The Portland daily press. [volume] (Portland, Me.) 1862-1921, 1879-08-09

he managed to pass his money. He bough
corn and grain of other kinds from the set
tiers, and then carried it by the load t.
| Portland, the nearest seaport town. Into
each load he put portion of his coin and
carried it to confederates who passed it out
Now Ralph looked at her suspicously
| He was afraid if he drank too much she
might escape while he was sleeping; on thf
| other hand he could not refrain from his
much-loved beverage. There was only one
course left, and that was to force enough
down her throat to keep her stupefied. The
first night he was successful and delighted
with his plan. The following day, while
| her head ached fearfully, she vowed to es
cape if possible. She would be wary. That
night she asked for part of the whiskey
saying truthfully-''Oblivio is preferable to
| this life. That vile drink makes me forget
my trouble"
Ralph gave it to her, and she drank il
down. For two nights she did the same
The third she drained the glass on the floor
and then feigned drunken stupor. Ralph
did not suspect any trick, but kept on with
| his work and his drinks, until at last the
| liquor overcame him, and his heavy breath
ing betrayed that he had gone to sleep
Moving cautiously, she rose up, climbed
the ladder, hurried to her room, donned g
| thick suit of clothing, and then left the
| house forever.
| ''Freer' she murmured, ''free, but where
| shall go? No matter where, any place but
| here, for Arthur is lost to me foreverp'
She struck into path that led through
the wilderness, avoiding the one travelled
road for fear she might meet her father, pre-
| ferring rather to encounter wild animals Of
| Indians.
And now while she is pursuing her peril
Gus way, we will return to Arthur Farm
| ham.
On the day he had promised he promptly
appeared at the st. John residence and in
| quired for Abbie. Judge of his surprise
when her father told him, sullenly, that she
had gone away, he did not know as she
! would ever return. After careful question
| ing he finally elected that she had gone to
see an aunt.
"An aunt" he said to himself, joyfully.
81 know just where she lives. Abbie has
but one in this country, and she told me Of
| her last night
He started to speak of his business to
| &bbie's father, but he waved him off alb.
| ruptly.
When the young minister went home q
| heavy burden seemed to have fallen on him
He could not divest himself of the impress
| sion that something was wrong-that Abbie
had not gone off and left him of her own
free WILL The more he thought of it, the
more uneasy he became. At last he could
not endure his suspense longer He Dor
rowed horse of one of his parishioners and
started to find her
After a long journey, he found the people
he was in search of, but to his horror they
told him they had never seen Abbie ST.
| John in their lives, that her father was a
| wicked old man, and they would not trust
| him, so never kept up an acquaintance with
his family.
Desperate, the young divine started on his
journey homeward. He felt assured that
Abbie was dead-murdered!
His blood boiled in him. He was not nat
urally patient man. 1t was only by con-
slant curbing and prayer that he kept his
temper under control And now, as he
neared his home, he met Ralph ST. John on
lonely part OF the road.
"Where is your sister," he demanded.
81 have been to her aunt; she is not there.
She is my promised wife-I wish to know
| what you have done with her,"
''You do-hey?" said Ralph, sneeringly,
as he aimed blow at the minister's head.
AS quick as thought, aye, quicker, for Ar
thur Farnham did not stop to think at all,
he lifted the cudgel he carried as protector
on the road, and dealt Ralph blow on the
head. He fell beneath it, and as the minis
ter saw what he had done, he sprang from
his horse, filled with remorse over the terri
BILE deed he had done.
~ have killed him! l am a murderer
he cried as he pressed his hand over the
dead mans heart.
Never again could such a moment of hor-
ror come to Arthur Farnham as when he
first made the awful discovery that he, a
man of God, had dyed his hands with a
human beings blood!
For the time he thought not of the anger
of his fellow-men, he thought only Of the
displeasure of righteous God; but, at last
The truth of his situation broke upon his
mind. Mans laws as we'll as Gods had
been broken-he would have to pay the pen
atty; and, meanwhile, poor Abbie was
where?
81 will find her first" he cried, bitterly,
"and then give myself up to the vengeance
of my kindp'
He put spurs to his jaded beast, and
reached the settlement. There he hurriedly
collected a few keepsakes, which had been
given him by his mother, hired another
horse, and started out on what seemed to
his Practitioners a second mysterious journey.
AS yet no news of Ralph St. Johns MUIR
der had reached the neighborhood, but guilt
rendered him wary. He would not go on
the highway, as he had come, but after being
out of sight, struck into the path leading
through the wilderness, as his poor love had
done before him.
He knew not where he was to seek Abbie
he was going out blindly on his mission,
with one constant prayer in his heart,
''Merciful Father! cannot ask you to for
me, but, oh! have pity on her, and let me
find herr'
The road was hard to travel. He had to
lead his beast most of the time around circu-
itous ways, and over brambles, and he hard
ly knew whittier it led to, but surely to some
opening. Farther and farther he pursued
his journey, listening to the cry of the pan
ther by night and the signing of the trees by
day, listening to every sound that, to him,
resembled the signing and crying of a hui
man being in distress.
Towards night of the fourth day his horse
neghed and reared. He sprang from its
back to see what was the cause. There, di-
rectly in front of him. Law the object of his