Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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yHoldehhii Copyright 1836, by BO CHAPTER XXIII. Continued. These observations convinced me that uncle Sain had that morning deceived me when he had so jauntily asserted that old Mr. Wolsey could tell his wife nothing which she did not already kuow. 1 was not, however, so much interested in that consideration as in the disquietude of Constance, and in hope that I might be able to comfort her, my aunt had no sooner taken up her position by the piano than 1 LTiJfcSfU WVtfl U11U WVUllitu i Lie otoi sh^? had just vacated. The attention of the company was wholly bestowed upon the singer, and * th" sound of another voice, though but in a whisper, would have been rightly regarded as an ill-mannered interrup-, tion. Though I could not for thp moment speak to my fair one. I was able, even in that public situation, to press her little hand in mine with a significance which was not misunderstood. Aunt Gertrude was followed by several other singers of various degrees of merit, but all alike in so far as they prevented conversation between Constance and me. nor could I find any convenient opportunity to interrogate her until we were again on board the Iroquois. Fortunately I had not long to wait for this, for the river being a slow way to return to New York City it was decided that we should leave T .rrytowu early. We were no sooner ol board than my aunt, whom I suspect partly understood the aspect of affairs, wthdrew to the cabin to resume her book. leaving Constance and I to do as we would. The evening being delightfully tine and cool, and the sky an unfathomable blue studded with innumerable stars, to sav noth ing of other reasons, of course we preferred to remain upon deck. Notwithstanding m.v impatience to know precisely how Constance was affected by the information she had gained from Mr. Fullers letter to Mr. Price, we were seated closely together for several minutes before I ventured to ask her. and when I did so my question received no reply, but hot tears ' fell upon my hand. I was painfully surprised and unnerved by this incident. and knelt down beside the distressed girl, saying I know not what, but doing all in my power to comfort her. After a little while she became more composed and looked at me steadily. "My sister must never know of this," she said; "it would kill her." "Must never know of what?" I asked. "Of the contents of that letter Mr. Price showed me." "I have not read that letter, but I fear I know what you refer to." I answered. "Your w*ords confirm the letter. 1 feared it was true as I rend it. Poor dear (Jertie! and she is such a loving tiou of her husband. Can it be that nil men are false?" "No. darling, it cannot, but I confess I greatly fear thet. are many such. Speaking for myself. I swear by the sky above and the water beneath, and by the great Being- who created them both, that you are the only woman I ha\e ever desired: that if you will be raine and faithful to me. according to your promise and my belief. I am yours, and yours only, till I die. With your faith in mankind thus rudely shaken, and knowing that I must leave you to-morrow not to see you again for at least a month, can you trust me?" Constance looked up at me. and the tears in her eyes glistened in the starlight as she softly replied: "I will trust you." I caught the dear girl in my arms, and pressing her face to mine, for the first time restowed upon her lips ?***.? What is this I am writing? This will :iever ao. un reading tniR page it really impresses me as more like a leaf from a novel than a passage from the memoirs of a middle - aged English squire. CHAPTER XXIV. THE ACCUSATION. Holdenhurst village! Was it possible that I had been absent from It but little more than three weeks? The calendar affirmed that such was the case. Why, in those few days I had traveled further, seen more of mankind, and committed myself for good or for evil more deeply than in all my life besides. Yes; tills was my native place, unchanged in any respect, yet somewhat strange to me now that I regarded It in the light of an enlarged experience. There was the quiet, straggling street; the old Xorman church on the bill surrounded by moss-grown, half-obliterated stone memorials of bygone generations: the Truman Arms, our village Inn. with the carrier's horse drinking water from a trough outside while his master refreshed himself within, and the great iron gates of the Hall, surmounted by the heraldic devices of tlje Truman family, a lion struggling in the colls of a python. If was past midday when I entered ; Holdenhurst on foot, and the street was more than usually deserted, but the village folk, with exception only / I si^ [ ?Y, ALTER BLOOMFIELD ?kbt Bjnseh's Boss of the very young and the very old, could be discerned harvesting in the fields beyond,, -while over the whole scene brooded that oppressive heaviness which in