you would like to go along, I will take you." This was how Nancy came to make the excursion, and the new chaplain of tho Hoburn penitentiary made his first round in company with a beauti ful girl, whose blue eyes and golden hair provoked many admiring glances. Nancy looked very sweet that morn ing in a quiet gray gown, that set off her slender, graceful figure to perfec tion. A bunch of ferns and violets was fastened in her corsage, and Mr. Grafton smiled on his pretty compan ion with quiet approval. “Wo are iust in time, it seems,” ho &iid, when no had spoken to tho chief warden. “Tho convicts are just , come out see them cross tho court in a ievery you suppose I A NOTION OF NANCY’S. Humble; next, that ho perfectly well rewj , . , . , members signing this document, which he M / P“ r ol f shal "‘’V** 1 ,ho P lnch thought a deed of gift ; thirdly, that wo know positively that bo has had no money at all in his possession; fourthly, that ho denies with indignation having borrowed money, fifthly, that Mathew, like every body else, knew of his delusions, and would certainly never have lent tho money; sixthly, that £300 Is a vast sum, ami could not havo been received and spent without our knowledge. Lastly, that Alathew was known to bo a base and wicked wretch who even tried to kidnap and carry off a girl whom he wished to marry." “Every one of these proofs,” said my mother, “is by itself enough for any rea sonable person. ” The lawyer replied very earnestly that h» had nothing to do with proving the debt, that ho came to carry out tho in structions of his client, and to give us a week’s notice—which was an act of mercy, j in enco. because no clause of notice had been in- T " sorted in tho mortgage; that the house would bo sold unless the money lent was paid; that it was not his duty nor his business to advise us, but his own client; that the law of England provides a remedy for everything by tho help of attorneys, and that, by the blessing of heaven, attorneys abound, and may bo i btalned In any town. Finally, ho ex ceeded his duty by his client in counseling us to put our affairs in tho hands of some . skilled and properly qualified adviser. This said, ho bowed low and went away, fallowed by Mathew. But Mather returned half an hour lator and found me alone. “You told me,” he said, “six months ago and more, that should I attempt any harm to you and yours, you would writo ; to tho boy I waited. If your story was true. you. would havo written to him at j once, ont* of fear But your story was i not true. Ah, women' are all liars. I ! | ought to have known that. Barbara says ; so, and sho (flight to know.” “Go on, Mathew,” I said. | “I waited. If your story had been true, tho boy would have-hastened homo. Well, I thought I would give you another chance. I would carry you off. That would make him wince, if ho was living. Yet ho has not cotno." Did one ever hear tho liko? To bring his own terrors to an end, or to an issue, ho would havo made me his unwilling and wretched wifo. “Now I’ve foond you out. Why didn’t I think ®f it beforo? I asked tho post boy Never a letter, ho truly swears, has been delivered to you—never a ono. So It is all a lie from tho beginning. Very good, then. Marry me. or sold up you shall be, and Into the cold streets shall you go." I bade him begone, and he went, terri fied, perhaps, at the fury with which I spoke Of this I forbear to say more. When we sought tho advice of Mr. Car naby, wo found that ho entertained an of cold and hunger, though we work our fingers to the bone." Her lip trembled as sho spoke. Meantime my father was giving a hearty welcome to the astonished attorney, whom ho considered as a visitor “In this poor house, sir,” ho said, with a lofty air, “though wo havo the conveni ences which wealth can bestow, wo havo \ poso entirel not tho splendor. 1 trust, sir, that you may give mo tho pleasure of a visit at my town house, where. I believe, her lady ship will show you rooms worthy of any nobleman's hohse, not to speak of a plain city knight, liko your humblo servant." Tlr> attorney regarded him with wonder, but answered not. I believed he under stood by this ono speech bow impossible It was that this poor man could have bor rowed his client's money At stroko of noon tho sale was to com- But as yot there were no buyers. No one was there to bid except Mathew , himself, who was impatient to begin. It wanted five minutes of noon when Mr. Carnaby appeared, bearing his gold hoaded stick, and preceded by tho fuglo man with his pike, to show that tho visit was official. He was followed by a dozen or so of tho townsmen, now aware that something out of tho common was about ! to happen. “Go on with tho sale," cried Mathew i Impatiently; "it is 12 o'clock " "Stop/” said Ills worship. "Kir. " bead dressed tb# lawyer, “you will first satisfy mo by what right you enter a private house, and next by what authority you are selling it.” Tho attorney replied