Kenosha tribune & telegraph. [volume] (Kenosha, Wis.) 1856-1859, 1857-12-17
&C a DIE ,,
\ STORY OF A HAUNTED HOUSE.
BY HoLME LEE.
x.-pRIvArR SKELETONS.

saTS CHASTITY skeleton indeed. 1t uset
Py to track him about the pathway
@, of the cottage garden, with hol
low, menaeillg footstep. Adie never
heard it, but sometimes, through he
pleasant singing and happy laughter, h'
was startled suddenly by its tramp a
his heels, or the echo of it coming swift,
from a distance. Then he would grow
almost impatient of her gaiety as it sh'
knew what haunted him. Adie won
dered, wassilent, and then sad. Itwoult
thrust a cold arm between them and put
them apart; it made third al all theil
meetings, sat ut their board, by theil
bed, and WAS as constant to Laurence
as his shadow. He strove hard to bt
blind and deaf to its approch; but
it was a part of .himself-a subtle EN-
anation from his evil conscience =
which he could never part from; his ex.
istencewas such as he had made it, with
It's shadow evermore on his hearthstone
and the horrible remorse at his heart
He might forget it for an hour, he might
even. defy it for awhile, and measure his
strength of mind and will against its
torture; but presently its hour returned
and he was a mere coward, afraid of the
darkness and trembling at the rustline
of a leaf below his foot. -. q
Adie laughed and sang on; in his mo-
ments of gloom the fondest; when he
was grave or. stern, most blithe and
cheering. What their life might have
been but for tlsat step in the dark! Some
times a painful doubt came over the
young wife's mind. Could he be grow
ing weary of her? was she already los
ing her power to charm? They had
been a year married, and now another
life hung upon hers; yet sometimes he
would leave her at the cottage with the
servant for week together, while he
made excursions OH foot about the
nelghborhood, trying to evade his ghost
ly companion by constant movement
and change of place. Yet when he
returned to her, hoy glad he seemed
to stay his weary feet at her side; how
tender, how thoughtful, he could be
still Yet, he had not ceased to love
her.
One day, during wandering fit, he
strayed into a wood by the wayside, to
be out of the glare of the sun, and lay
down on turfy slope under the trees.
There was an opening before him, wind
ing away through high arching boughs,
and lost at last in mist of sunshine
There was no whisper amongst the
branches, either of wind or birds: the
very sprays of fern were unstirred. How
weary he was; how dark at hear, be
must have been when he saw nothing
eff the beauty of these woods; heard
nothing but a wall coming up through
the trembling air, burdened with preg-
nant menace to his ears--'I bide my
timeo' There is not the peace of soil
tude for such as Laurence Royston in
the dim forests; he must up, and go for
ward again.
Another day he went down the shore.
A fiat of dry sand stretched out before
him, with the wind sweeping visibly
over 1t; above was a dull sky, boding
rain; and to the furthest verge Of the
horizon lay turbid, leaden, waveless
sea, beaten down from the shore by q
strong land-breeze. A dark reef, far
out, seemed TO glide like marine mon
ster, as the sullen swell revealed its
outline from time to time. There were
a few fragments of wood-parts of a
wreck, perhaps-scattered near, soli-
tary bird swooping through the haze,
and no other living thing in sight. His
limbs were weary, his feet were sore, yet
he still kept on, close by the sea, with
his face towards it, and his imagination
raising threatening shapes out of the
mist, while his ears were filled with a
wall that outmoaned both wind and tide
For miles on the lonely shore he went,
without needing that the night was gath
ering around him, and no place in sight
where he could claim shelter-there
W as point in the distance against whose
base the waves roared eternally, and high
cliffs stretching beyond, Redeemed with
the lurid light of riyen storm clouds
70: miles on the lonely shore, the scene
growing wilder as he went forward,
hoarse muttering of thunder in the air,
and lurid flashes cleaning athwart the
black sea.
Worn out at last, he laid himself down
in hollow Of the cliffs. and rested there
till dawn; then on again in his abortive
flight. Once that day he came in sight
of picturesque and ancient chateau,
standing about two hundred PAGES from
the shore. On the side towards the sea,
was aplanting ofyoung trees, all leaning
one way, as if, having bowed to the
blasts 30 often, they were no longer able
to raise~their heads erect. 1t was a
quaint old place, yet sunny of aspect,
with little peaked towers a great porch,
under which were rude stone seats. All
about its walls were creeping plants and
ivy; in front lay a wide mossy lawn, with
a dry fountain, whose brink was matted
over with gay flowers, and in the midst
was broken sundial. Two huge hounds
lay doing in the sunshine; they were
old, worn out, and toothelss, but they
lifted up their heads as the heavy, irreg-
ular steps of the wayfarer approached !;
and one rose Up, gaunt and grim, and
bounded across the lawn, barking frlri-
ously. Didthey scent blood, or was itthat
Laurence Royston had more the air of a
dangerous prowler than an inoffensive
traveller? Cursing between his teeth,
he strobe on, so wild and fierce of coun-
tenance, that the people whom he met
crossed ont OF his way. He had become
emaciated in body and features during
his solitary wanderings, and his express
sion was such as might have come over
the mans face who played with Satan
for his soul when, the stake being utterly
lost, it was about to be claimed.
Ii was evening when he came back to
the cottage, spent with fatigue, and rack
ed by the poisoned memory he carried
in his breast. Addie was sitting on the
steps under the veraIIda. waiting and