England not commonly heralds an autumnal storm. As I had not communicated with my father since despatching the telegram from New York announcing my intended return, no conveyance was at Bury St. Edmund's to meet me?a circumstance for which I was inclined to be thankful, for my journey from New York, long and tedious as it was, naa not sufficed for me to digest all my recent experiences, and I was anything hut prepared to meet my father and John Adams?particularly the latter. A long walk alone on a country road I had always found a favorable condition for solving any problem which perplexed me, but to-day my specific failed to produce its usual effect; I was unable to shape or in any way adequately realize the results which might follow the doing of that which I had returned to England to do. and when I turned into the patch which led up to the Hall my mind was scarcely more clear than the sky above me? now more than ever dark, but emitting frequent flashes of lightning. On entering the house I was told by a servant that my father and Mr. Wolsey were together in the study, and I went there to them at once without ceremony. Both were unfeignedly pleased at my return, my grandfather regarding me with much curiosity, and expressing his pleasure at my increased height and apparent health. "To think that five years should make such a difference!" exclaimed my grandfather. "When I left Holdenhurst you were a mere boy; now von are almost a man " "Not quite?" I asked. "Well, hardly." said my grandfather. "A fellow-passenger of mine, a clever old fellow who came from Sydney to England with me, used to say there j was no man under thirty years of age." | "Your friend is wrong." I replied. "A large part of the world's best work has been done by men when they were less than thirty. For my part. I am convinced that my judgment in general matters is us sound as it will ever be. and I shouldn't hesitate in making unassisted decisions in all matters relating to myself." Mr. Wolsey seemed a little disconcerted by my vigorous reply, and looked inquiringly at my father, but the latter, affecting not to notice it. turned the conversation by .asking if I had a pleasant voyage to England. "A very pleasant voyage, indeed," I replied; "no such storm as this either going or returning"?for at that moment the rain was lashing against the windows with tremendous force, and i thlinHor 1 i < h t i n rr n*nrn olntncf nr\n. stant. "I was just completing an arrange-! meut with your grandfather," said ray father, speaking slowly, as he turned over a number of leases and agreements which lay piled upon his desk in front of him. "Mr. Wolsey has agreed to settle down at Holdenhurst, though not as my tenant. As you know, I have no less than four farms at present vacant, and as soon as Mr. Cooper goes I shall have another. To look for an agricultural tenant in these times Is like seeking for the philosopher's stone, so I have offered your grandfather his old house (it has remained empty ever since he left it) and a small salary, aud he has undertaken to superintend the cultivation of my tenantless farms. What with bad seasons and the low prices at which foreign agricultural produce is put upon our markets, the farmers are really in desperate straits, and It's difficult to see what the end of It all will be. Nothing but a duty on the importation of corn, or a European war, can save them from ruin. Mr. Fuller himself Admits as much, though he doesn't see his way clear to pray for either of those things. Of course you are glad that your grandfather is to be near us again." "Most assuredlv I am. and " I added with a sudden outburst of courage?"I am very pleased that he has accomplished the purpose which occasioned his going away. How is my cousin Annie?" My grandfather seemed surprised at my question and remained silent, while my father glanced uncomfortably at us both. "Is she qultq well?" I inquired again. "Poor Annie is better in health than reputation," said my father after a pause, answering for Mr. Wolsey. "I am sorry to say it, but my brother is a heartless villain. I never thought he was so black as he is." "Aed I don't think he is so black as some people regard him," I answered, with unguarded warmth. "Is it not possible uncle Sam may be able to urge some consideration which will extenuate the fact that he took Annie away without her father's consent? Besides, Annie is old enough to know the consequences of her acts." "Did your uncle tell you to say that to us?" asked my two companions in a breath. "No, indeed, he did not; nor did he suggest any such ideas to me. I speak only for myself." "Then I am sorry. Ernest, that you have no clearer ideas of right and wrong," said my father. "Oh, as to that, different people view a matter differently. Even if a man were convicted of a particular offence I should not regard that fact as proof of his guilt of another and totally different offence, but there are people whose ideas