The Douglas independent. [volume] (Roseburg, Or.) 187?-1885, 1880-12-11

Barclay to be capable of any villainy.
The young man was careful to avoid
mentioning the supposed ghost, and de-
parted with an invitation to cali again.
On the fourth day Barclayagain secreted
himself in the church. It was cold for
the season, and he shivered in his hiding
place, despite his warm clothing. Hour
after hour passed away, and be was be-
ginning to fear that his errand would
again prove frnitless, when faint light
in the church caught his eye. AS
rose higher, he could see that it pro-
| ceeded from a small heap of sticks col
lected upon the stone floor. Crouching
over it and extending her thin fingers to
| the fame, he beheld the figure of the
young girl. Evidently overcome with
| the cold, she had yentured to indulge in
this small comfort in the hope that it
might escape notice.
Pulling off his shoes, Barclay crept up
| bshind her, and before she was aware of
his presence, seized her in his strong
grasp.
"I knew you were no ghost, he said,
smiling; "though if you continue this
life much longer you will soon become
one."
She uttered faint cry of terror, and
sunk upon her knees.
"Spare me-" she sobbed. 81 am only
poor, homeless, friendless girl, who
never wronged any one. Why DO you
I pursue me?"
For your own good, my poor girl,
he said kindly. "Why will you not be-
| lieve me in my good intentions?"
"Why should I?' she cried passion
ately, did not my fathers trusted
| friend, the man who had sworn to be my
second father, seek my life?"
''Ahp' said Berclay, with o start. "My
| conjecture was true, then. He then de-
coyed you to the river, and after believ-
| ing you safely out of the way, left your
cloak and hat upon the bank to give the
impression that you had committed sui
cider"
eyes" she answered; "but the river
was more merciful than he, for it cast me
ashore alive. Sickly with horror, and
| madly afraid of the whole world, came
here where my father lay, to die upon
his grave. But it is hard for one so
young to die. I have lived here these
three months, suffering. freezing, dying.
That was taken for my own ghost was
fortunate for me, and aided me to get
what little would keep me alive, after
nightfall. And encouraged the super
stition. Now you know all. If you are
that mans emissary, may God forgive
you and help me-"
''I am the emissary of mercy" re-
turned Barclay. 81 am here to do JUS
tice on q villain and to restore you to
your rights. Will you trust and help
me?"
She looked up at him.
"You have q good, kind face" she
said, offering him her hand, 81 will trust
you"
'Then," said Barclay, keep up the
character you have assumed for one more
day. Tomorrow night / shall bring
Eastburn here with witnesses. Do you
play on that organ when you hear US
enter. When turn the dark lantern
upon you, rise, and denounce him as
| your murderer. We can safely leave
him to accuse himself"
II will do as you wish" she answered.
'How can I thank you?"
| ''By following my directions" re-
piled Barclay, brusquely, to hide his
own emotion.
With few words more of advice he
left her. His next move was to go
directly to the landlord of the inn, re-
late the whole story and secure his sup
port.
At 10 o'clock on the next night, in
company with the landlord, he called
upon Stephen Eastburn. Cutting short
his smooth salutation, Barclay said:
"Mr Eastburn, the obscure manner
of your wards death has given rise to
strange rumors in the village. Her
spirit is said to wander in the old church.
We desire you to accompany rs there to-
night in order to set their stories at
rest.
Eastburn's jaw dropped, his face grew
livid, and he was barely able to reply in
a quavering voice.
''Ghost? ghost! Do you mean to make
fool of me? I will not go to the church
at this hour of the night"
"Allow me to observe" said Barclay,
sternly, ''that the rumors, unless you
aid in dissipating them, may euliminate
ina charge of murder"
Something significant in his tone
seemed to render Eastburn suddenly
submissive.
"Of course / will go, out of polite
ness, il you insist. We will probably
bag church mouse. They are proverb-
tally so starved as to be incable of
| flight"
No reply was made to this lame at
| tempt at humor, and in q very uucom-
| Portable frame of mind he went with
| them to the church, and was shown into
| pew in the dark between them. After
o moments silence the low tones of tie
organ sounded through the church, ac-
companied by a woman's voice.
"What is this?" cried Eastburn, start
| ing up. "Whose voice is that?"
''Be SILENT" said Barclay, sternly.
GOOD reason have you to hear that
voice with guilty horror
At the same instance the glass from
his lantern fell broadly upon the organ.
Standing before it, looking down at
them, was the figure of Ada Morton.
"Oh, God groaned Eastburn, chok-
ingly. 'My sins have found me out
She has come back from the other world
to accuse me of her death"
"Yes." said the girl solemnly.
Stephen Eastburn, you are my muir
| derer."
II confess it, shrieked the terror
madened wretch; 81 ask no mercy from
men, for the grave has condemned me.
Take me away-hide me from this aw-
| full sight"
| Inc HSnJ was turned out and the girl
| figure disappeared. The horror-stricken
Eastburn, shrieking mingled prayers and
curses, was taken to the village and i'm
| prisoned on the double charge of fraud
and attempted murder. In course of
time he was convicted and punished
On the same day that he was sentenced
Barclay called upon Ada Morton, now
installed in her fathers house. With
her restoration to her rights she had re-
covered her health and beauty. and it
was with strange feeling Of mingled
hope and fear that the young man took
her hand and said:
II have called to say goodbye. Miss
Norton"
The bright smile faded from her face.
and look of pain came in its place.
You are going away Z? I had hoped
| You would stay with u.s.
My work here is done" he answered
II have restored you to your home, and
to-day your enemy receives the punish
ment of his crimes. What more is there
to do q
Nothing" she returned brokenly, |
"but to forget the poor girl whom you