The watchman and southron. (Sumter, S.C.) 1881-1930, December 19, 1888, Image 4
- Continued from First Page.
CHAPTER IL
T&S COLOXKL KEZTS THE SQUIBS.
' Soddenly, as Col Quaritch was contem?
plating these varions views and reflecting
that on tba whole he had done well to come
. - abd five at Honbam cottage, he was startled
y? ^ky *> loud voice saluting him from about
twenty yards distance with such a peculiar
vigor that be fairly Jumped.
?tyv? **CoL Quaritch, I believe," said, or rather
Wbouted, the voice from somewhere down the
drive. .
"... "Ye*;* answered the colonel mildly, "here
-?ajB.*
**Ah, I thought it was you. Always tell a
fo?ztary mn, you know. Excuse me, but I
fem resting for a minute, this last pull is an
' feooommoaly stiff one. I always used to tell
my<karo?d friend, Mrs. Massey, that she
bogbt to have the hill cut away a bit jest
^ Bare. Well; here goes for it," and after a
few heavy steps the visitor emerged from the
of the trees into the sunset light
was playing on the terrace before the
Coi Quaritch glanced np curiously to see
&x?: wno the owner o? the great voice might be,
.nd bis eyes lighted upon as fine a specimen
-r ci humanity as he had seen for a long while.
^ Tb? man was old, as his white hair showed,
10 perhaps, bot that was the only sign of de
D .. The colonel meets th? squire.
wea? about him. He was a splendid man?
Bmd and thick and strong, with a keen,
I |pncj^^?e^?nii a face* sharply chiseled and
I^P?jeaa shaved, of the stamp which in novels
?'geoerally known as aristocratic, a face
that, in fact, showed both birth and breed
fag. Indeed, as clothed in loose tweed gar- j
l^-ttsats and a gigantic pair o' top boots, his
"**-Traitor stood there, leaning on his long stick
?ed TCS?ng himself after breasting the hill,
Haroi? Quaritch thought to himself that he
Q^j bad nev?- seen a more perfect specimen of
tj^-?^ typical Engthh country gentleman-as
- the English country j?rent'. amen used to be.
?i V ?J?Soiw do you do, sir, now do you dol My
ainae is De la Molle. My man George, who
Snowseverybody* business except bis own,
tosd me that yon had arrived here, so I
thought that I would walk round, and do
" Bjaelf the honor o? Tat^T? your acquaint
..?*Tb?t is very kind of you," said the
Minmi
.*Not stall. If you only knew how uncom
?aooly dull it is down here .voa would not
??y that. The place isnt what it osed to be
when I was a boy. There are plenty of rich
pecpleab?ut, bot they are not the same stamp
of people. It isn't what it used tobe in more
ways ihar> one,'* and the old squire gave
aumethiag Bfce a sigh, and thoughtfully re?
moved his white hat, out of which a dinner
?napkin and two pocket handkerchiefs fell to
tho ground, in a fashion that reminded CoL
Quaritch of the climax of a conjuring trick.
"You have dropped some-so nie linen, " he
asid, stooping down to pick the mysterious
vr articles up.
yea; thank you," answered his visitor,
**I find tho sun a. little bot at this time of the
yan- There is nothing like a few handker?
chiefs or a towel to keep it off," and he rolled
the mass of na pen- into a ball, and cram
arfng it bock into the crown, replaced the hat
oe his head IQ such a fashion that about eight
inches of white napkin bung down behind.
"Too must have felt lt in Egypt," he went
npjrati-><$?he sun, I mean. It's a bad climate,
that Egypt, as I have good reason to know,"
and* be' pointed again to his white hat, which,
as Harold Quaritch now observed for the j
first time, was encircled by a brood black
band. . j
"Ah, I see," said be, "I suppose that you
bare had a loss."
.Tea, sir, a very heavy loss."
"Kow Coi. Quaritch had never heard that
Sr. de la Molle had more than one child, Ida
de la M >Ue, the young lady whose face bad ;
nonah; ed so strongly fixed tn his memory, ;
although be bad scarcely spoken to ber on j
that one occasion five long years ago. Could j
.??itbapossih?e that she had died in Egypt? :
?> Theidet sent a tremor of fear through him,
though of course there was no real reason
fc^Jjfrrtt should. Deaths are so com moa
" . r^?t-noTMiss de ia Moller he said, nerv
ooatr, adding, "I had the pleasure of seeing
ber once, a good many years ago, when 1
was stopping here for a few days with my
.ont."
"Oh, no,. not Ida, she is alive and well,
I thank God. Her brother James. He went
? all through that wretched wer, which we
par? to Mr. Gladstone, as 1 say. though I j
don't know what your politics are, arv i then j
caught a fever, or. as I think, sot touched by ;
tba ?cn, and died on his way home. Poor j
boy! .flo was a fine fellow. ( v>j. Quaritch, ;
sad my only son, but very rechiess. Duly a j
month or so before be died I wrote to him to
be careful always to put a towel in his hel?
met, and he answered, m that, flippant sort
of way that be had, that he was not going to
turn himself in a dirty clothes bag, and that
be rattier liked the heat tbiui otbortvise. I
.- Well, he's gone, poor fellow, in the service of {
" bis country. like many of his ancestors be- j
?dre bim, and there's an end of bim."
And again the old man sighed, heavily j
this time.
**And now, CoL Quaritch," be went on, j
shaking off his oppression with a curious i
?pJiity that was characteristic of him, j
"what do you say to coming np to the castle I
for jour dinner? You must be in a mess
ber?, and I expect that old Mrs. Jobson,
wboett my man George teils me you have got
to look after you, will be glad enough to be
rid of you for to-night. What do you say?
Take the place as you find it, you know. I
know that there is a leg of mutton for dinner
- if there is nothing else, because, instead of
tfuntndmg his own business, I saw Geo: ge go
fl ^tp?T to Boisingbam to fetch it this morn
Bt^-t least, that is what he said that ho
?|^2r^ j,jst 3X1 excuse to gossip and
H^teally," said the colonel, "you are
fl BBS; bat I don't think that my dress
fl PKre unpacked yet. "
E)r*ss clothes! Ob, never mind your dress
Shea. Ida will excuse you, 1 dare say.
[MPistfMS you have no time to dress. By
Ijfl JOTT I *t\ nearly 7 o'clock; we must be off if
Ipr you ?re coming."