with submission and outward show of respect that he was within his powers, in proof of which be exhibited papers the nature of which i know not. concluding with a hope that his honor was satisfied “Why. sir." said Mr. Carnaby,” so far as you are concerned, 1 may bo 1 am also sausneu mat tms business is tno con spiracy of a viHatn against the peac® and happiness of an innocent girl." "With respect, sir.' said the lawyer, “the words conspiracy and villain are libelous " “1 name no names. ” but he looked at Mathew who shifted his feet and en deavored to seem unconscious "I name no names, he repealed, shaking his forefinger in Mathew's face, "yet villain is the man who would ruin a helpless family because a virtuous woman refuses to marry him. Villain. I say!" He banged the floor with his great stick, so that everybody In tho room trembled. “I do not think, sir,’’ said Mathew, "that your office entitles yon to offer 'ra- pedlments to a just and lawful sale. ” “Prate not to me. Master Kidnapper." •‘lf,“ continued Mathew. “Mr Hether- ington disputes my claim, here is my lawyer, who will receive his notice of ac tion. For myself. 1 want my own and nothing more Glv® me justice-” ’’1 would to heaven, sir, l could,” said “Heigh hoi 1 am afraid there musi bo something wrong with mo,” said Nancy, as sho sat down in tho bloom ing grass under the old elm tree. “I am tired of tho country. I know it is wicked to fool so, and yet I hate the very sound of a beo and tho grasshop pers drive me frantic. Oh, dear I it is all so drowsy and dull aud dreary— and—and all the other d’s.” Bho con cluded, savagely: “I want to go back to tho city. I—I just hate this place.” There never was a more unreason able girl than Nancy Stevens, aud her present mental attitude betrayed her at once. Ferndalo was one of tho lov- liest spots in tho country, and to its broad, blooming acres sho had lately fallen heiress by her grandfathers will; but tho life there bored her. Sho settled down comfortably under tho treg and shut her eyes. Nancy fell fast asleep. An hour slipped by and Nancy woke with a not very msthetic yawn which Limed. What an absurd dream I had! I was going in tho old ma- across a pho- ph. 1 don't remember what it looked like, only it was a very hand some man, and on tho hack of it was written ‘To Nancy from her devoted lover.’ I picked it up and it was aW' opinion about law and justico which , . , . seemed to differ from that of the Morpeth 7° lawyer. “Yonr proofs,” ho said, “though to tne they are clear and sufficient to show that Mathow is a surprising rogue, would go a court And I doubt ‘Hark ye. brother.” cried Nan, bring ing down her cndgel on the table with an emphasis which reminded Mathew un easily of the secon^ husband's lot; “hark ye! Sail on another track, or you’ll have a broadside that’ll rake you fore and aft from stem to stern. Wife I am; husband you are; wherefore all that is yours is mine." She hitched a rope into the handle ot the stone jar containing the brandy and jerked it over her shoulder. “The mill Is mine, so long as it Is yours, which won’t be long; shipmet. Last night I read yonr fortune, my lad. By all I can discover, you and me shall part company before long. But whether yon will hang yourself, like my second man, or be hanged, like my first; or whether for nothing before much whether any attorney would h« tound to undertake, without guarantee of costs, bo great a business ea a civil action. Justice, my child, in this coun try. as well ns all other oonntries. may hardly be obtained by any but the rich, and only by them at the cosf of vexatious delays, cheats, impositions, evasions, and the outlay of great sums upon a rascally I attorney. Beware of the craft Let the man do his worst, you still have friends, my dear.” So spoke this kind and benevolent man. I am sure that his deeds would havs proved as good as his words had they been called for. We told no one In the town, otherwise | I am sure there would have been a great storm of indignation against Mathew, and yon will be knocked o’ the head—; perhaps we did wrong to keep the thing . . . . . , . v II a* .i. - r i which is too good for snob as you; or whether you will dfo by reason of takln’ too much ran aboard, which is fatal to many an honsst Jack; or whether yon will die by hand ef doctors whereby tha land lubbers do perish by multitudes—I know not Short will be our company; so. as long as wa sail together, 1st ns share and ■hare alike, and be merry and drink about Money—now, I want money.” He refused absolutely to let her have any money Without any more words, this terrible woman prepared for action. Thai is to sey, she took off her rough < and return tone*. a secret”" But my mother was a Londoner and did not like to have her affairs made more than could be helped the subject of scandal and village gossip It was now already the middle of IV- eember; we should, therefore, be turned out into the street in winter. As