of right and wrong permit them to reason so." I felt strongly for my uncle Sam, and could not hear the man who had been so extraordinarily kind to me abused without a feeling of Indignation. As if to add force to my declaration I had scarcely articulated the last word when a terrible flash of lightning brilliantly illuminated the almost darkened room, and was followed by a tremendous thunderclap which shook the nrhAln hnllCO The veiled reference to the inference my father had drawn from uncle Sam's affair with Annie Wolsey did not escape attention. But my father was too firmly convinced that his brother had stolen the sequins to wince at any satire I was master of. Looking at me steadily he-said in a reproachful tone: "You have been away from home nearly a month, and are no sooner returned than we almost quarrel, a thing we never did till my brother came here. Has not that man caused mischief enough?to me. to your grandrather, to your cousin, and I know not who else besides?but he must need destroy all sympathy between you and me?" "Not your brother nor any man could do that," I asserted stoutly. "I [ am your son. and honor you as a good j father to whom I owe everything, but | none the less do I profoundly believe that you are the victim of a disastrous mistake, and I don't despair of a day to come when you will be thankful that my opinion in the matter of the | sequins differed so widely from yours, j What if I were to establish beyond , question that your brother never had j anything to do with those sequins?" j "I should be Immensely relieved and ! most devoutly thankful. But I have ' ?- 1 no sucn nope; common sense luruiuo . me to entertain it." "And my common sense will not per- j mit me to reject it." I replied. "That being so, it is useless for us i to talk any more of the matter until ! you have something tangible to show ! in support of your views," said my > father, turning away. "Quite so," I agreed; "let us speak no more on this wretched subject until | I have." The gong in the hall was sounding for luncheon, but could only be heard imperfectly amid the din of the storm, which still raged furiously. My father led the way to the dining room, where luncheon was laid for three. There, nervously fussing about the sideboard and appearing older and more decrepit than ever, was the man who had occasioned my hasty return from America. John Adams regarded me with a puzzled look, and with that familiarity which is not unfrequently permitted in old servants congratulated me on my safe return from abroad. We were no sooner seated at table than Mr. Wolsey, with the laudable desire, as I thought, of preventing the conversation from running upon disagreeable topics, inquired how I liked New York, to which I answered that I thought it was a very fine city generally, but that its harbor and chief river were magnificent. "New York did not impress me so favorably," remarked Mr. Wolsey :*"it is evident that you have seen only the better part of that city. I was there for two months, and I never want to see the place again." "I was in New York for only five days, and I hope to see that city again very soon. Indeed I am not sure but that I would like to live there entirely." "The absence of a middle class corresponding*to what we in England understand by that term," pursued Mr. Wolsey, ignoring my remark, "strikes me as very bad for the whole of society there. Perhaps you did not observe that it is only rich persons who can afford to keep a house entirely for their own use. and* that the smajler traders, artisans and laborers are herded together in tenement houseshuge. unsightly barracks of great height, each accommodating scores of families. What can be said for such a system in a climate where in summer the thermometer commonly stands ninety in the shade, and for weeks together there is not so much breeze as would flutter a leaf?" "I noticed none of those things." "They are to be seen by whoever looks for them," continued Mr. Wolsey. "And then again, the conditions of life are every bit as hard as in Lon- ' don or any other great city. Work in . New York is fully as difficult to obtain and is no better pgid for, prices consid- ' ered, than In any city of the Old ' World. No Intelligent American who : has traveled denies this." "I am afraid Ernest takes but little ' interest in public questions," remarked my father. "They will force themselves upon his attention as Tie grows older," Mr. Wolsey went on. "With but little modification my remarks apply with equal truth to Melbourne and Sydney, or indeed any city of modern creation. In all of them the old-fashioned qualities of patient perseverance, abstinence and thrift are as necessary to the amassing of a fortune as in England to-day. though they nfTord greater opportunities for the wily and unscrupulous to grow rtrh speedily In the manipulation of monopolies and public funds, and the practice of rascalities not possible in older communities." To