Ellsworth American. [volume] (Ellsworth, Me.) 1855-current, 1869-04-08

cup Of tea, looking so fresh and in
nocent, hide my head under tn
clothes. and laugh to myself to thinl
what simpleton she is, and how
am deceiving them all. And he i
here | know it, Sometimes l hea
his voice. Black hearted monster
! will be revenged-revenged-re
venged onyou before l 90 But wher
try to think how this must be, m,
head begins to ache, and notes, lik,
drops OF blood, dance before my eyes
But II will come to me suddenly, lik,
a flash Of lightning, at the right mo.
ment. Yes, few more nights, and
the cage will be broken, and the birt
flown. Oh, what fun it all is :"
CHAPTER xxxIv.-THE READING OF
THE WILL.
y wlntry night, starlight and low
erlng, with bleak wind moaning
drearily through the woods Of Belair
like voice OF sorrowful warning.
Eight O'Clock is striking by the turret-
clock as the great doors of the Hall
are flung vile open to let out for the
last time him who had 80 long been
master of that stately home. Hi.
pleasant voice and genial laugh. new
or more to be heard within its rooms
never more nis tall, slender form and
white head to be seen bv tenant or
iarm-labourer in the fell or coppics
or at friendly rent-dav feast. All
that is lett on earth Of SIR Philip
Spcncelaugh is about to cross the
threshold OF his home for the las, time !;
and Tomorrow new master will
reign at Belair.
Dnc by one, from a 81 lie door.
dark-cloakcd figures TO the number of
thirty or forty come quietly out. each
oi en- carryinga lighted torch and
range themselves in front of the main
entrance. Presently the coffin makes
IL appearance. born on the shoulders
ot men who have worked on the estate
all their liyes-men who have loved
and respected him they are carving,
Is their greatest earthly benetactor.
slowly and tcnderly, down the wide,
shallow steps. thcv bear their solemn
burden, over which n great pail is
thrown. Close behind, in solitary
state. comes the son and heir, a tall,
slender young man, with n worn.
ciieminate face; genuinely sorry for
the loss of the kind hearted old man
he is following; halt angry with him
self because his eyes ,cW remain 50
obstinately dry: with vet 4 lurking
feeling Of satisfaction in one corner OF
his heart. which will not be quite tram
pied out, that he is now really and
vcritably Sir CASTOR Spencelaugh-
that he NAV now clear off those con-
founded post-obits, and be hi. own
master, with plenty Of ready money
tor the future.
80 down main avenue OF the Park
the long procession slowly moved,
lighted up by the lurid blaze OF the
torches. which shewcd from distance
like gigantic ire-tiics among the trees.
Behind >ir Castor, at "A respectful
distance, anne numerous, array Of
the personal friends ofthe dead man:
magnatcs Of the county friends of
the cover-side and the stubble- field
men who not seldom had sat at his
table; men at whose houses he had
visited. and to whose wive, and
daughters he had been we'll known.
Behind these, again, came long
string of humber iriends--.mall farm
er, and lab urcrs on the estate. whose
grief for the -oss Of the man thev
were following was probably quite rs
genuine as that OF more aristocratic
friends.
Little groups Of count-y-people,
women and children mostly, whose
husbands and brothers took part in
the procession, were scattered about
the Park close to the line OF march
and many tear was shed, any many
a blessing invoked 70 the memory Of
the benetactor they would never see
again. With such accompaniment.
was Sir Philip >pencelaugh borne to
his grave.
Never had the little church OF
Belar been more denselv crowded
than ii was on the night of the baro-
ncts's funeral. The first to enter it.
anl'thc last to leave it, were two
women, who sat in an obscure corner
OF the gallery, and the hoods Of whose
back cloaks completely.hid their faces
from observation. When the solemn
service was at an end-when the
lody had been lowered into its rest
ing place in the vault underneath the
chancel-when the Wears last Amen
had been said, and the last notes of
the choir had died away into silence,
these two hooded women were the
last of all there to lean over the dark
cavity in the floor, and bid farewell
in fearful silence to him who slept ),
soundly below. Then homeward
through the already deserted Park by
near WAYS well known to themselves.
These were Frederica Spencelaugh
and Jane Garrod.
Frederica had passed only one night
at Belair after her return from town.
Now that its master was dead. She
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