The Cecil Whig. [volume] (Elkton, Md.) 1841-current, 1876-08-05

she will meet-deathr'
John Warne shivered. 1t might have
been with cod-it might have been with
terror. But he thought of revenge, and
his face was hard and pitiess as fate.
She came, presently; he saw her coming
down the sandy shore, with the wind blow
ing her yellow hair all about her face, and
an expectant look in her eyes. The sight
of her innocent young face and the thought
of what he was there to do struck him to
the heart with sudden, sharp pain, like a
dagger thrust; but face as fair as hers
came between him and the sight of her,
and crushed every vestige of pity out OF
his heart.
She passed the rock without seeing him.
He came behind her noiselessly; he threw
her cloak over her head with a sudden
movement and drew it down tightly about
her mouth before she could cry out; the
folds of it pinioned her arms like cords.
He dragged her down to the waters
edge. He dragged her ont into the cruel
waves, and with an iron grip upon the folds
which prisoned her SO securely, he thrust
her down beneath the flood and held her
there.
There was wild, fierce struggle for life
and liberty, but it was vain one. His
hold was not to be shaken off. 1t was
death to her. 1t was revenge to him.
Pretty soon it was all over. He dragged
the unresisting form back to the shore and
dropped it on the wet sands.
He never stopped to look at the face
beneath the dripping garment that had
shut out the world forever, but strobe
away across the sands, a vagabond and
outcast on the face of the earth forever
more. But he had had his revenge.
GA telegram, Sir"
John Wartield clutched the paper with
fingers that shook like aspen leaves. His
face was frightfully pale. He tore it open
and read:
I'VE have bad news for you. A terrible
accident has happened. Come immedi-
ately."
He knew who and where it was from
without looking at the signature.
Half an hour later the southwark going
train bore him out of the city.
An hour after that, he was standing at
the door of the Penstonnat des Demoiseles,
where his daughter and niece had spent
the last two years of their lives. He rang
the bell, and stood there in the chill, gray
mist of the dreary morning, waiting with
a pale and frightened face-for aoAat?
A hurry of footsteps in the hall. The
door was opened by girl with yellow hair
and white, tear stained face.
"Oh, Uncle john" she cried, and burst
into tears. cit is so TERRIBLE
The mans face was CHASTITY with sudden
terror. His teeth chartered so that he
could hardly speak.
ell thought it was you"' he cried,
hoarsely, at last. Where is Cecile?"
He clutched her arm so iiercely that she
cried out with pain.
"She is in the parlor," the girl answered,
sobbng. "Do you want to see her now 90
He put his hands to his head in a sort of
dazed way. 1t seemed to be whirlng round
and round, and he was trying to stop it.
ell must be little Wild" he said, as
if he hardly knew what he was saying.
"Cecile is in the parlor, you say? Is she
well? Does she know that am coming ?'
"Oh, Uncle Johnr' cried Catherine Oran,
with a great sob. "Don't you know p
Cecile is deadn'
He never answered her. He put out his
hands, as if to grasp at something to steady
himself by, but found nothing; and, with
a gasping cry, he fell face downward to the
floor.
X X X X x
That afternoon this letter was put into
John Warfield's hands:
81 have waited for twenty-five years for
revenge. You have thought that l never
found out your secret; you have thought
that no living person, save yourself, knew
that my sisters life was ruined and her
heart broken by you. But you were wrong.
How | learned the fact matters not. But
l swore to be revenged. You had no mercy
for your victim; have had none for mine.
You thought to end an innocent life that
stood between you and your selfish am
bition. ] have taken an innocent life, and
sacrificed my soul for the revenge that
have been waiting for. When you know
that l made no mistake in doing what I
have DONE but that l intended to do it
from the first as it has been done, think of
the ruin you have wrought SO long ago,
and say, if you can, that my revenge is not
complete"
To-day John Warfield looks out upon a
little strip of Gods green earth from be-
hind the bars of madman's cell; and
to-day John Warne wandefs up and down
the world, haunted, remorseful man. He
is under the shadow Of the curse of Cain;
for him there is no rest here nor hereafter.
Practical LOVE MAKING AT A WATER.
ING PLACE.-A Newport letter in the New
l. ho