be continued. Mount Rewenzori, in equatorial Africa, is about 20,000 feet high, has twenty miles of glaciers, and is nearly always cloud covered. # yHoldehhi ' ^ C?pjTl*ht 18CC by 1 CHAPTER XXIV. Continued. "Tcn't rrro nrl f n thpr YlnlflMlff the agreement we made as we were coming to lunch?" I inquired of my father. "The agreement was between you and me," said my father, smiling. "Mr. Wolsey was not a party to it" "I beg your pardon, I am sure," said Mr. Wolsey. "That you should discover in what I have said anything to remind you of the man your father and you have agreed not to speak of, is as full an acknowledgment of the truth of my remarks as I could receive." As I could not deny that this was the case I remained silent, and my father took advantage of the pause to ask Mr. Wolsey some question relating to farming in Australia, which effectually deflected the conversation from that dangerous channel into which it had again drifted. Luncheon over, I withdrew, and was making my way to my room when I was stopped by a servant in the hall, who was bringing me a letter which had Just been delivered by a mounted messenger. Hastily tearing open the envelope I read: : Mrs. Andrew Butterwell presents : : her compliments to Mr. Ernest Tru- : : man, and requests the pleasure of : : his company on Friday, the ?th : : of September, to join a shooting : : party. ; : At Kingsthorpe Grange, 10 a. : : m.. sharp. : : Clievington, : : Bury St. Edmund's, : : ?th September, 18 : : R. S. V. P. : This communication was upon a card, lithografthed in the usual manner. with the blanks for names and dates filled up in writing. I turned it over in my hand two or three times before I remembered the circumstances of the troublesome old widow who was once my companion on a railway journey from London to Bury St. Edmund's. Of course I would nflt go; there was nothing to consider on that point, but it at once flashed upon me that this circumstance would afford the opportunity I desired for sending old John Adams away out of the house for the greater part of the next day? for Chevington lay some five mites on i the other side of Bury, and it would take a messenger at the least six or seven hours to go there and return. "Tell the mc^enger I am unable to give my answer now, but I will either come to Chevington to-morrow, as requested, or send a messenger to excuse me," I said to the servant, and putting the card in my pocket I continued my way to my room. Yes, I thought, this is a heaven-sent opportunity, and will not only spare me sending to Bury to purchase something I don't want, but will keep the old man away from the house long enough to enable me to thoroughly examine everything in his room. I opened my window and looked out upon the garden. The storm was subsiding, but rain still fell and there were occasional distant rumblings in the air. My spirit was as perturbed as nature had been, but unlike nature, was not tending toward peace. A vague presentiment, as of some pending calamity, deeply oppressed me. Pshaw, INmused; what humbugs men are! My grandfather's words just now sounded most true and disingenuous; his indictment of uncle Sam would have won the sympathy of any one who did not know that the old man was the first to break faith in the matter of my mother's marriage. And my own father too, did he not avail himself of my grandfather's authority to effect what he failed to otherwise achieve, his fair fighting competitor being his brother? Then there is my rival?nay, my enemy?Evan Price. All that fellow said about our family was true; yet why did he say It? Because a rich and beautiful girl he desires has preferred me before him; therefore It is he hates me. Again, there Is that ungrateful thief we have housed and fed for I don't know how many years ?roDoeu us or a iortune ana sown perhaps an irremediable enmity between two brothers. Certainly, but for the lore of my Constance I should be disgusted with the whole world. Life is in inexplicable thing. Every man must flght for himself or suffer extinction. What a difference intercourse with mankind has made in the language and views of my grandfather! Before he left Holdenhurst he could scarce speak upon any subject but the seasons and crops; that is not so now. As for myself, I have largely increased my Imowledge and courage, and if not pet quite happy, I must surely be so soon after I have accomplished the task I have come here to do. That task! I could not get It out of ny mind for one moment Would that this day were over and to-morrow come! What a triumph my vindication )f my uncle's honesty and the sudden possession of a large fortune would >e! There was nothing but to patiently endure for awhile this mental strain, kis chaos of inconsequent thought. The day wasted slowly. I did not meet my father and grandfather again intil dinner, which, thanks to the itudled caution of all three present, passed without reference to any disputed subject. In the