The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1878-03-13

| menGlOneQ tle glass, 1Or ne WOul(
rather have died than revealed what h.
had seen to the girls, and he was too in
genuous to tell the story with any falls,
vanishing but he wondered secret,
why Mary had never spoken of it. 81,
commenced to manifest bashful re
serve towards Irene, which she did no
know how to interpret. He had i'm
proved 80 much, Grace said, through
their influence, that they returned home
with a promise from him of a speedy
visit. When he clasped Irene's hand il
the goodbye, a strange thrill shot
through his frame, for he felt convinced
that some time in the future she was tx
be his wife.
|
"Leave the farm in charge of Johr
and Mary and 20 West with me-"
Paul's eyes kindled with new ami
nation.
"I'm sure, uncle, I'm willing to dc
anything you think best. I feel as if
had only just begun to live"
"Well, you'll bave enough to do out
there to make man of you. Three OF
four years of brisk, active life will
change you so your friends won't know
you. Your mother was my only and dear
sister here his voice faltered little.
"Perhaps she petted you more than was
good for you; but she meant all right.
I said when I started for New Hamp-
shire: If Rachel's boy needs helping
hand, I'll give it to him"
So the farm was left in care of the
faithful man and woman who had been
with Mrs. Wentworth ever since her hus-
bands death, and Paul accompanied his
uncle to his western home, where he was
doing thriving business. The change
of scene and active employment acted
like an elixir. At the end of four years
the tall, slender STRIPPING developed into
strong, broad-shouldered, full-chested
young man, with only the dark, hand
some eyes and broad, white brow re-
naming to identity the Paul Wentworth
of yore. All this time he had cherished
the memory Of Irene. They had kept
up correspondence in a cousinly
fashion, but no word of love had been
spoken. They exchanged pictures. Her
face was the same mild, lovely one he
remembered seeing four years ago in the
glass on that well-remembered night,
but his was 80 changed, and for the bet
ter, that with cry Of delight she
fastened to show it to Grace, now wife
of one year.
"Would you have thought he would
have grown so strengthening and hand.
some, Grace7"
eyes, T should, as soon as he got out
of leading strings. I never believed he
was in decline any more than I was. "
"He's coming home to visit us," said
Irene, with the least little flush on her
fair cheek. "He says he has sent this
picture as forerunner."
"I shouldn't wonder if you fell in
sove with him when he comes," said
Grace, mischievously. "You're half in
love with that picture now, and I could
see that he liked you before he went
away. He must be intended for you, for
you've given all your beaux the mitten,
which guess you must be doing to
leave the coast clear for him."
"I have loved you, Irene, sever since
you and Grace visited me at the old
tarm, after mothers DEATH"
"I liked and pitied you then," said
Irene, "but never thought of love, at
least don't think did,"
"I don't know as I should, indeed I
don't think I should, have been living
now only for violent shock received
while you were there"
"What was it?" questioned Irene,
eagerly.
"Do you remember talk you and
Grace had on Valentine eve about trying
experiments to find out who was your
true lover2"
"I think I do-about walking down
cellar at dead of night with looking
glass. We were sitting by the freight.
Yes, that evening is distinct in my
memory"
"Well, you know how morbid and
fanciful was. I thought it over after
you went to bed, and at midnight took q
lamp and glass and went down cellar. I
expected to see my coffin. What do you
think | saw instead p
"What?" asked Irene, breathlessly.
"Your face looked over my shoulder
in the glass. It was so unexpected that
it frightened me 30 I had just strength
enough left to get back to my room.
"Why, that was singular, Paul said
Irene, with her blue eyes fixed on his
handsome face. "Of course I was in
bed asleep. 1t seems foolish to attribute
such things to any cause but our own
imaginations, and yet belief in the
supernatural clings to me. though Grace
is always laughing at me about it.
"Just in time to explain that mys-
terious supernatural affair." said the
lovely Grace, walking in upon them
through the folding doors of the porlor.
GIVE just been an unintentional listner
to your thrilling account of your mid
night exploit four years ago." .
"Why, what do you know about ~
both asked.
"You saw your lovely cousins face in
the glass and thought it was her spirit
which your influence had called away
from her body" said Grace in tone Of
playful banter. "Well, I'm sorry to
spoil your spiritual theories, but the
truth is, Irene was in the habit of walk
in her sleep occasionally, and on that
night she chose the cellar as the scene
OF her pedestrian feat"
"Why, Grace, you never told me
that" said Irene in surprised tone.
"You said I was in the sitting-room,
but never dreamed"
CT did not intend you should" inter-
rupted Grace. 81 knew it would fright
en- you half to death, it was such large,
caveruous, horribly suggestive old eel
lar, and you were always so afraid
of doing something dreadful in your
walking fits. I woke and missed you.
I concluded you were at your usual
tricks. couldn't find the lamp, 80 sup
posed you had taken it to light your
path. I stole down stairs softly. What
was my surprise when I opened the
chamber door into the kitchen to see our
invalid cousin hurrying from the direc-
ton Of the cellar door like one pursued.
He dropped the glass in hishaste, which
Mary found the next morning and told
US about in stage whisper. As soon
as he went out Of sight opened the Gel
lar door. You, Irene, we're just ascend
ing the steps serenely with the lamp in
your hand. did not speak, but made
way for you and you passed up stairs. I
followed. I supposed that Paul had
seen vou and haen half friphtaned IN