The independent press. (Abbeville C.H., S.C.) 1853-1860, 1858-09-10

superstition held undisputed sway over the
minds Of the masses.
AS the castle clock struck twelve that
night, trampling of hoefs sounded beneath
the maiden's easement. Light must have
been her slumbers, for she started from hcr
couch, and throwing mantle over her
shoulders, stepped noiseessly to the window
Beware, Margaritc! Should it be hin,
the terrible one! hytbravery will not save
thee.
1t was him, the Wild Horseman Til.
moonlight revealed him sitting like statue
upon the blacklist steed eye ever glanced
upon. The maiden spoke no word, withou,
moments hesitation caught up something
from her escritoire, and hurled it from the
window upon the head Of the midnight
rider-which heau rested for moment
upon his horses name; and then, with a
bound like a mountain roe, the steed left
the rock upon which he stood, and was lost
TO sight in the distance.
Margarte, with a STANCE calmncss, again
sought the couch but light were the slum.
bers that visited her eyeids the rest of that
night. -
In the morning, when meeting her aged
sire at the breakfast table, Margarite seemed
pcnsive and preoccupied, and the baron,
kissing her cheek, said
"learl you the midnight bugle, my
child My heart !rembled when its shrill
sound met mine ears"
Il heard it, my fa,her,' replied Margarite
turning pale.
II deemed also, perhaps it was only a
fancy, that the ring Of horses hoofs sound
ed on the castle rock about midnight hour"
Margarite at these words, grew yet paer,
but was still silent.
"Fear not, dear chid!' continued the
Baron, "thou wilt soon have no cause to
fear. I will tell thee Il secret. Come
hither! In one weeks time, my love, thou
wilt have protector, who bears younger
and stronger arm than mine. In short,
dear child, Count Oscar, the son of my old
companion in arms, the Baron Drumholdt,
is on his way hither to make thee his bride.
| marvel lie has not reached us long ere
this. But, Margarite what ais thee? why
dost thou tremble? Mein, Colt? child YOU
will not faint"
Margarite did look as if she would faint
for few moments-but raIlying with a
strong effort, she said !: ut is nothing, INV
father; am well now.''
81 would Oscar wer here ~ muttered the
old man to himself; "his presence might
clear away the melancholy and gloom that
seems Of late to hang over her. Give me
some tea Margarite; we'll see the roses on
thy cheeks again shortly"
A week had passed. Again the bell OF
the castle clock had chimed tile midnight
hour, and again through the dense forest
echoed the loud, clear notes of the Wild
Horseman's bugle. This night, Margarte
did not press her couch, but sat at her open
easement looking forth upon the landscape,
lighted not by the moon this time, but by
'nnumerable stars, whose briliancy nearly
equaled the moons rays. A faint sound
OF swift hoofs was heard in the distauce-it
came nearer; until Margarite disccrned the
forms Of black horse and stately rider
rapidly ascending the rock upon which
stood the castle. Another moment, and
steed and rider stood motionless and silent
beneath the window. What did the maiden
then? We must confess that her behavior
was exceedingly strange. Wrapping man.
tie around her, and drawing the hood over
her face, she quietly opened her chamber
door, and swiftly*dcsccnded the long stair
way. aasS
The Wild Horseman remained below
mentionless as stone statue. Now, read,
er, prepare to see something :rightful! We
are going TO show you the terrible midnight
rlder-the being whose name terrified the
surrounding country-whose bugle notes
awed every creature within hearing of them
the rapid trampling of whose horses
ironshod hoofs caused every moEtal to Ay,
as ifpursued by demon. Now, are you
prepared to see him as he is: We'll, then
III show him to you. There. lie. sits, upon
that powerful steed,, whot4smps his bit
proudly, and paws the airwitFf bis fore-foot
there he sits-tall, graceful, Young, and
'noble-looking-with a. face and form well
calculated to win the heart Of lovely, ro-
mantle girl. That's him! Aldebrahd the
Wild Horsemau. -
Hush he speaks Is that rich, musical
voice, the voice of demon? Impossible
Listen!
Thou art oeme. tbeB dearest MargsffitsI
Bless thee, sweet ohs'I Thy hand, dear
maiden; an I,lift thee on the saddle Before