evening my irstalflalin {nt rALTER BLOOM FIELD >#bxbt Bonnxb*s Sons. grandfather filled the pipe from the large bowl which he had carried about with him from my earliest .recollection, and in the intervals of his puffing related some of his experiences in Australia and New Zealand. Many of his anecdotes were interesting; but none so interesting to me as the information, casually disclosed, that my father and he would be absent from the Hall nearly the whole of the next day surveying our vacant farms. That night I could not sleep, and the heavy hours dragged wearily. I was feverish and restless from suppressed excitement, and the first streak of dawn was the signal for me to aban-1 don my bed. I threw my window open ! wide. The day had risen fresh and ! fair, and the birds were busy seeking! their food. Nature was refreshed by ! the storm of yesterday, and the aspect before me told of peace and reanimation. I thought, perhaps a little sadly, of my old life at home before I had seen uncle Sam; and of the great change that had come over my habits, thoughts and hopes within the past few months, lamenting that extended knowledge should not always signify increased happiness, but too otten the contrary. I endeavored, but not very effectually, to comfort myself with the reflection that the matters which troubled my father and I were not of our creation, neither were they very much within mir rnntrol The die was cast, and I must redeem my promise to my uncle; there was no escape from it now, however distasteful the task. The honor of our whole family, and my own personal interest, largely depended on the issue. At breakfast my father and Mr. Wolsey talked very freely, but still carefully avoided any reference to uncle Sum. The former was particularly considerate and asked me to accompany him over the vacant farms in the old kind way in which he had always been used to speak to me, so that I was hard put to it to excuse myself. My father and Mr. Wolsey were no sooner departed than I sought John Adams, and found the old man in the . stable polishing a harness. "John," I said, " put the bay mare in the dog-cart while I go in the house to write a note. I want you to go to Chevington at once." "To Chevington, Master Ernest?" the old man echoed in a tone of surprise. "Yes, to Chevington," I repeated. "Look sharp; there's no time to lose. I shall be back again in two or three minutes." When I returned with my hastily scribble apology Adams was back'ng the mare ijito the snafts, and very soon afterwards was ready to start on his journey. "Take this," I said, giving the old man the letter, "and deliver it to Mrs. Butterwell, at Kingsthorpe Grange, Chevington. Don't drive the mare too fast; give her a good bait and at least an hour's rest at Chevington." "Will there be any answer to the letter?" inquired the old man. \ "I don't know; possibly there may be." I went to the gate and watched the ' old man drive away until he was lost ' to my sight in the bend of the road, J and then, returning Into the house, ] went direct to Adams' bedroom. So far as I remembered, I had never been in that room in my life, though ; I perfectly well knew which room it was. To my great annoyance I found , that the door was securely locked. After considering this circumstance ( for some moments, I decided not to ring for a servant but to go myself to the kitchen. In the kitchen my unexpected presence created surprise, and the housekeeper came forward to meet me. "There is something in Adams' bedroom I want; he has just gone out, and the door appears to be locked. Do you know where I can find the key?" I asked. "He always carries it about with him." "What!" I exclaimed; "does he clean his own room and keep it locked?" "Yes, sir," answered the housekeeper. "How long has this been?" I inquired. "Years and years; I can't tell you how long," answered the woman, smiling. I waited no longer, but went at once to a granary at the back of the stable where a tall ladder was kept. Though jj the door of Adams' bedroom was 0 locked, the window, I had noticed, was b open. By that means would I get into a the bedroom, if possible; if not, then q would i Dreas into 11 uy iorce. g With no attempt at concealment, I tl brought the ladder and placed it under h Adams' window. It was an ancient a window or casement, consisting of y small panes of glass 6et in lead; and d it opened like a door, with a rack and tl pinion to prevent it flapping in the y wind. Through this window I entered e: the room almost as easily as it could l have been entered by the door. The room was very long and narrow, and the ceiling sloped so much to one r< side as to almost meet the floor. At S one end stood the old man's bedstead; 2 and all the rest of the available space, except only a narrow way which led from the door to the bed, was literally crammed with boxes and packages of every shape and size. 1 remembered now that when the Hall was being renovated this room, by