' The colonel hesitated. He had intended to
dine *& home, and being a methodical minded j
ata did not like altering his plans. Also he
was, like most old military men, very punc
tiHouj; about his dress and personal appear?
ance, and objected to going out to dinner in
. shocking coat. But all this notwithstand?
ing, a feeling that he did not quite under- ;
?toad, and that it would have puzzled even j
on American novelist to analyze-something !
between restlessness and curiosity, with a j
daih ci' magnetic attraction thrown in-got !
tte bettor of bis scruples, and he went.
.'Wall, thank you," he said, "if you are j
.are that Miss de la Molle will not mind, I j
wfl] come. Just allow me to tell Mrs. Job- j
"That's right,9 hallooed the squire after
bim. "Fll meet you at the back of the
bouse. We had better go through the
4o$d**
.'. Tho colonel, having informed bis house?
keeper that he should not want any dinner,
and hastily brushed his not too luxuriant
locks, rejoined Mr. de la Mo ile.
They strolled along, stopping now and
?fain to admire some particular oak or view,
Pbottlnj; all the while in a discursive manner,
which, (bough lt was somewhat aimless, was
kjr no means without Its charm. Theaquira
a capital companion fora silent man like >
Quaritch. who liked to hear other
people talk. j
in thia way they got down the siope, and j
passing through a couple of wheat fields j
came to a- succession of broad meadows, ;
somewhat sparsely timbered, through which j
tho footpath ran right up to the grim gate
way of the ancient castle, which now ?comed
before them, outlined in red lines of dre '
against the ruddy background of the sunset
sky.
In another three minutes they bsd crossed
a narrow byroad and were passing np tho
ancient drive that led to the castle gates.
Right before them was the gateway cf the
castle, flanked by two great towers, and that,
with the exception of some ruins, was, as a
matter of /act, all that remained of the an?
cient building, which had been effectually
demolished in the time of Cromwell Tho
space within, where the keep had once stood,
was now laid out as a flower garden, while
the house, which was of an unpretentious
nature, and built in the Jacob 3an style, oc?
cupied the south side of the square, and was
placed with the back to the moat.
"You see I have practically rebuilt those
two towers," said the squire, pausing under?
neath the Norman archway. "If I had not
.done it," he added, apologetically, "they
would have been in ruins by now, but it cost j
a pretty penny, ? can tell you. Nobody j
knows what stuff that old flint masonry is to j
deal with, till he tries it. Well, it will stand ?
now for many a long day. And here we j
are"-and ho pushed open a porch door and ;
then passed through a passage into a kind of ?
oak paneled vestibule, which was hung with
tapestry originally taken, no doubt, from the
c'd castle, and decorated with coats of armor,
spear heads and ancient swords.
And here it was that Harold Qucrltch once :
more beheld the face that had haunted his j
memory for so many months. :
CHAPTER IIL
TES TALS 07 SIR JAMES DS LA ROLLS.
"Is that you, fatherr said a voice, a very
sweet voice, bot one of which the tones be?
trayed the irritation natural to a healthy j
woman who has been kept waiting for her
dinner. The voice came from the recesses of
the dusky room in which the evening gloom
had gathered deeply, and looking in its di?
rection Harold Quaritch could see the out- ;
lines of a tall fons sitting in an old oak j
chair with its hands crossed.
"Is that you. father? Really it is too bad j
to be so late for dinner, especially after you 1
blew ?p that wretched Emma ls<t eight be- ;
cause she was five minutes after tir.ia 1 have ?
been waiting so long that I have almost been
asleep.'
"I am very sorry, my deal-, very," said the
old gentleman, apologetically, "but-halloo!
Fve knocked my head; here. Mary, briug me
a light."
"Here is a Kgbt," said the voice, and at the
same moment there was a sound of a match
being struck.
In another moment the candle was alight,
and the o wc er of the voice had turned round
with it, holding it in such a fashion that its
rays surrounded her like an aureole, showing
Harold Quaritch that face of which the
memory had never left him- There was the
same powerful, brood brow, the same nobil?
ity of look, the same brown eyes and soft
waving hair. But the girlhood had gone out
of it; the face was now tho face of a woman,
who knew what life was and had not found ?
it too easy. It had lost some of its dreami?
ness, he thought, though it bad gained in in?
tellectual force; as for the figure, it was
much more admirable than the face, which
was, strictly speaking, not a beautiful one.
The figure, however, was undoubtedly beau?
tiful; indeed, it is doubtful if many women
could show a finer. Ida de ia Molle was a
large, strong woman, and there was a bouc
ber a swing and a lissome grace which is
very rare, and as attractive as it is rare.
She was now nearly six-aad-iweuty years of j
age, and, nor- having begun to wither in ac- j
cord ance wich the fate which overtakes j
nearly all unro?oried women after 80, was at
her very best. Harold Quaritch, glancing at
her weil poised head, her perfect bust and
arms (for she was in evening dress), ?nd her
gracious form, thought to himself that he
hod never seen a nobler looking woman.
* "Why, my dear father," she went on as i
she watched the match burn up and held it j
to itbe candle, "you made such a fuss this I
morning about the dinner being punctually
at 7:30, and now it's 8 o'clock, aud you are
not dressed. It is enough io ruin any cook,"
and she broke off for the first time, perceiv?
ing that her father was not alone.
"Yes, my dear, yes," said the old gentle- j
man, "I dare say I did. Is is human to err, j
my dear, especially about dinner on a fine
evening. Besides, I h?ve made amends and |
brought you a visitor, our uew neighbor, i
CoL Quaritch. Col. Quaritch, let me intro?
duce you to my daughter, Miss de la Molle."
"1 think that we have met before," said
Harold, ha a somewhat nervous fashion, as j
he stretched ont his hand.
"Yes," answered Ida,.taking it, "I re?
member. It was in the long drift, five years
ago, on a windy afternoon, when my hat i
blew over the hedge and you went to fetch
It*
"You have a good memory, Miss de la
Molle," said he, feeling not a little pleased
that she should have recollected the inci?
dent.
"Evidently not better than your own, CoL
Quaritch," was her ready answer. "Ksides,
one sees so few strangers here that one nat?
urally remembers them It is a piace where
nothing happens-time passes-that is all" *
Meanwhile the old squire, who had been
making a prodigious fuss with his hat and
stick, which ho managed to send clattering
down the flight of stone steps, departed to
got ready, .saying in a kind of roar as he j
went that Ida was to order in the dinner, as j
be would be down in a minute.
