Mower County transcript. [volume] (Lansing, Minn.) 1868-1915, 1873-10-16


was working in her veins, and fearing
this was the ravlng of delirium, sooth
ed her as best I could. just then a
servant entered the room she held
that in her hand VIC had cause to dread
"a telegram. tore it open, and rs my
eye learned it's contents, groan burst
rom my lips. Emmie is dead, said
my wife, quietly. II knew it dear"
1t was even so.
This blow rapidly extinguished the
Pickering life OF the mother, and she,
too, quickly followed Emm,e. After
this sad event, I arranged to 60 to
Wolfstein's chateau. He had taken no
notice of my various letters, but 1 con-
cluded that, stunned by grief, the poor
fellow was unable TO attend to his Or
binary duties of life. In this fellowship
of sorrow, together VIC should mingle
our tears.
On my way to the railway station, I
encountered Susan, Emmie's faithful
maid, who had been with her young
mistress before and since her marriage.
The girl was weary and worn with
fatigue, and her once bright English
face was white and scared. She
stretched her hands toward me. "Mr.
st. John! Mr.. St. John!" then she
fell down in il swoom. had her con-
veyed to my rooms, aud after admins
tering rest0ratives, she recovered and
in few terrible words she told me OF
my child.
For two or three months after mar
riage all was sunshine, then the tickle
nature of the baron began to assert it.
self, and he became q very devil of
causeless jealousy and malice. Every
letter Emmie wrote was read before it
lett the chateau. She was debarred
from going into society-she was pert
mitted to see no one save in the pres
ence of her husband, who watched her
as a tiger watches it's prey. Then he
took to drinking and playing heavily;
but she, hoping to win him back to
her, still compassed him round with
sweet observances, and by her gentle
goodness strove hard to exercise the
demon that possessed his heart. But
it was no use. And then she told him
how one night Emmie's husband re-
turned from boar hunt, and she ran
to meet him in the hall, when he, in q
fit of drunken fury, before servants and
stranger guests, raised his rlding-
switch and cut her across the face-the
cowardly hound, aud from that hour
she never raised her head, but, under
the cruel indlgnity, she slowly dropped.
On the night she died she mOaned
with pain that she should not see her
father or mother again, and they had
no picture even to remember her by.
But they shall have one-they shall
heve one, and thus saying she died.
When the master OF the chateau saw
her dead, remorse burned into his
soul and drove him mad, and lie was
now a raving maniac. And at last
Susan escaped from the chateau to tell
the secrets of his prison house. As Mr..
st. John rapidly sketched these tragic
outlines, great drops Of anguish stood
on his forehead, and when I babe him
farewell, his hand was as cold as death.
In the din and confusion of this great
shouting world I lost sight Of my
friend, and SINE years after our rem
contre in Berlin was panied to read
an intimation of his death in The
Times. Shortly after this melancholy
announcement, a letter from the solici.
tors of the deceased Mr.. St. John in
formed me that he had bequeathed
me full-length portrait of his only
daughter.
And this is the story of the picture
of the lady with the pale, sad face,
that hangs in my library. But some
times think I only drcamt the tragic
tale,