The spirit of democracy. [volume] (Woodsfield, Ohio) 1844-1994, 1870-10-18
THE, HAUNTED TERRACE.

Ing Oh EIlZdDSbustu dCCultcClutC, 1liC iOu
terraces where the doves plume them
selves and the peacoclSs strut,the strange
wilderness of foreign shrubs and ranh
weeds; the hedges of roses that flank
the southern wall of the garden, posi-
bly,. There is something sad and sug-
gestive about the deserted place. No.
body knows the old man and woman
who have charge of it,and it is not gen
orally known to whom the property be
longs.
1t has descended to distant heirs. Eu,
gene Tierney, to whom it now belongs
knows little about it. He resides abroad
and never saw the old estate. The
Smiths reside there, and get their living
out of it.
/ do not imagine it healthy place to
live. have walked up the avenue on !
RAINY. day, and ceased to wonder thai
John Smith was taciturn and moody, land
his wife uncommunicative as the very
Sphinx. l should go mad if ] lived l
day within sound of the drip of tht
trees, and the uncanny silence OF its en-
closures.
Leaving the garden, where hardy vines
run over quaint, ornamental figures;
much discolored, and where some rare
herb holds root, making the place odor
Gus, you reach the churchyard, and
there you find a tombstone, .engraver
with the single word Maud "a
She was young girl, scarcely twenty
when she died. I have seen her por-
trait. An arch, delicate face, with chest
nut brown ripples of silky halr sweeping
each bare shoulder, and a rose in the
fair hands. There is curtain of stiff
silk behind the head, and glimpse OF
blue sky behind. Copley painted it,some
say. It is very beautiful; and the young
girl is just what a young girl ought to
be, you would affirm,
Fifty years ago, Maud Tiernay lived
here with her parents. She was the
child of .heir old age, and loved like Ja-
cob. The white doves, from which the
present ones were bred, were fed from
her own hand l have seen the very
room which was hers. 1t Is hung with
blue silk, pale and faded, and the carpet
of broidered velvet is worn to rags. But
there is a workstand Of foreign wood
beside the south window; and here, ]
imagine, the girl sat and dreamed her
love-dreams, as girls dream them now.
The window overlooks a long terrace,
adorned with fountains, and beyond the
avenue is the road from town. There is
a spinnet in the room, and an empty
wicker birdcage, holding only dust
There is painting of polnegranates on
the glass beside the door, and a console,
holding perfume jars, between the win
dows.
said she was not twenty when she
died. That summer she was betrothed
to Ascot King, her fathers ward. Both
were good and beautiful, and they were
very happy, Maud had asmall Italian
greyhound, which was her inseparaDle
companion; and the three wandered in
the old garden, or paced the terraces, vi
sang in the moonhghted porch, in a
cloudless content.
She was embroidering in the old draw
ing-room one morning. Ascot King
was reading to her, and Flora lay sleep
ing at her feet The sun glimmered
through the window-pane upon her bur
nished, peachy cheek, and revealed the
golden buckleupon her little slipper
She was SO exqulsitely fair and radiant,
that her old father, entering with an open
letter inhis hand, paused on the thresh-
cid, locking over his spectacles with a
mild surprise.
MAUD, my child" he said slowly, 81
think the air of The Roses must be very
good. You are looking very welt"
II think it is, papa" raising her radi
ant face.
sWell. {comlng forward,) ''here is a
letter from my old friend, DR.. May. in
London. He has a gentleman under bis
careAa Mr. DeIafond, from Guernsey
who was thrown from his horse last
spring, and has been suffering. in conse-
auence ever since. He wishes to send
him into some healthy district for tue
summer; suppose we let him come
here 2"
a0h, papam with slrug of the pref
ty shoulders. ssThrce are company, and
four are none. / shouldn't know what
to do with Mr.. Delafond. and Flora
would be sure to bark at him." {.
s.Nonsense, my dear; you consider
that dog as if it were a human being. /
should like Mr.. Delafond to come. !
should like some one in the house who
isn't in love. Mamma and | have a very
dull time since you became engaged I'd
Ascot"
Maud threw down her ,glittering nee,
die. and few to hang oh his neck. -
.sPapa, dear old love, do you think
you are deserted 2 Why, / havn't gone
away from you;i l have only brought
Ascott into our ranks. Are there not
two to think of you now? Who brings
you the news but Ascot? Who else
cured Sultan of shying2 Anc, what am
l doing now, but embroidering slippers
for your>dear old feet Aud am never
going to leave you. We.are all going
to live at The Roses together
He laughed a, little and ipatted her
shoulder. s,, ai gs,
"Weib well; I'll find no fault, my
child. It's all natural and right / have
nothing TO complain of. But, it really
cannot matter to you'll invite this Mr..
Delafond to come. y ssayisY, I'll
mo. no, papa; send for him il you
like ~ -,...sl,.i ,,,...T.s -.
1t was but two days later that Maude
returned, just at sunset, from ride with
Ascot King. He hited her from her
graceful palfrey, and she tripped into the
house, her blue habit gathered up, from
her little feet, her golden hair, in q cloud
about her head,a snatch Of song on her
lips. a esr az 80,
aDelafond had arrived during her alb
sence. He rose involuntaFily frem his
seat--a palcs gaunt nan, lwithsa mass Of
jetty hairon his shoulders, anQ eyes OF
piercing blackness, under strange. jut.
ting brow. Maud reeoled.. Il
~ 1Ia did. nf,t f,hsarvn f1nn actiou he saw