Accordingly she rang the bell, and told j
the maid to bring iu the soup in five min- j
ute?, and to lay another place. Then turn- ?
ing to Harold, she began to apologize to him. I
**I don't know what sort of a dinner you {
will get, CoL Quaritch," she said; "it is so j
provoking of my father; ho never gives one j
the ieast warning when he is going to ask
any one to dinner."
"Not at all, not at all," he answered hur?
riedly. "It is I who ought tc apologize,
coming down on you like-like"
"A wolf on the fold," suggested Ida.
"Yes, exactly," ho went on earnestly, look?
ing at bis coat, "but not in purple and gold." j
"Well," she went on, laughing, "you will
get very little to eat for your pains, and I !
know that soldiers always like good dinners." |
"How do you know that, Miss de la M??leP j
"Oh, because of poor James and his friends j
whom he used to bring here. By tho way,
CoL Quaritch," she went on, with a sudden
softening of the voice, "you have been in
Egypt, 1 know, because I have so often seen
your name in the papers; did you ever meet j
my brother thereP
"I knew him slightly," he answered; "only
very slightly. I did not know that he was !
your brother, or, indeed, that you had a
brother. He was a dashing officer."
What he did not say, however, was that he j
also knew him to have been one of the wild?
est and most extravagant you;::: raen in an
extravagant regiment, and as such had to
some extent shunned his society on the few
occasions when be had been thrown in with
him Perhaps Ida, with a woman's quick?
ness, divined from his tone that there was
something behind his remark; at any rate
she did not ask him for particulars of their
slight acquaintance.
**He was my only brother," she continued.
"There never were but us two, and, of course,
his loss was a great blow to me. My father
cannot get over it at all, although"-and she
broke oft* suddenly and rested her head upou
b*.r hand.
At this moment, too, the squire wa3 heard
advancing down the stairs, shouting to the
servants as be came.
"A thousand pardons, my dear, a thousand
parlons," he sa i. as be entered the roora;
"but, well, if you wiJl forgive particulars, I
was quite una . to discover the whereabouts
of a certain n . ssary portion of the male
attira Now, Ck; Quaritch, will you take
my daughter? Stop, you don't know the
way-perhaps I had better show it to you
wita the candle."
Accordingly be advanced out of the vesti?
bule, and turning to the left, led the way
down a long passage till he reacned the
dining room. This apartment was com?
modious, though not larga lt was lighted
by three narrow windows, which looked out j
upon the moat, and bore a considerable air
of solid comfort. The table, made of black
oak, which was of extraordinary solidity
and weight, was matched by a sideboard of
tho same material and apparently of the
same date, both pieces of furniture being, as
Mr. de la Molle informed his guests, relics of
the old castle.
Un this sideboard were placed several
wry massive ancient plate, on each of which
waa rudely engraved three falcons or, the I
arms of tba De Ia Molla family, one piece, in
deed, a very ancient salver, Loaring tua1
the Boisseys-a ragged oak, in an escatc
of pretense-showing thereby that it d
from the De Ia Molle who, in tho tim
Henry VII, had obtained the property
marriage with the Boissey heiress.
As the dinner, which was a simple
went on, tho conversation having turned
way, the obi squire had this piece of {
brought by the servant girl to Harold (
ritch for him to examine.
"It is very curious," he said. "Eave
much of this. Mr. do la Molle C*
"No, indeed," he said, "I wish I hath
all vanished in the time of Charit L"
''Melted down, 1 suppose,"sai;i tho coir
"No, that is the odd part of it. I d
think it was. It wss hidden somewber
don't know where, cr perhaps it was tur
into money and the money hidden. Bi
wiil tell you the story, if yon like, as soo
we have done dinner."
Accordingly, as soon as the servant
removed the cloth, and, after the old fash
placed the wine upon the naked wood,
squire began his tale, of which the follow
is the substance:
"In the time of James I the Do la M
family was at the height of its prosper
that is, so far as money goes. For sevi
generations previous the representatives
the family had withdrawn themselves fi
any active participation in public affairs, i
living hereat small expenso upon their lax
which were at that time very large, 1
amassed a quantity of wealth that, for
age, might fairly be calledjenormons. Tl
Sir Stephen de la Molle, the grandfather
the Sir James who lived in the time
James I, left to his son, who was also nan
Stephen, a sum of not less than ?23,<XX
gold. This Stephen was a great miser, t
tradition says that he trebled the sum in
life time. Anyhow, he died rich as Crees
and abominated "alike by his tenants and
the country side, as might be expected wi
a gentleman of his name and fame degrax
himself, as this Sir Stephen undoubtedly d
to the practice of usury.
"With the next heir, Sir James, howev
the old spirit of the De la Molles seems
have revived, although it is sufficiently ch
that he was by no means a spendthrift, but,
the contrary, a careful man, though one w
maintained his station and refused to soil
fingers with such base dealing as it h
pleased his uncle to da Going to court
became, perhaps on account of bis wealth
considerable favorite with James I, to wh(
he was greatly attached, and from wh<
he bought a baronetcy. Indeed, the b
proof of his devotion is, that he on two oc<
sions, lent large sums of money to the ki
which were never repaid. On the aceo:<si
of Charles I, however, Sir James left coi
under circumstances which were, never qu
cleared up. It is said that, smarting und
some slight which was put upon him,
made a somewhat brusque demand for t
money that he had lent to James. There
the king, with sarcastic wit, congratul?t
him on the fact that the spirit of his une
Sir Stephen De la Molle, whose name w
still a byword in the land, evidently si
vived in the family. Sir James turn
white with auger, bowed, and without
word left the court, nor did he ever retu
thither.
"Years passed, and tho civil war was at i
height. Sir James had as yet steadily i
fused to take any share in it He had nev
forgiven the insult put upon him by tl
king, for, like most of his race, of whom it w
said that they never forgave an injury ai
never forgot a kindness, he was a pertin
dons man. Therefore he would not lift
finger in the king's cause, but still loss won
he help the Roundheads, whom he haft
with a singular hatred So time went, till ;
last, when he was sore pressed, Charis
knowing his great wealth and influenc
brought himself to write a letter to this S
James, appealing to him for support, and e
pecially for money.
