The Columbian. [volume] (Bloomsburg, Pa.) 1866-1910, 1878-08-09
Select Story.
A TERRIBLE MISTAKE.


left her alone and literally friendless in
Bombay, where he breathed his last.
His dying words were GO home, my
poor girl, to your Aunt Arlngford, at
Elmsley, near London, and stay with her
until you are married to Walter
For General Guild and Colonel Gary had
been friends together and comrades in many
battle, and had long ago aflianced their
motherless children to one another the we'd
ding to take place as soon as the young man
had attained his majority.
so there was the orphan girl nearing the
end of her journey, and gazing wistfully at
the strange and unfamiliar land of her
BIRTH
There was one clause in her dead fathers
will which had recurred to Doras mind with
ever present pain since she had first heard it
and that was, should she, upon making the
acquaintance of Walter Cary, refuse to mar
ry him the bulk of her fortune should be
passed over 10 her cousin, Penelope Arlng-
ford.
That her dear father should think it nee.
essary to coerce her into compliance had
wrung from her many tear. Wholly un-
versed in the strong. minded ways of some
English maidens, she had never dreamed of
disobeying him, or of choosing a mate for
herself.
The journey was over at last.
Miss Guild found herself in a quiet coun.
try house, surrounded by the most fervept
assurances of welcome from her sole surviv-
ing relatives, who, Of course knew all about
her affairs, and treated her with the most
delicate consideration.
Mr. Arlingford was a bluff and hearty
gentleman farmer Mrs. Aringford re-
served lady who, however, seemed kindness
itself; while Penelope, the only daughter,
and Doras possible rival for the fortune, was
a gentle-faced, chestnut girl of twenty, who
greeted Dora by winding her arms around
her and laying her cheek to hers without
word.
In the course ofthe evening Of Miss Guilds
arrival, while she was giving her aunt some
| account of her voyage from India, she OBJ
served her cousin Penelope standing out on
the lawn, talking earnestly with gentle
man.
1t was brilliant night in midsummer ;
the moon, white and searching as a great
time-light, shone on the pair, and showed
Miss Arlingford's companion to be not only
young and handsome, but also lover.
His hand held hers, and his stately head
was often bent in unmstakable alteration
close to her tresses, while she leaned toward
him in all the loving confidence of returned
| affection.
Very soon they entered the parlor, and
Walter Cary was directly presented to Miss
Guild.
| And the lover of Penelope.
Di'may, CONSERVATION fell upon the heart
of the orphan. There could be no mistake
every look, every action of the two betray-
ed it.
She was afanced to man who loved an
other.
The cold touch of his hand on hers the
distant salutation, as if she were the mere
est stranger, proclaimed that he was resolved
to ignore the contract which was between
them.
| Dora shrank into the darkest corner of
the room, and disappointment filled her
soul.
Very soon, however, the conversation GO
ing on around the table arrested her at
tention. Walter Cary was telling Mr.. Ar
linord and Penelope an account of strange
murder which had lately occurred.
The man. said he, was rather clever
chemist, and accomplished his purpose in a
manner savoring more Of the exploits of the
Arabian Nights epoch than those of our
day. He got possession of her journal, and
lmpregnated its leaves with sort of volatile
poison, which she of course inhaled the
hrst time she made a record in the book, the
result being a mysterious death which no
one could account for
The eyes of Penelope Arlingford were
| hXed upon the narrator with pusatng
eagerness which arrested the attention of the
| orphan
what could it have been p she almost
whispered
Don't believe it., remarked Mr.. Airing
ford, sententiously.
The lovers were gazing at each other, and
there was half smile on the features of
each
Soon after this, Dora, being considerably
weary by her railway journey, was conduct
ed to her bed chamber by Ter cousin, who,
again embracing her in a mute, clinging
fashion, hoped she would rest well, and left
her.
Not one word had been said about her
bethrothal to the young man in the parlor.
Her claims had wholly been ignored. Her
cousin was likely not only to rob her
of her inheritance, but of her husband
also.
The young girl retired to bed with feel
ing of desolation at her heart which may be
easily imagined, and fell asleep weeping Bit
terly for her old, happy Indian life, when
she was the idol of her father, and darling
of her ayab.
She woke-or, rather, she struggled back
to consciousness-with these words running
through her mind-'the result being a
mysterious death, which no one could &C.
count for
1t was disagreeable remark to occur to
onein the middle of the night, and it reused
her to preternatural wakefulness.
She began to ponder over the events of the
past evening, when suddenly something
struck her ear which sent all the blood ting
ling to her heart.
1t was like the trailing of long muslin
robe over the thick carpet which covered
the floor and cautious rustling of paper the
one sound following the other with the slow
and regular monotony OF a machine.
The night was at its darkest and the bed
WAS In an aleoya an that a viauu of tha ronuo