The Cass County Republican. [volume] (Dowagiac, Mich.) 18??-1880, 1863-09-10
GLENBURN HALL {:
THE JUST RETRIBUTION
BY BELLE TUDOR.
CHAPTER V.
ROMANCE.
BY BELLE TUDOR.

ROMANCE.
"Don't mind my childish folly to-
night, Tom; you will never see it
again. l will hasten on with the tale,
for it is ten o'clock"
"Never mind that, Nate; the night
is better than the day for fairies, witch
es, romance and old Stories"
"Ah, you are only moonstruck boy
yet, Tom"
There was slight tenderness in his
tone. / wonder to this day why Ma
than Morse chose me for his conidant.
l believe he never told this tale but once
in all his life.
"There is little more to tell you,
Tem," he at length continued. can
other year came round, and my father
grew feebler. He was prematurely
old. This year another two hundred
fell due to Deacon Clary. 1t was a
hard, biting season, no money, no trade.
All our farm stock would not bring a
hundred, for we now had only horse
and COW. You can guess the result.
1t came, a foreclosure, and we were
penniless!
"That night my father came home
very pale and patient. lie told us
calmly how he had pleaded with his
relentless creditor for an extension of
time, and how he was met with grim,
remorseless, triumphant refusal.
"My mother was stole, she uttered
no complaint, but looked anxiously and
often towards my father. 1 think that
she cared little for the loss of our all
in her deeper feeling for bis disappoint-
ment.
"That night he read with feeble,
weary voice, the fourteenth chapter of
John, and the Psalm, "The Lord is
my Shepherd" He retired early and
the house was still at an early hour.
"Tom, l can scarcely tell you the
rest. My mother called me at mid
night, and sent me for the physician !;
but my father died before l returned,
and my mother never spoke again.
She breathed her last the evening of
the next day.
"The night my father died the ca
thedral bell again. gave out that wild,
irregular tolling. The funeral process
sion went out from the white church !;
but deacon Clary was not there.
81 never wept, but l vowed above
the unburied clay of my murdered pa
rents to be their avenger. Ind nay
time has come
"The night after the burial, went
alone to the new made grave, and there
renewed my VOW. While l sat there
wrapt in a stony anguish, gentle touch
reused me, and looking up, the little
white-robed figure of Grace Clary
stood, statute-like, in the moonlight
with her small hand on my shoulder.
Her face was very pale, and SO much
touching pity lay in her mild eyes, and
on her quivering lips, that leaned my
head against her white garments and
wept. Her gentle hand wandered over
my brow and dishevelled hair, and lay
warm and loving on my heart. drew
her little hand to my lips and clasped
it convulsively in mine. I had no one
else to care for me, and told her SO,
and she told me that she always loved
me, and always should, and We sat
there an hour with arms twined about
each other, my guardian angel and l,
till my grief was calmer, and a new
hope stole into my soul, such strange,
fantastic hope, as Boys, only boys,
would dare to indulge.
CT went to work in the village, not
for Deacon Clary, but for a kind farm
err. That winter sometimes met little
Grace at prayer-meeting, and walked
round her way home when no one was
with her. These rare, delicious meet
ipps. Tom, are the oasis in my desert
life. They haye cheered me all the
way along, through this friendless
world, and cannot recall them to-
night without thrill of rapture that
was not conscious of then. Twice l
clasped her in my arms and kissed her