" *I bear,' said the king in his letter, tb
Sir James do la Molle, who was aforetyn
well affected to our person and more esp
coally to the late king, our sainted father, dot
stand idle, watching the growing of th
bloody struggle and lifting no band. Sue
was not the way of the race from which 1
sprung, which, unless history doth great]
lie, hath in the past been each found at tl
side of their kings striking for the right
is said to mo also that Sir James de la Mol
doth thus place himself aside, blowin
neither hot nor cold, because of some shar
words which we spake in heedless jest man
a year that's gone. We know not if this I
true, doubting if a man's memory be so lonj
but if so it be, then hereby do we crave h
pardon, and nc more can we do. And no
is our estate one of grievous peril, and sorel
do we need the aid of God an?! mau. Ther
fore, if the heart of our subject Sir Janies c*
Ia Molle be not rebellious against us, as w
cannot readily credit it to be, we d? imploi
present his aid in men and money, of whic
last it is said be hath large store, this lette
being proof of our urgent ueed.'
"These were, as nearly as I can remember
the very words of the letter which was wri'
ten in his own hand, and show pretty clearl
how hardly he was pressed. It is said ths
when he read it, Sir James, forgetting bi
grievance, burst into tears, and, taking th
paper, wrote hastily as follows, which last h
certainly did, for I have seen the letter in th
museum: 'My liege-Of the past I will nc
speak. It is past. But since it hath gre
ciously pleased your majesty to ask mine ai<
against the rebels who would overthrow you
throne, rest assured that all I have is at you
majesty's disposal, till such time as you
enemies are discomfited. It hath please?
Providence to so prosper my fortunes that
have stored away in a safe place, till thea
times be past, a very great sum in gold
whereof I will at once place 10,000 pieces a
the disposal of your majesty, so soon as a sa ff
means can be provided of conveying th'
same, seeing that I had sooner die than tba
these great moneys should fall into the hand
of the rebels to the furtherance of an evi
cause,'
"Then the lotter went on to say that th<
writer would at once buckle to and raise i
troop of horse among his tenantry, and that
if other satisfactory arrangements could no:
be made for the conveyance of the moneys
he would bring them in person to the king.
"Aud now comes the climax of the story.
The messenger was captured, and Sir James
incautious letter taken from his boot, as i
result of which he, within ten days' t?:iie
found himself closely besieged by 500 Hound
heads, under the command of one Col. Play?
fair. The castlo was but ill provisioned foi
a siege, and in the end Sir James was driver;
by sheer starvation to surrender. No soonoi
bad he obtained an entry than Col. Playfair
sent for his prisoner, and to his astonishment
produced to Sir James' face his own letter tc
the king.
" 'Now, Sir James,' ho said, Vo have th?
hive, and I must ask you to lead us to the
honey. Where te these great moneys whereof
you talk herein? Fain would 1 bo fingering
these ?0,000 puses in gold, the which you
have so snugly stowed away.'
" 'Ay,' answered old Sir James; 'you have
the hive, but the secret of the honey you
have not, nor shall you have it The ?O.OGC
pieces in gold is where it is, and with it as
much moro. Find it if you may, colonel,
and take it if you can.'
" '1 shall find it bj to-morrow's light, Sir
James, or otherwise-well, or otherwise you
die.'
" 'I must die; all men do, colonel; but if I
die tho secret diss with me.'
" 'This wo shall seo,' answered the colonel,
grimly, and old Sir James was marched off
to a cell, aud there closely confino? 1 on bread
and water. But he ?lid not die tho next day,
nor the nert, nor for a week, indeed.
"Every day bc. was brought np before the
colon*! and questio:;cd as tu where the treas?
ure was under the threat of immediate
death, not being suffered meanwhile to com
tmmir: : . by word or sign with any one, save
t?e of;U>*r8 of the rebels, ami every day he
refused, i'll at last his inquisitors patience
gave .>;?:. and he was told frankly that if ho
d;d not communicate the secret be would bo
..r '..)... i ?t;r f'd'lowKijj.day
"Old Sir James laughed, and said thnt
shoot him they mierht, but that he consigned
his soul to the devil if ho would enrich t hem
with his treasures, and then astod that hi*
Bible might l>o brought to him that ho might
read therein and preparo himself for death
"They gave him the Bible and left him
Next morning at the dawn a file of Round?
heads marched him out into the court yard
of the castle, and here he found Col. Play?
fair and hi* officers waiting.
"'Now, Sir James, for your last word.
Will you reveal whore the treasure lies, or
will you choose to die?
M 'J wiJJ not reveal,' answered the old mau.
'Murder me if you wilt The act is worthy
of holy Presbyters. J have spoken and my
mind is fixed."
" 'Bethink you,' said tho colonel.
"'I have thought,' he answered, 'ana *
am ready, Slay me and seek the treasure.
i But ono tning I ask. My young son is not
j here. In France bath be been this three
j years, end naught knows ho of where I have
[ hid this gold. Send to him this Bible when
j I am dead Kay, search it from page io
j pp.?e. There is naught therein save what 1
j have writ here upon thjs last sheet. It is all
I 1 have left to give.'
! " 'The book shall bo searched,' answered
the colonel, 'and if naught is found therein
it shall be sent. And now, in the name of
Clod, 1 adjure you, Sir James, let not the
love of lucre stand between you and your
life. Here 1 make you one last offer. Dis?
cover but to us the ?10,000 whereof you
speak in this writing'-and he held up the
letter to tho king-'and you shall go free
refuse and you die.'
" '1 refuse,' he auswered.
" 'Musketeers make ready/ shouted the
i colonel, and the filo of men stepped forward.
"Hut at that moment there came np so
! furious a squall of wind, together with douse
and cutting rain, that for awhile the execu?
tion was delayed. Presently it passed, and
the wild light of the Novomber morning
swept out from the sky, and revealed the
doomed man kneeling upon the sodden turf,
with the water running from his white hair
and beard, and praying.
They called to him to stand up, but he
w* aid not, and continued praying. Ko they
sit?t him on his knees."
"ttTclV said CoL Quaritch, "at any rate he
died like a gallant gentleman."
At tliat moment there was a knock at the
door, aud the servant came in.
"What is it?" asked the squire.
.'(George is here, ploaso, sir," said the girl,
"and says that ho would like to see you."
"Confound him!" growled the old gentle?
man; "he is always here af ter something or
other. I suppose it is about the Moat farm.
He was going to see Janter today. Will you
cxruse me, Quaritch* My daughter will tell
you the end of the story if you care to hear
any moro. I will join you in the drawing j
room."
I CHAPTER IV.
THE END OF THE TALE.
