The Elk County advocate. [volume] (Ridgway, Pa.) 1868-1883, 1880-07-29
Two days passed. Rae saw plainly


what the life was at the Laburnums-
monotonous, meager; but ever since
Philip had first brought his sister to her
studio, Rae had loved Fannie, who was
older than herself, and patiently be-
coming one of the sweetest of old maids.
| So she enjoyed sisterly talks with Fam
ME. Philip was absent most of the
time.
In one of these confidential chats
| Fannie said:
"You ought to have come in the early
autumn, Rae-it is prettier here then. In
| November we have nothing attractive
literally nothing. l have often ex-
| pressed the wish to Philip to have you
visit us; but he always speaks of the
contrast between your life and ours
you in the city, with access to so much
that is entert aiming, and we so shut out
think, Rae, that l will show you the
house in the hollow"
| "The house in the hollow, FanP"
Yes, our ancestral home; for Philip
and l came of prosperous race, poor
as we now are, and the old house is full
of what is beautiful and rare. Get your
hat and we will go now"
Through long lines of laburnums,
across tiny kitchen garden, along de-
caying orchard into a slope still green
in the November sunshine. At one end
of the valley which opened toward the
sea, where white sails were noiselessly
fitting, stood a large and handsome
house of painted brick, with oriel win
dows and other picturesque effects.
cit is not an old house." said Fannie.
last days, as wedding present to my
mother. The old house which had for
merly stood here he had pulled down
and this built. He intended to reside
with his only daughter when she mar
ried Israel Beaucaire, q French Jew,
whom he had chosen for her. But my
mother fell in love with her music.
teacher, Ross Brudenel, and eloped with
him, and grandfather wrote aud bade
her never to come back. But when
Philip and / were fatherless, my mother
came, in her great extremity and begged
her fathers assistance Grandfather
gave her this cottage we have now, and
allowed her q small income with which
At last he died, willing all his property
to distant cousin in India, who has
never come for it, The house stands
empty, with all its beautiful furniture,
and the rich fields lie fallow, while
Philip barely supports us with his
small practice. Lowshore is distress
ingly healthy place." with faint smile.
The interior Of the house was finished
in rich foreign woods, the floors polished
like glass and laid with costly rugs and
tapestries. The furniture was of ma.
hogany and velvet, long mirrors and
dark paintings adorned the walls. Ii
was indeed q handsome house, speaking
uf almost limitless wealth.
There are thousands of dollars worth
of silver in the bank at Shoreborough,
said Fannie, "and rents accommodating
there which will be a small fortune in
itself. But we have nothing"
How hard how cruel!' cried Rae.
L should not think your grand.
father could rest in his grave to have
ment and culture, spending your lives in
hand-to. hand scramble for bread"
"rhey say he does come back and
wander uneasily about here" said Fan,
ME, carefully closing shutters and door;
and comirg out into the sunshine
but of course such stories are told o.
all such places. Philip says he does moi
believe a word of it," with marked
emphasis which made Rae turn and look
at her.
"But you do, Fan"
Twice people have tried to sleer
there and declared that grandfather ap.
peared to them. should not dare tc
try it, for am timorous thing at best
, and"
The intensity of Rae's thoughts made
her quite deaf to what further her com
panion was saying. This fortune was
Philips right. No wonder he was sad
moody and hopeless of their marriage
as he was situated and seemed fated tC
continue to be.
THE will was made Immediately
after mammals marriage" said Fannie
standing under the laburnums and look
ing up at the great house. "Pool
} mother says he told her ON his deathbet
!, that he made another will-perhaps ir
her favor. But what she says goes fol
| little. Her state is very strange since {
fever she had just after Philip came o
, age-her talk so wild and foolish-auC
yet she seems to understand some thing
in our affairs that we do not see til
afterward. 1t is almost nncanny tC
: think over the strange knowledge sh
, has had during these past years." ant
Fannie fell into fit of musing.
They walked back to the tiny cottage
e Rae's veins thrilled with excitement
s but Fannie went soberly about gettin.
| Gcd. lHty hepG no Ildlu, UulS poo
} disinherited family, and Rae Learned
, that Philips own hands titled tn
T little kitchen garden, while every labo
l of the household was performed b.
Fannie.
She could not sleep that night atte
/ she had gone to her tiny bedroom. Th
4 moonlight seemed to disturb her an
make her brain wildly active. Wha
influence strung her nerves P-for whe
} all was still and the night far advanced
1 she rose, and, dressing, ,donned her warn
: sealskin sack and cap, and came ou
r into the hall. She took a bunch G
e keys from their nail there, and, selectin
e one which she had seen Fannie take
held it tightly in her slim, white finger
1 as she went out into the night.
D In the moons white light she wen
a steadily through the long lines of labur
y NUNS, across the tiny kitchen-garden
: along the decaying orchard, into th
hollow. She stood "a moment befor
q the great still house, listening to tn
r roar of the sea. Strangely enough, sh
II did not feel afraid. If she thought ofIth
presence of an unseen spirit, it was t
e appeal to it prayerfully for help.
.e Another will. 1t must be. At lea.
s 1t would do no harm to search and tina
l. is what she had come for.
She left the hall-door wide open an
)" let the moonlight flood the tiled hal
le 1t streamed through the chinks of ii
2: shutters, which she opened, one by on