the special* request "of Adams, had been suffered to go untouched. I had not expected to come to such a large storehouse of miscellaneous property, and was at a loss what to examine tirst. After a casual glance round, my eyes lighted upon a strange looking chest, painted a dull red, with some neatly obliterated Oriental characters in gold upon the lid, and that chest I determined to open. That this chest had belpnged to my ancestor Roger, I had not the smallest doubt; and my belief was confirmed when, after cutting the cords with which it was bound, I removed the lid and took out from it a Turkish robe, elegantly embroidered with gold, the color us fresh as on the day it was made. As 1 held this garment up to examine it there fell from out its folds a fez. ornamented with a gold cresceuc and three diamond stars, and an aigrette composed of various magnificent stones and birds of paradise feathers, the latter for the mcst part broken and crushed. I was now in such a frenzy of excitement as to be almost incapacitated for continuing my search. Was all the property in this thief's den stolen from us? and if so, was it all as valuable as this? In my eagerness I turned the chest upside down that I might the quicker acquaint myself with its contents, which I found to consist of two other robes similar to the first but^ of different pattern, several more diamond stars, and five daggers of various sizes, all of them with richly jeweled handles! Having replaced the things in the chest as carefully as my agitated state would nllnw me I sat down on the edfite of the bed and wiped the perspiration from my forehead. What should I examine next? I had already abundant powemto compel Adams to restore the sequins and whatever else he had stolen from us under threat of immediate prosecution. Why, my object was already half accomplished. My father would now have to abandon his scepticism; the w?ong uncle Sam had done the Wolseys would be balanced by the wrong my father and Mr. Wolsey had done uncle Sam; we should all be rich together; enmity would cease among us and everything henceforth go as merrily as the marriage bell which my Connie and I would cause to ring. No, I would not loon any further now. When my father returned this room should be emptied, and everything in it thoroughly examined. Meanwhile I would take with me the aigrette, stars and daggers; would close the window, and naii the door up on the outside. Having carefully executed these arrangements I placed the ladder where I had found it, and went again into the kitchen, where I left instructions that old John was to be sent to me In the parlor the moment he returned, and that nothing was to be said to him about my having been into his bedroom. And then, with feelings similar to thost which 1 suppose must animate a victorious general after a battle, I paced round and round our garden hour after hour, waitine for the return of Adams, which I hoped might be before my father anil Mr. Wolsey came home. ' After what appeared an interminable time a maid came ou: to inform me that Adams had returned, and was awaiting me in the parlor, and thither L at once went. The old man was standing just inside the door, holding his hat in one band, and a letter in tne other. I took the letter from him and opened it, but finding that it was long put it into my pocket for the present without reading it. "John, how long have you been a servant here?" I asked. The old man looked up wonderingly, tud after a brief pause replied: "Nigh on forty-six year. Your grandfather was just married when I come, ind your father wasn't born until eighteen months after." "And though you have been well reated and cared for all those years, :ou must needs rob your benefactors >f everything valuable you can lay -our hands on. Look at those things vhich I have Just recovered from your oom," I exclaimed, throwing the aigette, the stars, and the daggers on the able. "And tell me, you lying thl#f. vnat you nave aone wun tnose goia oinB you stole out of the crypt, or by he God that made me, I'll bind you land and foot and cart you off to Ixvorth;" and with these words I sprang it the old man, and seizing him by the hroat, forced him against the wall, vbere I held him as in a vise, suruised at my own strength. To be continued. ^ Japan. Japan is a progressive nation. She 3 quick to adopt and adapt the ideas f more advanced peoples. She has >een, as a whole, on such prominent nd continuous exhibition for the past uarter of a century that, at first lance, her proposed monster exposlion of 1903 seems superfluous, bntehe as learend that such expositions are great means of attracting visitors, rith whom profitable business can be one, and it is good business policy bat extends this invitation to the rorld to come on a special shopping xpedition to Japan. ? Philadelphia cdger. The number of students in the 119 sgular medical schools of the United tates in 1900 was 1079 females and 1,673 males.