As ?con as her father had gone Ida rose
and suggested that if Col. Quaritch had done j
his wine they should go into the drawing ?
room, which they accordingly did. This
room was much moro modern than either
the vestibule or the dining room, and had a
general air and flavor of the Nineteenth cen?
tury young lady about it There were the
little tables, the draperies, the photograph
frames, and all the hundred and one knick?
knack and odds and ends by means of which
i a lady of taste makes a room lovely
in the eyes of brutal man. It was a
very pleasant place to look upon, thia
drawing room at Honhara castle, with ita
i irregular recesses, its somewhat faded
j colors illuminated by the soft light of a
j shaded lamp, and ils genuine air of feminine
? dominion. Harold Quaritch was a man wno
bad seen much of the world, but had not seen
much of drawing rooms, or, indeed, of ladies
at large. They had not come in his way, or
if they had come in his way he had avoided
them. Therefore, perhaps, was he the more
susceptible to such influences when ha came
in contact with them. Or perhaps it was the
; presence of Ida's gracious self which threw
a charm about tho place that added to its
natural attractiveness, as the china bowls of
lavender and rose leaves added perfume to ?
the air. Anyhow, it struck him that ho had
: never seen a room which conveyed to his
mind such an idea of gentle rest and refine?
ment
"What a charming room," he said, as bs
entered it.
j "I am glad you think so," answered Ida;
? "because it is my own territory, and I ar?
ranged it."
"Yes," he said, "it is easy to see that."
"Well, wouM you like to hear the end of
' the story about Sir James and his treasure ?"
"Certainly; it interests mo very much."
"It positively fascinates me," said Ida, with
emphasis. "Listen, and I will tell you. After
? they had shot old Sir James they took the
Bible oil him, but whether or no Col. Play?
fair ever sent it to the son in France is not
j known.
"The story is all known historically, and it
is known that, as my father said, he asked
that his Biblo might be sent, but nothing
more. This son, Sir Edward, never lived to
return to England. After his fathers mur?
der tho estates wero seized by the Parlia?
mentary party, and the old castle, with the
exception of the gate towers, razed to tho
ground, partly for military purposes aud
j partly in the long and determined attempt j
j that was msdo to discover old Sir James'
j treasure, which might, it was thought, have
I been concealed in some secret chamber in tho
j '.vails. But it was all of no use, and CoL j
! Playfair found that In letting his temper get I
the better of him and shooting Sir James, be j
had done away with the only chance of find- !
ing tho money that he was ever likely to !
have, for to all appearance the secret had j
died with its owner. There was a great noiso j
abo?:? it at the time, and the colonel was ce
graded from his rank in reward for what he ?
he had done. Is was presumed that oki Sir
James must have had accomplices iu the
hiding of so great a mass of gold, and every
means, by way of threats and promises of
reward-which at lost grew to half of the
total amount that should be discovered-was
j taken to induce these to como forward if they
j existed, but without result. And so the mat?
ter went on, till after a few years the whole
thing died away and was forgotten.
"Meanwhile the son, Sir Edward, who was
tho second and last baronet, led a wandering
life abroad, fearing or not caring to return to
England, now that all his property had been
? seized. When he was two-and-twenty y oars
I cf age, however, he contracted an imprudent
I marriage with his cousin, a lady of the name
j of Ida Dofferleigh, a girl of good blood and
! great beauty, but without means. Indeed,
; she was the sister of George Dofferleigh, who
? was a cousin and companion in exile of Sir j
I Edgard's, and, as you will presently see, my j
j liuc-al ancestor. Well, within a year of this j
I marriage poor Ida, my namesake, died, with j
I her baby, of fever, chiefly brought on, they
! 6ay, by want and anxiety of mind, and tbs
j shock seems to have turned her husband'*
I brain. At any rate, within threo or four
j months cf her death be committed suicide,
t But beforo he dkl so he formally executed a
rather eJal>oratc will, by which be left all his
estates in England, 'now unjustly withheld
from mc, contrary to law and natural right,
by thc rebel pretender Cromwell, together
j with tho treasure h;d(i??;i thereon orc'^ewbera
i by .ny late murdered father, Elr James de la
Molle,' to John Geoffrey Dofferleigh, his
cousin, and the brother of uis late wifo and
his heir forever, on condition only of his
assuming the name and arms of the De !a
Molle family, the direct line cf which became
' extinct with himself. Well, of course, this
will, when executed, was to all appearances
j so much waste paper, but within thref. years
from its execution Charlees II was king of
England.
"Thereon John Dofferleigh produced the
docuiccnt, and on assuming the name and
arms of Do la Molle actually succeeded in
obtaining tho remains of the castle and a
considerable portion of the landed property,
though the baronetcy became extinct. His
son it was who built this present house, and
he is our direct ancestor, for though my
father talks of them as though they were-it
is a littlo weakness of his-tho old Do la
Melles were not our direct malo ancestors."
"Well," said Harold, "and did Dofferleigh
find the treasuref '
"No, ah. no, nor anybody else. The
treasure has vanished. Ho bunted for it a
great deal, and ho did find those pieces of
plate which yon ?aw to-night, hidden away
j somewhere, 1 don't know where, but there
was nothing else with them."
"Perhaps tho whole thing was nonsense,"
said Harold, reflectively.
"No," said Ida, shaking her head, "I nm
sure it was not; 1 am sure the treasure is hid?
den away somewhere to this da}*. Listen,
Col. Quaritch-ycu have not heard quite all
tho story yet-1 found something."
"You whatf
"Wait a minute and I will show you." and
going to a cabinet in the corner she unlocked
it, and took out a dispatch box, which she
also unlocked
"Here," sho said, "I found this. It is tho
Bible that Sir James begged might be sent
to his son, just before they shot Lim, you
remember," ami sho handed him a small
brown book. Ho took it and examined it j
carefully. It was bound in leather, and on j
the cover wns written in largo letters, "Sir j
j James do la Molle. Honbam Castle, 1611."
I Nor was this ali. The first sheets of tho
Bible, which was ono of tbe earliest copies of
the authorized version, were torn out, and
the top corner was also gone, having to all
appearance been shot off by a bullet, a pre?
sumption tbat a dark stain of blood upon the
cover and edges brought near to certainty.
