Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, 1874-05-14

seemed neglected and running to decay
Weeds choked up the little garden, and gen.
eral air of desertion pervaded the place, that
sent chill to the wayfarer's painting heart.
Trembling, she pushed open the gate and
entered. The front door was locked; she
passed around to the back of the house, but
before she attempted to gain admission here
she sank down upon her knees on the thresh'
old, pressing her hands together and crying
below her breath
"Mother, mother, how will you receive me?
Will your stern heart relent-or will you cast
away your erring child?'
Alas, poor prodigal! she knew not what
reception to expect.
She rose and tried the door, but found it
fastened, and after littlehesitation, Knocked
lightly and timidly at first, then louder.
There was no response, and she knocked again,
several times, but with the same result.
Suddenly window above her was opened,
and woman-a stranger putting her night
capped head out, exclaimed sharply
"Who's that?"
The traveller hastily drew back into the
shadow. "It's some one wishing to see Mrs.
Deane," she replied. us she-doesn't she
live here still ?"
"Mrs. Deane!" echoed the other in shrill
tone. "Why, Lords sake, woman, don't you
know better than that?"
II thought" was the faint rejoinder, "that
this was her house."
"And so it was, when she was alive. But
deary me, thought everybody knew-she's
been dead and buried this six weeks agone.
I'm only in charge of the house here"
"Dead /" What keen, sharp cry of ago.
ny was that
"Yes she had lots of trouble, poor soul,
which brought her to her grave in the end.
Her only daughter, worthless jade, ran off
and left her-went with some dressed-up
scamp that persuaded her, and never came
back no more, nor don't suppose ever will
again. The sorrow and disgrace, I'm told,
drove the poor creature all but Wild and she
never lifted up her head afterward. The girls
sweetheart, that she was about to be married
to, he took it awfully to heart too, and went
off somewhere, nobody knows where; folks
said as how he was ready to kill himself, al
most. She's got her mothers death to answer
for, that's certain. But it's awful late for
you to be standing out there-won't you come
in and pass the night, and may be can be
of some use to you, in place of her you come
to seek"
"No-no! Oh God, no! I must go else
where"
"But, deary me-" said the woman, with
some apprehension in her tone, "it don't seem
right-are you sure you've got some place
else to 60 to-"
eyes, yes, quite sure! 1 know my way
very we'll. I must 60 at once" The words
were gasped forth, rather than spoken, and
gathering her shawl more closely about her,
she tottered feebly away, cropping, like blind
person, along the fence until she found her.
self once more in the open street.
The woman gazed wonderingly after her,
then slowly shaking her head drew it under
shelter again and closed the shutter.
"She seems to be queer one" she mutter-
ed. "Shouldn't wonder if she was crazy. No
sane body would come knocking at folks
doors this time of night. She might have
thanked me for civil offer, at any rate-but
I'm glad she didn't take it."
On, on, through the silent street, stumbling
dizzily over obstacles she made no effort to
avoid, swiftly, recklessly, the travel.worn wan
derer sped. At last she paused-where?
A modest church, with pointed spire and
UNCOVERED walls, stood upon little emf
nence, beneath the overhanging branches of
solemn yew.trees, that waved like spectral
arms in the chill night-breeze. Around it
was gathered the solemn community of those
who slept the sleep from which the sound of
belfry chimes would waken them no more.
In the silvery moonlight the gravestones glis-
tened cold and white on many one hung
garlands lately wreathed by loving hands;
starry, blue.eyed blossoms waved amid the
grass that grew unchecked on some of the
mounds marked by no memorial cross or
SnaIC. 10 Oue VI Lueso q 1lesA oaoj "hSAS
no flower had sprung, and even the turf as
vet was short and scant-the traveller glided
with noiseless steps.
She knew the spot well many time had
she played there in childhood, and paused to
read, on stone now nearly embedded in the
earth, the name that had grown illegible with
years
"JoHN WESLEY DEANE,
Parish Clerk.
Aged forty years and two months.
He is not dead, but sleepeth.'"
She sank upon her knees in the dew-soaked
grass, and with no watcher but the silent
stars, wrestled with the agony that seemed too
great to be borne, crying aloud with an ex-
ceeding bitter cry
"Oh mother, mother! Here upon your
grave-the grave her hands have made for
you-your child who has murdered you,
prays to Heaven to help her to avenge your
death W
All night long she lay there, beneath the
silent stars now crying aloud, now mute and
motionless, as if dazed with grief. When the
dawn began to break, she rose up and silently,
swiftly sped away.