for ear slender stock of money, that was red to a few guineas Yet was I not cast down, beeanse, whatever else might happen, the time was oome when 1 might expect an answer, la eighteen months, or even leu, a ship might sail to India greatly ous sale It appeared at first as if no one would bid at all for the cottage, though by this time the room was full Then Mathew offered £50 Mr Carnaby bid £55. Matbew advanced £5 Mr Carnaby bid £65. Mr Carnaby was not rich; yet he had formed tbe benevolent design of baying the house, so that we might not be turned out, even if the rent would be uncertain. Mathew wanted not only the amount of tha (pretended) mortgage, but also the pleasure of turning us out. Ahl where eras Ralph now? Where was the “hoy” to whom I was going to write for protection M he dared to move? **Ooe hundred and ninety!” said Mathew “One hundred and ninety-five," said his worship “Two hundred!" said Mathew. Mr Carnaby hesitated. Ho doubted whether the cottage of eix rooms and the two seres of ground in which it stood were worth more The hammer went up He thought of us and our helpless situa tion. “Two hundred and fiver he said. “Two hundred and ten!” said Mathew Again Mr Osrdhby hesitated, again he saw the hammer in tho alrj again he ad vanced. “Two hundred and ninety-fiver said his worship mopping his facet. “Three hundredT said Mathew. “Any advance upon three hundredT Mked the aaettonaar Ma Caraabv shook hit kMd. & fully heavy, ami kept getting heavier ami heavier till I dropped it on tho iloor, and then it began to grow and grow till it suddenly turned iqto a real man, who caught mv hands and held them so tight that it Burt mo.” Nancy lifted her hands half rueful ly. “I think a beo stung mo just then,” she said. “There's an ugly red spot that smarts a good deal." “I wonder what there is in grand pa’s old desk, anyhow? No photo graphs of haudsomo men, I venture to say; but I’ve a great mind to ransack tho pigeon holes, iust for fun. It’s a regular Noah’s art, I’m sur®.” The idea seemed to please her and, as her drowsiness gradually left her, she got tip and sauntered into the house where bar grandfather’s desk stood in one corner of tho quaint old drawing room. Sho had a great time finding 1 the key, and, when she had unlocked it she felt inclined to shut it up again. “Mercy 1” she cried, with an innate horror of the dust that pervaded every thing. “Why don’t people bum all their old letters and trash before they die? I mean to anyhow! Just fancy going over these melancholy old things! It's liko spending a day in a family mausoleum.” Nevertheless, Nancy drew up a tall rush bottomed choir and sat down be fore tho desk, not without some curi osity. With a little Japanese feather duster she flicked away the gray coat ing of dust that enveloped every thing, aud began to run over the pigeon holes ono by ono. “There are no photographs, evi dently,” sho said, thinking of her dream, -aud with a languid interest she picked up first one letter, then an other, scraps of paper, memoranda, newspaper clippings, yellow letter heads also bills and receipts and all the odds and ends that accumulate in an old desk. “Why 1” she said presently, “here’s a letter already stamped and. address- od, and it has never been sent Poor grandpa must have mislaid it. He al ways was forgetful. Let me see 1 It’s addressed to John YThite Draper, 42 Fairthoruo street, City. What city, I wonder?” Nancy took a paper knife and cut the envelope open. A letter written by her grandfather almost a year beforo his death was inclosed. “My-dear Mr. Draper’’ tho letter began in old Mr. Stevens’ quaint, pre cise hand, “I neglected to tell you that I havo transferred my account with Craig and Hamilton, and have S laced a balance of forty thousand ollars subject to your order with the First National bank of T . Upon inquiry I have found Craig and Ham ilton rather shaky, and consider this a wise move. I have not said anything about this to any one, as I do not care to start a run of the firm for nothing, to dinner. If ybu come out^iere, you’ll Body.” Nancy followed him and their guide, a small boy, who convoyed thorn to a stairway leading down uito the court at tho foot of which stood tho warden with folded arms, while tho prison clock struck 12. “They will come out to dinner now,” said the boy expectantly, and almost at the same moment, Nancy heard the tramp of feet on tho flags of tlio court yard. Tho prisoners came out In their black and brown striped convict clothes with short cropped heads and smooth shaven faces. At the sight of Nancy’s lovely face looking down at them from the stairway, more than one stolid countenance lightened with a smile of pleasure, and the men glanced back more than once at the pretty vision. “Why, they look just like other men,’’ Nancy thought, and then her heart gave a groat bound. A man’s pale face was lifted for a moment from those homely ranks, a delicate, refined face, from