The mountain Democrat., 1864-05-14
A NARROW ESCAPE,

1et SuCJ tlullus SeUllU1eUluI OIu lauyi Udu
really been placed in a position Of extra
ordinary trial, and had come nobly out oi
it, And she told the adventure with an
utter Inconsistencies of anything heroic
in her conduct, which added q strange
charm to her recital.
When [ WAS about seventeen or eigh-
teen, (she said), my father took me for
change of air, after a slight illness, to the
seaside. Twas romantic; moreover, had
been motherless from my infancy, and my
dreamy fancies had received no check
from the dull routine Of my school life, nor
from my association with girls as silly as
myself
Shortly after our arrival at the water
ing place was struck by the appearance
Of three people, who were often to be seen
together Of an evening on the sands. One
was a very handsome woman of about
forty the others appeared to be her
son and daughter The son was one OF
the most interesting persons l ever saw.
The daughter, who was about my own
age, was very pretty. The mother was a
cripple. She was drawn nearly every day
to the same spot on the sands, and there
sat watching the setting sun, while her
children occupied themselves with gather
ing shells. Occasionally we met the
brother and sister riding, and my father
declared that he had never seen so good q
horsewOman as the young lady.
One evening, as was sitting on low
black rock or stone, near her chair, the
elder lady spoke to me with civil apology
for troubling a stranger. She asked me
if | could distinguish whether her son and
daughter were on the beach Her sight
was too bad for her to see herself look.
ed, and replied in the negative. She seem.
ed anxious and uneasy, and kept turning
her eyes in the direction from whence she
appeared to expect them. ! asked if she
required nnything? She thanked ME but
replied that she wanted nothing; only she
was anxious for her daughters appear.
ance; she feared accidents when they were
: late home.
4 should think you could have no cause
! for fear, | said, your daughter rides so
well
( She assented with a sigh
/ 4 dare say she added, Il am foolishy
, nervous, but my life is trying and mo.
notonous one, and affords time for idle
fears.
was sorry for her it was very sad to
be helpless and crippled at he: age, and
with her apparent health, so We gradually
/ fell into conversation. Mrs. Deloraine-
remember what nice name thought
twas not very lady.like, still she was
not vulgar. 8 | could see she was not a
highly bred person; nevertheless she was
interesting and clever, aid very iascina.
! ting way of her own. After time, the
son and daughter returned; they thanked
me for my kind attention to their mother,
and were 50 pleasant and agreeable, that |
was enchanted with them.
When | returned home, teaScd my
. father to cali on the Dcioraines. lie de
INJURED at first; We know nothing Of these
people, lie said; il was not wise to pick up
acguaintanccs a. one would shells; but |
was urgent, and he seldom refused a re-
quest made by his motherless girl. He
made n few Inquiries aSccrtained that
Mrs Delnrainc and her children lived q
quiet, secluded, blameleSS life in lonely
cottage, on the outskirts of the town; a
place which the librarian told him had had
the reputation Of being haunted, and was
let at low rent; that they paid their bills;
and were, apparently, respectable people.
Then he consented to call on them.
We approached the Deloraines' dwell
ing through an orchard and pine grove,
SO dismal and gloomy in appearance that
| did not wonder at its ghoStlp repute.-
The cottage itself was an old house, built
partly of wood. partly Of brick. very
i'll looking man servant opened the door,
and ushered US into the drawing room,
where We found Mrs. Deloraine and her
daughter.
The former was lying on a sofa placed
against the folding doors. She could not
rise to receive US, but she greeted my
father and me very warmly, and seemed
delighted to make our acquaintance. He
thought her manner theatrical and stud.
led; but she managed, nevertheless, to
please him, and the acquaintance, thus
commenced, progressed into intimacy.
We rode together frequently, accompa-
MED by my father and William Deloraine.
| am quite sure that dear father never
dreamed Of anything like love between
William and me; he still thought me
mere child; he was too much occupied by
his own affairs to observe my gradual ad
vance towards womanhood.
But was gradually becoming attached
to William Deloraine. He was just the
sort of man to please an imaginative young
lady like myself Moreover he constantly
betrayed his love for myself and as con-
stantly recalled the manifestation Gf
may say SOY, by sudden and distant cold
ness Of manner, which piqued and teased
me.
But I am net telling love tale, and
therefore will not linger over those tanta-
lizing but bewitching days. On one Of
them the desired declaration came; Will
liam Deloraine, in approved poetic phrase,
assured me that he adored me- refer.
red him, Of course, to my father. To
my surprise, he heSitated; told me that
an unhappy my stery clouded his life a
fatal secret which he could not as yet re-
veal even to me and implored me to con
ceal my attachment from my father
Now, though was very silly and roman
, tic,and William gained an additional hold
on my fancy by having 4 mystery attach
ed TO him, | was too honorable girl to
enter into an engagement without my
kind fathers sanction, and said so at
once. He was bitterly disappointed, for
he hoped | would have consented to an
elOpement, or secret marriage; and |
grew angry at the suppostion.
We had quarrel. but made it up af-
terwards, of course; and | promised to
keep the secret of his avnwal from my "a
ther, though I would promise nothing
more. He declared also that he should
keep his secret from his family; but |
OnnSSnh that he hnd told kntn ne che