Saint Paul weekly Minnesotian. [volume] (Saint Paul, Minn.) 1858-1859, 1858-10-30
" l said you would not believe me-"

| sad you would not Delleve me.
Do you mean to tell me, Arthur Gumey,
that if should wear this jasper signet, |
should cease to be Richard Tracy?'
$50 runs the tradition"
81 have no faith in traditions, to show
you that have not, will, with your pernis-
sion, wear the ring until we meet again. Shall
I?'
By no means If not for your own sake,
for that Of your wife and child, beware of the
jasper signet. You could not help me by
knowing and sharing my lot. 1t would increase
your misery, while it would not tighten mine.
| must meet my doom alone. Be content as
you are, for no exchange that you could make
would benefit you. Leave all to God and
tme''
It.was late that night when we parted. L
followed him to the door to get a breath of air.
The night wind was sweet and fresh, breath
ing of the green woods and the salt sea. 1t
flowed around us as we stood on the stOop lay
ing its cool fingers in benediction on the heat
ed brOws.
"GoOd night, al pleasant dreams, Arthur
Gurney."
:" Farewell and |, ,g life, Richard Tracy"
We shook hands nd he departed l ling
ercd a moment Watching his retreating form.
1t was a bright night, and saw him some
distance, now growing dim as he entered the
shadows of the trees, and now becoming dis
tinct as he crossed the spaces of mOon-shine.
He turned the corner, and saw him no more,
save in his shadow, which trailed like dark
pillar behind him. He disappeared, and the
sound of his steps died away l locked the
door and returned to my work
The visit of Arthur Gurney, unexpected
though it was, of service to me. 1t kept me
from thinking too much of my sick child and
it rested my weary mind could not have
finished my task that night but for Interrupt
ton. | matured my plan as talked with
him, and worked it out as listened. When
he rose to depart | was within few lines of
the end. There was nothing to do but to
write down what | had composed-sOme
twenty or thirty lines in all-and give the
whole an epigrammatic turn. | seized my
pen and dashed it hurriedly across the paper
making a serious of heioroglyphics, which
would have delighted Ohampollion or Lay
ard.
1t was soon finished, and I proceeded to
put the table in order, piling up the book and
arranging the papers in my portfolio. In so
doing, happened to move my pistol, when l
discovered the jasper signet which Arthur
Gurney had left, whether through forgetful
ness or design | never knew | took it cauti-
ously between my thumb and finger. as one
might take some strange instrument of DEATH
and held it close to the light 1t looked quaint
and curious, as an old signet ring should, but
by nc, means dangerous or formidable. The
ciphers in the setting were unchanged the
stone was as clear as ever. l saw no differ
ence in it, except that the bloodspots appeared
a little rcdder and larger, but that might have
been my fancy. 1t is true that | felt some
what nervous as handled it, but any imagin-
ative person would have felt so after listen
ing to the strange narrative of Arthur Gu1n-
ey.
'How absurd that poor fellow was" | said,
''to talk as he did about the poor, old harm
less ring. it must have been the ByrOnic
beverage that he drank, for certainly no man
would believe such nonsenses n his sober
sense. " Ii you wear the ring" he said
you will lose your identity" 81 have a good
mind to try it, And then put it on my
finger.
AS it slipped down, joint after joint, the
most singular sensation came over me. At
first sharp thrill ran through my frame, be-
ginning at my heart, and pulsing outward like
the waves of an electric sea. This followed
by a sudden tremor of the nerves, which end
ed in an Ove"pOwering .aintncss. " hat took
place next knew not, for when walked had
no remembrance that anything unusual had
happened. How could have, when nv identi-
ty was gone?
awoke in a richly furnished chamber
The light of the chandelier was turned on full,
and saw every thing as clearly as if 1T had been
day. The walls were hung with beautiful
pictures-the masterpieces of the finest mod
crn masters, Schaffer, Delaroche, and Horace
Nernet, with here and there a choice impress
sion of the rarest engraving of Raphel Morg-
hen. But the gem of the collection was a
pair of TurnerS-a morning and evening at
sea. In the one you saw noble barge, crowd
ed with lords and ladies, flying before the wind
with her sails all set and her streamers flying;
in the other, the fragments OF a wreck, drift
ting over a measureless sea; the sun was just
plunglng in the gloomy waves, world OF fire
and blood The mantle was loaded with
Sevrc vases, and rich ornaments in OrDaolu
and bronze, and tables of rosewood and eb-
Ony were strewn with objects of 0irtu. High
backed Gothic chairs, covered with royal brC-
cade, were scattered around. | might des
cribe the soft carpets and the tufted rugs; the
heavy hanging damask curtains, with their
fluted, pillar like folds; the brilliant mirrors
reaching from floor to ceiling but to what
end 1t is enough to say that | was in the
chamber of the rich and voluptuous Arthur
Gurney. | was Arthur Grrney !
| sat in fauteuil, holding in my hand a
lady's miniature. 1t was that Of my Cousin
Beatrice. She was as fair as an angel, but a
deep sadness had settled on her face, shading
it beauty and brightness. She was pale and
ghost-like, with thin, spirited lips, and earnest
but melancholy eyes.
How beautiful. if sorrow had not made
Sorrow more beautiful than beauty SELF"
took from my pocket letter. 1t was the
fatal letter from England telling me of my
Cousins death ''Here," l murmured, pour
ing over the miniature, ''here is my dear Beat
rice as Isaw her little month ago the sweetest
soul that ever tabcrnacled in clay; and there"
looking at the letter, "is that which tells me
| shall see her no more How could she die,
when needed her so much :? She was my
hope, my life, the, the only thing that loved.
How u eak and rlnmanly Tracy was, to repine
as he did tonight! He has wife that loves
him, and chid-his child, and hers-a lit
tie angel, and in the light of Heaven But L
am alone, alone Were Beatrice living, my
beloved, my bethrothed, my wife, 1 would not
shrink from poverty as he does, but would bat
tie with a royalty, crowned with the great dia-
dem of love But it is now too late it is
too late There is nothing left me but to
! die
crumpled the letter in my hand, and kis-
sed the miniature of Beatrice for the last time.
AS rose caught sight of my face in the mir
ror 1t was haggard, and ghasty pale. Come,
J - Il
to play the woman now" / strobe up to the
mirror, as | have seen men do when excited
by wine, and took long look at myself. How
black my hair was and what a wild light
in my sunken eyes! "Good-bye, Arthur Cur
ney!' ! smiled and walked to the window.
/ The sky was strown with stars, and the full
moon hung over the tops of the trees. Fare
well, O moon, and stars, and summer night
long farewell p
cooked my pistol and placed it omy heart.
Beatrice shrieked, 81 come" My finger