which this most hideous garb could not wholly take a certain air of distinction. Tho dark melancholy eyes were lifted to Nan cy’s face, and a strange sense of rec ognition came over her. Where had sho seen that face before? Surely she had met that man somewhere I Who was he? The feet tramped by and the column moved on; but not beforo this strange prisoner hod bowed his head with the air of a courtier, and, Nan cy obeying some strange impulse, threw him a knot of flowers from her bouquet His face ligli a smile, and then settled back into its former shade of melancholy “Who is that?” Nancy said breath lessly, as tho men moved on, and sho saw the cohvict touch tho flowers del icately to his lips. “Why is he here; that man who bowed to mo?” “That one?" interrupted the small boy, pointing to tho prisoner. “That's Draper. He Y s a swell, he is. Used to be a treasurer of some big company, and stole a lot of money; that’s how he got hero." ’^Ohl” exclaimed Mr. Grafton, with a sudden interest, “is that Draper? Surely you havo heard of him, Miss Stevens? He stole $40,000 from your grandfather’s estate.” “What did you say?” Nancy cried. “I don’t understand.” “Why, you remember about it,” Mr. Grafton continued. “It happened just after the Craig and Hamilton fail ure. They said that your grandfather ad withdrawn $40,000 from the firm, and then Mr. Teiry found an entry in Mr. Stevens’ books which showed ne’d S ut the money in trust in Draper’s ands. Draper swore he never had tho money; but it couldn’t be found, and your cousin Henry had him ar rested." “And they sent him to this dread ful place?” Nancy cried excitedly. “How long has he Been here?" “Six months or so, I guess," Mr. Grafton replied. “Fine looking fel low, isn’t no? Well, have you seen enough of this! Shall we go back and go through the wards?” “Oh, what a dreadful place I” Nancy His face lighted for n moment with Hie courtyard seem to swtm oetore the poor fellow’s eyes. “Do you mean—you don’t mean”— he stammered. , “I mean you are a free man,” said the warden, heartily. “You can step forth from this place without a taint of dishonor upon your name. The world has used you illy, but you will find it ready, I think, to moke e atonement.” “Thank God!” Draper murmured ! huskily. “Thank Godr The warden grasped his hand and | ■hook it warmly. “I am very glad for you.” he said. I “From the first I felt you did not be long here.” “But how did they find out—who told?" Draper asked, faint with his own emotions. “That is the charm of it I” said the warden, smiling. “It is all tho doing of that pretty girl who was here last week. Bho is Mr. Stevens’ grand daughter, it appears, and in looking over his papers, she found a memor andum which cleared you completely. The old gentleman liad forgotten to mail a letter—that was all there was of it. It was rather a dear bit of care lessness, but you are all right now and everybody is waiting to lionize you." Tears came into Di aper’s eyes. He could not speak. A fair sweet face shone through the mist, and he called a blessing upon Nancy’s head for her kindly intervention. He could hardly credit his ears when ho was called into tho oifico and heard his pardon read. In omhour or so he was walking down tho street clad in his old clothes, with only his short hair and smooth face to suggest hii former attiro and occupation. Draper went at once to his lawyer' office and heard in detail tho story of his release. “And now what are you going to do?” said Mr. Winters, kindly. “Doubtless you can do as you please. You will have no end of offers. “I—I think I shall go way,” Draper said, looking down. “I do not feel like seeing my old friends. The ai: of the prison seems to cling to me.” “Nonsense 1” said Mr. Wintefs. “Why, pcoplo look on you as a mar-, tyr.” ‘T havo lived eight months in tl penitentiary,” Draper answered, sad ly'. ‘ ‘I can never forget tjiat. ” “OJi, well! of course you feel that, said the lawyer; “but you won’t by- end-bye. (jomej cheer up, John. Lifj is brighter than it ever was.” “There is ono thing I must do,” said, irrelevantly. “Where does * Stevens live?” “Oh, ah! To bo sure 1” John called upon Nancy tho ne: day in town, whither she had coi again in a flurry of excitement. “Oh, Mr. Draper I” sho cried at om when she saw him. “I am so glad] Can you ever forgive me?” “Forgive youl lean never you enough" said John, warml; ‘‘You rescued mo from a livingdeat “Yes, but it was my grandfathi who was tho cause of your being to prison; besides, it seems to me everybody was very careless a: hasty. I wasn’t hero, and, of con: I knew nothing about it; butsomi body ought to have found out It wi dreadful. How did you endure awful place?” "Indeed, I don’t know," Draper frankly. “It was liko a continu nightmare.” “It is too horrible 1” Nancy err “It was like stealing some of your lifi It can never be made up to you.” Draper had a splendid sense of coi fort in hearing her warm words sympathy. Ho