"Poor fellow," said Harold, "he must have
had it in his pocket when he was shot Where
did you find itf .... _
"Vos, 1 suppose so," said Ida; "in tact I
bare no doubt of it. I found it when I was
a cbild in an old oak chest in the basement
of the western tower, quite hidden up in
dust and rubbish and bits of old iron. But
look at tho end and you will seo what he
wrote in it to his eon Edward. Here I will
chow you," and leaning over him she turned
to the last pago of the book. Between the
bottom of the page and the conclusion of the
final chapter of Revelation there bad been a
small blank space now densely covered with
crabbed writing in faded ink, which she read
aloud. It ran as follows:
"Do not grieve for me, Edward, my son,
that I am thus suddenly dono to death by
rebel murderers, for naught bappeneth but
according to God's wilt. And now fare?
well, Edward, till wo shall meet in beaven.
My moneys have I hid, and on account
thereof I die unto this world, knowing that
not one piece shall Cromwell touch. To
whom God shall appoint, shall all my treas?
ure be, for naught can I communicate."
"There," said Ida, triumphantly. "What
do you think of that, Col. Quaritch? The
Bible, I think, was never sent to his son; but
here it is, and in that writing, as I solemnly
believe," and she laid her white fingers upon
the faded characters, "lies the key to wher?
ever it is that tho money is hidden, only 1
fear that I 6hall never mako it out. For
years I have puzzled over it, thinking that it
might be some form of acrostic, but I can
mako nothing of it. I have tried it all ways.
I have translated it into French, and had it
translated into Latin, but still I can find out
nothing-nothing. But some day somebody
will hit upon it-at least I hope sa"
Harold shook his bead. "I am afraid," he
said, "that what has remained undiscovered
for so long will remain so tiil tho end of the
chapter. Perhaps the old Sir James was
hoaxing his adversaries P
"No," said Ida, "*or if ho was, what be?
came of all the money? Ho was known to be
one of the richest men of his day, and that
he was rich, one can see from his letter to the
king. There was nothing after his death,
except his lands, of course. Oh, it will be
found some day, twenty centuries hence
probably, much too late to be of any good
to us," and she sighed deeply, while a pained
and wearied expression spread itself over her
handsome face.
"Well," said Harold, in a doubtful voice,
"there may be something in it. May I tako
a copy of that writing.1"
"Certainly," said Ida, laughing, "and if
you find the treasure we will go shares. Stop,
I will dictate it to you."
Just as this process was finished and Harold
was shutting up his pocketbook, in which he
put tho fair copy he had executed on a half
sheet of note paper, the old squire came into
the room again. Looking at his face, his
visitor saw that his interview with "George"
had evidently been anything but satisfactory,
for it bore an expression of exceedingly low
Bpirite.
"Well, father, what is the matter F asked
his daughter.
"Oh, nothing, my dear, nothing,*1 ho an?
swered, in melancholy tones. "George has
been herc, tlxct is all."
"Yes, and I wish he would keep away,"
she said, with a little stamp of her foot, "for
he has always some bad news or other."
"It is the times, my dear, it is the times;
it isn't George, I really don*t know what
has come to the country."
"What is it?" said Ida, with a deepening
expression of anxiety. ''Something wrong
about the Moat farm?"
"Yes; Janter has thrown it qp, ofter all,
and I am sure I dont know where I am to '
find another tenant"
"You see what the pleasures of landed
property are, CoL Quaritch," said lela, turn?
ing toward him with a smile which did net
somehow convey a great sense of cheerfulness.
"Yes." he said, "I know. Thank goodness
I have only the ten acres that my dear old
aunt left ms. And now," ho added, "1 think
that I must be saying good night It is 10:30,
and 1 expect that old Mrs, Jobson is sitting
up for me."
Ida looked up in remonstrance, and opened
her lips to speak, and then from some reason
that did not appear changed her mind and
held out her hand. "Good night, Col. Qua?
ritch," sho said. "I am so pleased that we
are going to havo you as a neighbor. By the
way, I havo a few people coming to play
lawn tennis here to-morrow afternoon. Will
you como too?"
"What!" broko in the squiro, in a voice of
irritation ; "more lawn tennis parties, Ida?
I think that you might have spared mo for
once-with all this business on my bands,
too."
"Nonsense, father," said his daughter, with
some acerbity. "How can a few people play?
ing lawn tennis hurt you? lt is quite useless
lo 6hut one's self up and be miserable over
things that one can't help."
The old gentleman collapsed with an air of
pious resignation, aud meekly asked who was
coming.
"Oh, nobody in particular. Mr. and Mrs.
Jeffries-Mr. Jeffries is our clergyman, you
know, CoL Qua-ritcb-and Dr. Bass and tho
two Miss Smiths, one of whom he is supposed
to be in love with, and Mr. and Mrs. Quest,
and Mr. Edward Cossey, and a few more."
"Mr. Edward Cosseyl" said the squire,
jumping off his chair; "really, Ida, you
know that I detest that young man; that 1
consider him an abominable young man, and
I think that you might have shown more
consideration to me than to have asked him
here."
*T could not help it, father," she answered,
coolly. "He was with Mrs. Quest when I
asked ber, so 1 bad to ask bim, too. Be?
sides, I rather like Mr. Cossey, ho is always
so polite, and I don't seo why yon should
take such a violent prejudice against him.
Anyhow, he is coining, and there is an end
of it"
"Cossoy, Cossey," said Harold, throwing
himself into tho Breach. "I used to know
that name." It seemed to Ida that he
winced a little as he said it "Is ho one of
tho great banking family?"
"Yes," said Ida, "be is ono of the sons. They
say he will have half a mi i i ion of money, or
moro, when his father, who is very infirm,
dies. He is looking after the branch banks
of his house in this part of the world, at
least, nominally. Really, I fancy that Mr.
Quest manages them; certainly he manages
the Boisingkam branch."
"Well, well," said the squire, "if they are
coming, I suppose they are coming. At any
rate, I cia ?jo out walking. If you are going
homo, Quaritch, I will walk with you. I
want a btt'o air."
"Col. Quaritch, yon have not said if you
will come to my party to-morrow yet," said
Ida, as he stretched out bis hand to say
good-by.
"Oh, thank you, Miss Do la Molle; yes, I
think I can come, though 1 play tennis
atrociously."
"Oh, we all do that Well, good night. I
am so very pissed that j-ou have come to
livoat Molehill; it will bo so nice for my
father to have a companion," sho added as
an afterthought
"Yes," said the colonel, grimly, "we aro
almost of an age; good night"
Ida watched the doo" ?lese, and then
Ida watched the dr.nr close.
