The Kenosha telegraph. [volume] (Kenosha, Wis.) 1860-1888, 1863-04-09
T:Ec Mystery ;st FernWOod.
rCoNTINUEp FROM LAST WEEK.

TAG Mystery ist Fernw0Od.
~TcoNTINUED FROM LAST WEEK.
[ slept soundly that night at Fernwood, I'M
disturbed by the attenuated shadow of SybiI
Wendale, Sir Humphreys unhappy wife. The
bright sunshine was reflected in the oak-panels
Of my room, and the larks were singing high
up in a cloudless blue sky, when | woke. ]
found my aunt quite reconciled, indeed, to hcl
visit.
Lady AdeIa is a very agreeable woman, .
she said quite, perhaps, to a fault, but with
that high tone of manner which is always
charming. Lucy Wendale seems a dear good
girl, though evidently a confirmed old maid.
You will find her Of inestimable use when you
are married-that is to say, il you ever have tc
manage this great rambling place, which will
of course fall to your lot i'll the event Of poor
Mr.. WendaIe's DEATH
As for myself, l was as happy at Fernwood
as the August days were long. Lucy Wendale
rode remarkably well. 1t was the only amuse-
ment for which she cared; and she and her
horses were Oh terms of the most devoted at
tachment. Laurence, his sister and | were
therefore constantly outtogether, riding among
the hills about Fernwood, and exploring the
country for twenty miles round.
Indoors, Lucy left us very much to ourselves.
She was the ruling spirit ofthe house, and but
for her everything must have fallen utterly to
decay. Lady Adela read novels, or made a
feeble attempt at amusing my aunt with her
conversation. Mr.. Wendale kept his room
during the fore part of the day while Lau-
renee and | played, sang, sketched, and rat
tleo the billiard-balls over the green cloth,
whenever the bad weather drove us to indoor
amusements.
1t was one day that | was sketching the
castellated facade Of the old mansion, that |
noticed one peculiar circumstance connected
with the suite of rooms occupied by the invalid
MIR. Thomas. These rooms were at the ex-
IRENE left angle of the building, and were
lighted by d range of six windows. | was
surprised by observing that every one of these
windows was ground glass.
l asked Laurence the reason of this.
"Why, | believe the glare of light was too
much for Mr.. Thomas" he answered; so my
father, who is the kindest creature in Christen-
dom, had the windows made Opaque. as you
see them now"
elias the alteration been long made y |
asked.
sit was made when | was about six years
old | AVE rather vague recollection OF the
event, and | should not perhaps have remem-
bered it but for one circumstance. Twas riding
about down here one morning on my Shetland
pony, when my attention was attracted by a
child who was looking through one of those
windows. | was not near enough to see bis
face, but fancy he must have been about my
own age. He beckoned to me-, and | was rid
ing across the. grass to respond to his invita-
ton, when my sister Lucy appeared at the
window, and snatched the child away. Isup-
pose he was some one belonging to the female
attendant upon Mr.. Thomas, and had strayed
unnoticed into the invalid's rooms. never
saw him again; and the next day a glazier
came over from York, and made the alteration
in the windows
But Mr. Thomas certainly must have air
| suppose the windows are sometimes opened, y
| said.
Never they are each ventilated by a sin
gle pain, which, if you observe, is open now
Il cannot help plying this poor man." l
light of heaven by mis- infirmities, deprived OF
all society"
'Not entirely so, answered Laurence. 'tINo
one knows how many stolen hours my sister
Lucy devotes to her poor invalid"
perhaps he is a very studious man, and
finds his consolation i'll literary or scientific
pursuits" | said docs he read very much,
then p
Il think not. l never heard of his having
any books got for him"
But one thing has puzzled me, Laurence"
| continued. Lucy spoke of him the other
day as a young man, and yet Mrs. Person,
your housckeeper, told me he had lived at
fernwood for upwards Of twenty years"
"As for that" answered Laurence, carelessly
Lucy no doubt remembers him as a young
man upon his first arrival here, and continues
to call him 50 from mere force ofhabit. But,
pray, my little inquisitive Bella, do not rack
your brains about this poor relation of ours.
10 tell the truth, [ have become so used to his
unseen presence in the house, that | have ceas-
ed to think Of him at all. meet a grim wo-
man, dressed III black merino, coming out of
the green-baize door, and | know that she is
Mr.. Thomas's nurse; or l see a solemn-faced
man, and l am equally assured that he is MIR.
Ihomas's servant, James Beck, who has grown
gray III his Office | encounter the doctor rid
ing away from ternwOod on his brown cob.
ard feel convinced that he has Just looked
in to see how MIR. Thomas is going on if
miss my sister for an hour in the twilight, |
know that she is in the west wing talking to
Mir, Thomas but as nobody ever calls upon
me to do anything for that poor man; | think
no more of the matter"
| felt these words almost a reproef to what
might have appeared idle, oreven impertinent,
curiosity on my part. And yet the careless
indifference OF Laurence's manner seemed to
jar upon my senses. Could it be that this
glad and hIgh-hearted being, whom | so ten
derby loved, was selEsh-heedless of the suffer
lngs OF others? No, it was surely not this that
prompted his thoughtless words. 1t is a pos
tive mpossibiity for one whose whole ma
ture is life and motion, animation and yipor.
to comprehend for one brief moment the ter
rors of the invalid's darkened rooms and sol
itary days.
l had been nearly a month at Fernwood,
when, Tor the first time during our visit, Lau-
renee left us. One Of his old schoolfellows. a
lieutenant in the army, was quartered with
his regiment at York, and Laurence had
promised to dine with the mess.
Though | had been most earnest in request
ing him to accept this invitation. | could not
help feeling dull and dispirited as | watched
him drive away down the avenue, and felt
that for the first time we were to spend the
long autumn evening without him.
Do what | would, the time hung heavily on
my hands. The September sunset was beauti-
full, and Lucy and walked up and down the
terrace after dinner, while Mr.. Wendale slept
in hlseasy chair, and my III and Lady Adela
exchanged drowsy m~onosyllabic sentences on
a couch near the fire, which was always light
cd in the evening.
1t was in vain that l tried to listen to
Lucy's conversation. My thoughts wandered
in spite Of myself-sometimes to Laurence in
the briliantly-lighted mesS-room, enlivening
a cluster of tiaSe officers with his boisterous
galety sometimes, as If in contrast to this,
TO the dark west rooms in which the invalid
! caunrel the lnnn hnn,r-. rnnnn.;nao- l. L..