Iowa voter. [volume] (Knoxville, Iowa) 1867-1874, 1870-06-09

description Ot>'r again tna1 Alay naso ~
| fresh in my MINI ;. ~
minutely, while RalpA listened as eagerly
| as if the story was new, ana ne was neai
| ing it for the first time. 80,
aDoes this Briefly live n ear ING grave!
he asked
Eyes; within fifty feet"
"Did any one else see her when sne was
| ill, or after she died, SO that in case orler-
| " should be gone from there could learn
| any little thing about her, do you think :
| Do you remember any ones saying more
than that they heard child was sick
there?" .aI
II don't know as l do; but you can en-
ouire if he should be dead or gone from
there. And about the stone; get some
thing pretty, and don't mind the cost; it's
the last thing we can do for her, his voice
growing little unsteady.
Il was toward sunset Of the next after
noon that Ralph Anderson left the little
town of Michigan City behind him and
walked briskly up the lake road. He had
INQUIRED in the town and found that Brier-
" still occupied his little hut, and he could
hardly keep from breaking into run,
there was such fierce impotence surging
| in his heart and stirring his blood.
| A little wien faced old man, a knotted
silk handkerchief of dingy red arrayed
a Ia turban over fringe of grizzly hair,
opened the door little cautiously to
Ralph peremptOry rap.
do have the pleasure of addressing
Mr.. Brierly?" Ralph asked as politely as
| if he were addressing the President.
The old man grunted an assent, still
holding the door nearly together.
II came out here to see you, sir, about
the little girl who died here seven or
eight years ago."
"There's nothin' to see, mister. She
died and was buried, and there's her
grave. l should like to know what sends
people here in droves about that child
didn't murder her." he said, all this in q
sullen, mumbling tome
"No one thinks you did that know.
But who has been heres" Ralph asked,
greatly surprised.
'"Well, don't know; three afore you,
sartin. The last one that come was fine
chap--he give me fifty dollars. He was a
nice mana very nice mar" his little red
dish brown eyes winking and blinking.
IL called to see something about stone,
and to see if you had any little article OF
clothing that belonged to the child ?"
go dear no ] burnt up the duds-you
see they want no use to me, andsmebbe
there was disease in 'em, who knows he
said, stepping back again.
swell, suppose 1 can go out and look
at her grave, she was very dear to me-"
90 lud, yes; that's what they all say,
every one. It's strange, gal who had SO
many dear friends, that they didn't take
care Of her, now amt it" the little red
eyes blinking like stars.
Ralph turned abruptly and walked
away to the grave, the little old n...n peer
ing after him and laughing to himself,
just the oldest laugh you ever heard.
1t was clear, soft, starlight night and
the hour was little after midnight
1t was warm as September, and the ground
was light and free Of frost. An odd
thing was being done at the little lake
side grave. Two men were throwing
out the dirt with swift force. The grave
was less than three feet deep, to their sur
prise, and small, rough coffin was
the men held match while another
started the top, and then another match
was lighted, and the two men leaned over
and looked in. 1t was empty, save q
block of oak wood two feet long, and an
old piece of blanket.
CHAPTER XIII.
Victor Montford had great respect for
Stella Blake, but he did think it just lit
tie strange that she stayed there after the
trouble there had been. Was it possible
| that the girl was mercenary and design
| ing, after all, and that she meant to be-
come mistress of the Montford House by
taking advantage of the weakness and
vanity of his father? He fought against
such thought, but it aoould return each
time with new force, and some little cor
roberative proof There was family
troubled look, too, in Fannie's face, though
she said nothing.
Stella went about her duties in quiet,
mechanical sort of way, as if they were
something rite apart from her thought
or care. She seemed living two separate
and distinct lives -ons the mOnotonOus
routine of manual labor, the other-well,
no one but herself knew that. But what
ever it was, ii was wearing on her by its
intensity She grew visibly thin and
pale every day. said pale, but there
was always vivid crimson spot on each
of her cheeks, which were fast losing
heir soft oval, and becoming hollow.
Her eyes had always now a restless anx-
1OuS LOOK, sometimes OeSpalflng, some
times determined and hard, but always
anxious and painfully eager. One look
ing at her wished invOluntarily that the girl
had mother, seeming as she did in some
imminent mental or bodily peril, but Of
such vague, impalpable character, that
there seemed TO hing for stranger to
venture on.
1t was the next day after Ralph's sud
den departure, l think, that Blanche
Arnold rode down to MOntford House.
she was little out of humor, and had
been of on long galop over the prairie
to get up her usual tone of spirits. She
had generally the best control over her
temper. She could hold herself as one
does high-mettled horse; the spirit, and
fire, and blood were there, but all under q
tight, firm rein. But Ralph's cool ignor-
ing of her right to know-her right by
courtesy, at least -something of his inter.
ests and movements, stirred her spirits
beyond even her powerful control
Perhaps might mention, lest she be
considered too exacting and unreasonable,
! that Rillv DOano ffOrmorlv chOre hOv hut