Iraixxl her arm on tho mantelpiece, and re
fleeted that she liked CoL Quaritch very
much, so much that even his not very beauti?
ful physiognomy did not repel her, indeed,
rather attracted ber than otherwise, "Do
you know," she said to herself, "I think that
that is the sort of man that I should like to j
marry. Nonsense," she added, with an im?
patient shrug, "nonsense, you are nearly six- ;
and-twenty; altogether too old for that sort j
of thins. And now there is this new trouble
about the Moat farm. My poor oi?l dad.
Well, it is a bard world, aod I think that
sleep is about thc best thing in it.5' And,
with a sigh, she lighted her candi? to go to
bed, then charged her mind, and sat down to
await her father's return.
ITO RE CONTINUED. 1
The Favorite
Medicine ior Throat and Lung Diffi?
culties has long been, and still is, Ayer's
Cherry Pectoral. It cures Croup,
Whooping Cough, Bronchitis, and
Asthma; soothes irritation of tho
Larynx and Fauces; strengthens the
Vocal Organs; allays soreness of the
Lungs; prevents Consumption, and,
even in advanced stages of that disease,
relieves Coughing and induces Sleep.
There is no other preparation for dis?
eases of the throat and lungs to be com?
pared with this remedy.
*'My w?fo had a distressing cough,
with pains in the side and breast. We
tried various medicines, but none did
her any good until I got a bottle of
Ayer's Cherry Pectoral, which has cured
her. A neighbor, Mrs. Glenn, had tho
measles, and the cough was relieved by
the use of Ayer's Cherry Pectoral. I
have no hesitation in recommending this
Cough Medicine
to every one afflicted."-Robert norton.
Foreman Headlight, Morrillton, Ark.
"I have been afflicted with asthma
for forty yeara. Last spring I was taken
with a violent cough, which, threatened
to terminate my days. Every ono pro?
nounced me in consumption. ? deter?
mined to try Ayer's Cherry Pectoral.
Its effects we're magical. I was immedi?
ately relieved and continued to improve
until entirely recovered."-Joel Bullard,
.Guilford, Conn.
" Six months ago I had a severe hem?
orrhage of the lungs, brought on by an
incessant cough which deprived me of
tsleep and rest. I tried various reme
'dies, but obtained no relief until I be
igan to take Ayer's Cherry Pectoral. A
?ew bottles of this medicine cured me."
iMrs. E. Coburn, 19 Second st., Lowell,
(Mass.
"For children afflicted with colds,
coughs, sore throat, or croup, I do not
know of any remedy which will give
more speedy relief than Ayer's Cherry
Pectoral. I have found it, also, invalu?
able in cases of Whooping Cough." -
Ann Lovejoy, 1257 Washington street,
Boston, Mass. *
Ayer's Cherry Pectoral,
PREPARED BY
Dr. J. C. Ayer & Co., Lowell, Mass.
Sold by all Druggist. Price $1 ; six bott lee, $5.
FLAIR TAL
I wish to inform those who have not yet
examined my beautiful and cheap stock of
DRY GOODS,
NOTIONS,
SHOES,
LADIES' AND GENTS' HATS,
STAPLE AND FANCY
GROCERIES,
that by fair dealings and Low Prices, my
trade is increasing daily, if they will give
me an opportaaity of showing them through
my stock and giving them prices, I am satis?
fied I will add their names to my fast increas?
ing list of customers.
Polite and attentive clerks icill take
pleasure in sha teing goods.
B. J. BARNETT,
Main Street, in the Bend,
Oct. 24_Sumter, S- C.
BRONSON- HOOSE,
Sumter, S. C.
RATES-?1 PER DAV
Liberal deduction according to time.
Comfortable Rooms. Good Table, Private
Parlor for Ladies.
J. H. DIXON,
Nov. 28. Proprietor.
Mrs. fiile ai Miss Miller,
Have opened their steck of
Fall and Winter Millinery,
And invite the l*d>.?s to call and examine
the same before buying.
Hats and Bonnets?
of the latest st vies.
ZEPHYRS IN ALL COLORS]
AND SHADES.
RIBBONS, FEATHERS, FLOWERS,
and everything pertaining thereto will be
shown with pleasure.
Oct. 3.
FOR SALE.
SEVERAL DESIRABLE BUILDING
LOTs. Apply to
Nov. 14 m THUS E. RICHARDSON.
-ir ? 1 I'IFT r " r i m ?? ? im ii iiriiiTniia i ? ? a mm WMIII B^MI
New Advertisements.
TO ADVERTISERS
A list of 1000 newspapers divided into
STAT KS AND SECTIONS will be sent on
application-FREE.
To those who want their advertising to pay,
we cnn o tie r no better medium fer thorough
?nd affective wotk than i he vu rh. us sections
ot" our Select Lo.-sl Lis?.
GEO. P. ROWELL & CO.,
Newspaper Advertising Bureen,
Oct 3 IO Spruce street. New York.
_,U EP? B S 5
T^c ?^pei?tic! Oiedcl>213t?*ed.wfeotli
tv ? rTv?? ."TK?.' -.< ?? VCMTK of iniue or
. v- tl* ?v exyosavo ix
lialarirl ilegioas, j
n lit fir.tl T?tirs r???si -Lito cao?* genicl |
. :?:?** ive ever ot f<src>i Gxe ? erinpr
Try TJic.Tui &4&irly?
^ v?^ro-??i??iri2v, pnve Weftd. strmtg
*M.J) ETS&TWHERX.
FIRST MS M 101
AT BOTTOM PRICES
WATCHA AND SOUTHRON JOB AFHCB
WE WOULD LIKE -TO
TO OUR WELL SELECTED STOCK OF
JD
Ia our Dry Goods stock you will find many bargains in low*
priced Dress Goods, Flannels. Shawls and Blankets. : - . -.
We are selling Gent's Heavy Undershirts at 50 cts. that can'tT
be duplicated for less than 65 cts. in any- city- in the United^
States. Ked Flannel Shirts 50 cts. each. . % \
We are selling hand se wed Shoes for men at $3.50^ every "'.
pair guaranteed.
Ladies7 hand sewed at $2.50, every pair sold witii'-'a 'gitaran^;1.
tee tag on same.
Ladies' neat solid shoes at ?1.25 ; worth anywhere ?1.65. "
OUR LINE OF
PLAIN AND FANCY GROCERIES
are the most choice and freshest in the city and th?y/
are sold at Rock Bottom prices. We make
special prices in quantities.