settled back into easy chair she assigned him, and tented himself with looking at None; eager face. She ran on in an excii way that carried him fairly off feet Sho plied him with questioi praised and consoled him in Breath, till suddenly she stopped sb with quick concern. “How pale you are I” she crie “Are you ill?” Draper got up with an effort “I do feel a little wretched.” he - “All this excitement has rather kn ed mo up, I’m afraid. If you will cuse mo” Ho took a step forward, but that all. A deadly whiteness came O' his face, and ho sank back into chair insensible. Draper was ill after that “How ill?” ho asked when Ni told him weeks later. “We were very worried about y Nancy said, as she rocked him in a hammock on the piazza at dale. “Wei” he said, in a tone of rogation. “Why, yes 1” she answered wil delicate blush. “Dr. Adams and Grafton and Mr. Winters—and ev body. Hosts of people have bee see you. They came all the way here, and I am sure that was am; evidence of their interest” “Oh, welll" said Draper, wil shrug. “They look upon me as a - - * ' er interest had cried with a shiver. Hei suddenly flagged. Curiosity had given place to horror. Draper’s race haunt ed her. Where had she seen it? What did it all meant “Mr. Grafton,” she said, suddenly, "I cannot stay this morning to go through the wards. I have just thought of something, and I must go back to Ferndale by the -first train." Naturally, Mr. Grafton stared, but Nancy mane very brief excuses. “I must go at once,” she said fever ishly; and she was not much used to being deterred. When John Draper came back from his dinner, there was a flush on his otherwise pale face, and he gazed up »t the court yard stairs, half in dread, half in hope. He had pinned Nancy’s bunch of violets in the buttonhole of his prison jacket, and as he glanced down he wondered whether she could not see how fast his heart was beating underneath days r wonder. Doubtless I shall 1 a call from tho manager of the museum to pose as an escaped com or something liko that—a sort of poverished Count of Monte “Whatmakes you talk like! said # Nancy. “I am sure everyt has ‘been very kind to you sine since” “You have, ” Draper answered qu ly. “If it had not been for yci should still be wearing out my ufl that awful place; and then you nus me all this while, and it must hi been an awful bother and nuisan^ “How can you say such Nancy cried, reproachfully. “I S ou everything in the way of on. If I had not been ignorant i ir. Afferent you would never have 1 sei.t to jail." “And I should never have knq you, perhaps,” Draper added quic Nancy stopped swinging him denly and got up. “Don’t go!” he pleaded, and can her hand with an eager gesture, i would have to tell you some time,] I might as well do it now. I love ^ I have loved you since the mome saw you standing on the prison i maybe. I think we’d better keep quiet about it Yours “George Btevens” “Well," raid Nancy, glancing over the letter and it’s date, “that was written the very day grandpa had his stroke of apoplexy. I suppose that is why it was never sent He never was the same afterward. I wonder what- became of the forty thousand dollars! It went into the estate, I suppose. Mr. Terry probably saw to that” Nancy laid the letter down and went on with something else. But she soon grew tired and shut up the old dust trap in disgust “There is nothing interesting in there," she concluded, with a yawn. “It is like everything elm in this poky old house. On, dear I I can’t stand itaay longer. I wont stand iti I'm to the city tomorrow." her own idea. While was hurrying away from lent I you 'What a fool I ami” he said as he j wife 1” took the violets from his buttonhole Nancy sat down again quite ^till and inhaled their delicate perfume, i shy. “What woman will ever look* second , “Answer me l” Draper demons time at a man like met Least of ail r*T have nothing in the world to d a woman so wonderfully fair as she is! you but my love and devotion ’* ’ ’ she had * beautiful face—so! “Idon’twantanythingels answered, and she let him head down till her blushing sweet, and tender! A man might die for a woman like that—ah, that would only be too great a privi lege I” Ho sighed audibly and one of his comrades, a coarse fellow who was arrested for burglary, remarked with a laugh that No. S7 was “struck dead on the girl with the posies.” Draper walked quickly away. He was afraid of saying something vio lent The days were twice as dull s/tor that A week passed away and Draper was still dread ing of a fair face and its halo of blonde hair about v there seemed to hover an odor of violets. He was yard one morning Band, whan tbe ■poke to him. have news ■aid kindly. “ 1 S' MS close to his. Then ho she smiled. Nancy was married during days, to every one’s delight, the leas to the satisfaction of and her own romantic self. Hie humors of ence^wereexemplifiod at 1 Bacun. Mr. ponied by Mrs. SmmMnterest was, of« the] of the m. . M m