There is no house in the city that carries the assortment ofr
canned goods we carry.
Our 25 cts. Butter is warranted. A fresh lot of the widely "'
known A. ?, Crackers, just received. Hams, Breakfast Strips*
and Smoked Tongue of the best brands at .
CAR LOAD
HORSES AND MULES
TO ARRIVE ON
At the Sale and Feed Stables of
Nov 22, '88.
The Notice of Every One is Called to the Fact that
E. W. DURANT & SOM
Keep a Full Supply of Goods in their Line, . .
Mm Supplies, Mm Sspss, IOQSSM? SopB?ies, W
COOKING AND HEATING STOVES "OF BEST MAKE!
WAGON AND BUGGY MATERIAL FROM A BOLT TO A WHEEL. PUMPS, BOTH
. - IRON AND WOOD. .
Belting in Rubber and Leather, and Packing of aU
Imported Guns, Muzzle and Breech Loading!^
PISTOLS IN VARIETY FROM $1 ??. POWDER, SSOT AN?T2
SHELLS, Sic , AND
We are Agents for the Great Western Powder Company. -
TABLE] AND POCKET CUTLERY, ?fee.
With many thanks to a generous public for their past liberal patronage, end soliciting^
still their kind support, we.?ire
il?'?pec?fu!ly, etc., .
RV W. DURANT & SON/ ?
Sept. 12. Main Street. Opposite Bank.
1889-EXCELS ALL OTHERS-? 889
LITERATURE, ART, END FASHION
THIS BEST AND CHEAPEST of ?ho lady's-hooks. Tt gives rs-rr for the money and c0^^8
ffreater merits thar, an3' other. Sn<*h popular anther: ?5 ?VrS. ?A'CY H. Hooper, j^J"r*"
Rebscca Kardinu Davis, M<ss M. G. McClelland. Miss Alice Bo^^an. >
Ed^ar Fawcett. Frank Le? Benedict. Howard pre-y. rr.d r. hec? others *n.e
for *. F?TKRSox," a^d their naaies ate a gn.irar.ies of thc exce&ence of their t?o::cs. -
TFK >TAi*AZrVE trill Jw> rc.-.rn<o!v in?:?irat^ trith oVwr.l f?^ot j?r.d4 cihor engraving?
ana ?mtv FANCY AND TTC I?T?-T A RLE PATTERNS, plinth i-i c, -ors. ^ ? ? .
TH!? FASHION" DEPARTMENT will present J^'^m^SSetaSS^
for ontdoor and hon*, war. and will hare, each month. A HANDSOME COIOKED FA>5*Ii*N
PLATE, printed from steel. , r-b>~ '
Ccntrihntiowon HEALTH. THE TOTLET, COOKERY, THE OARRFN. aru? ^V**" ,
HOLD S?ATTERS generally ?rill be given in c?ch nnabcr, making a Iv ok iirw?cal?c towry
ELEGANT PREMIUMS FOR GETTING UP CL I-33 ! ?
TERMS, ALWAYS XK ADVANCE, $2.00 A TSAR. ^ -
3 Copies for So ~. - f With the eVr>nt K*-k. ?Bn,T? r>^,\ Pl.^irs." nv a Isrs^engraving, {"
3 ? " 4..?0 "j "TV Morning Greeting," as a premium for yt?ir? ~n The rich.
4 Copies for ?6.40 f With an extra ropy of the Xaghzfce fi* ?SS9, a a praiaa, to *e*.
g ?< ?. O.??O ) parson getting i;p the dut?.
5 Copies for S:?.f>f? f Wit:? nrtnr ^:;n rrv.rtV^C'rin^-rl^wl tV brr ^pur. .
7" ? ? 10.^0 j ingar the book ?Bnds und to the peseon grt?fcg?ptli*ca*.
For Larger Q!u2ss, a saS ci Eso&as^s Bforks rr a Sssrksg-Ssc??sse!
48?Sperfmen< s??nt !rn??K c-' vp dn!* ^..*:,.. Hsistssc Kt., rM?a.kiphia, Rfc
<j^^nwwaw 1BJU..W -BB.waaocge ?^?-TT
THE PANSY FOR 1839.
Edited ?).v PANSY-M rs. G. R. Alden.
Thc Pans* is ar? illustrated monthly con?
taining fruin thirty-five to forty pages o'.
read i oj: matter, lt is devoted to yoting folks
from eijiht to fit:een. Its contributors are
arnon;; tho brst writers for young to s.s.
Pansy's N-*- So?;:?' will run throughout
the-.ycarand is entitled Ti.*' WHY OUT.
Paney will ai;o continue ncr Golden Text
?Stories.
Margaret Sidney l:.is aseriV.! storr entitled
Hot?: A story for boys. I? is tu si of the ad
<rcnto.rc<, frolics ?ino ambitions cf a wide?
awake hov.
Mrs. (J. M. i i- ;?gsN?:i Ins tales of ?'lii.:
Hfe and rhi?d Ways, in a new departn.eal,
Baby's d' r.er.
The Bib!*' !?,nd Readings, Th?-Qurer Stcry
column and the P. S. Comer wi M nil be con
rinued.
The Pansy ts only one dollar a year. A
spe. : PI* n copy for five ct-nts.
Y<:it can ge? your own subscription free by
sending tv.o new subscribers with two dollars j
to pav for same. ^*t?i? nins: remit direct to.
D. LOTHROP COMPANY,
Boston.
MONEY TC LOAN'
IN SUMS of S300 and upwards io be so- j
cured by firit mortgage on improved form j
lands at S per cent, interest and a small com- j
mission. Apply to'
^ MOISES & LEE,
Oct lu-3m. ^^^^^ttorneys at Law. j
WHOLESALE GROCSB,
Auction and Ccs^ssfan Merchant
AP ?ST Voil
77u- f/?w? ..:/..> :/ ta ike LT. S?.
The Philip Bos? Brewing Co,'
MILWAUKEE BEER,
197 EAST BA Y ?SD ASD 52 STATE Sra., .
(A.H'ti'on Roora Street.)
CHA/CLISTON, S. C.
Consignments Solicited.
NOT 25 o
Brio r. wkisl?,:
WHOLESALE
) ff*& *I?S
Aili] Liquor Dealer.
OFFICE AND SALESROOM:
183 East Bay, . . - Charleston, S.. C. ;
Nor. 7 o ' ''