Ashtabula telegraph. (Ashtabula, Ohio) 1874-1880, 1880-02-06


it seemed.
The night was growing chilly by
this time. As the wind struck her
at the hilltop, she remembered that
she had thrown a hooded water
proof about her before starting.
She stopped her horse, and taking
off her hat, gathered her long hair
into a mass, and thrust it into the
hood, which she drew over her head,
aud pressed her hat down on it;
then she gathered the reins, and
they went on in that long, steady
stride which marks the high-bred
horse when he gets throughly down
to his work.
Once or twice she drew rein to de.
termine which road to take. Some
times her way lay through the forest
and she was startled by the cry of
the owl; anon it was through the
reedy bottom-land, and the half wild
hogs starting from their lairs, gave
her an instanL's fright. The moon
cast strange shadows around her;
but still she pushed on, with this
only one thought in her mind, that
her fathers life was. at stake, and she
alone could save him. She had writ
ten to her mother to go back to Yer
denten, and telegraph to her father;
but she put no hope in that. How
she trembled, as she passed each
fork IN the rough and i'll marked
country road, lest she should take
the right hand where she ought to
turn to the left, and so loose precious,
priceless moments! How her heart
beat with Joy when she came upon
any remembered landmark And all
the time her mind was full of tumul-
tuous prayer. Sometimes it bubbled
over her lips In tender, dIsjOinted ac-
cents.
''Fatber! Papa, dear, dear papap'
she cried to the bright still night
that lay around; and then the tears
burst over the quivering lids and
ran down the fair cheeks in torrents.
She pressed her hand to her heart as
she fancied that a CLEAN of redder
light shot athwart the northern sky,
and she thought of a terrible bonfire
that would rage and glow above
that horizon if she failed to bring
timely warning of the danger. How
her heart throbbed with thankful
ness as she galloped through an ave-
nue. of giant oaks at a crossroads
where she remembered stopping
with her father one dayi He had
watered their horses there; and she
remembered every word of pleasant
bandinage he had addressed to her
as they rode home. Had one ever
before so dear, so tender a parent?
The tears came again; but she drove
them back with a half involuntary
laugh. "NOt now, not nowm she
SAID. 'No, nor at all. They shall
not come at all; for l will save him.
o God, help me! am but a weak
girl. sWhy did the letter come so
late? But / will save him! Help me,
Heaven!-guide and help!'
She glanced at her watch as she
passed from under the shade of the
oaks, and, as she held the dial up to
the moonlight, gave scream of joy.
/ It was lust pass the stroke of nine.
She had still an hour, and half that
time.
Still on and on the brave horse
bore her with untiring limb. Half
the remaining distance is now con-
sumed, and she comes to a place
where the road forks, not once, but
into four branches. 1t is in the
midst of a level old field covered
with thick growth of scrubby
pines. Through the masses of thick
green are white lanes which stretch
away in every direction, with no
visible difference save in the density
or frequency of the shadows which
fall across them. She tries to think
which of the many intersecting
paths lead to her destination. She
tries this and then that for few
steps, cOnsults the stars to deter
mine in what direction Glenville lies,
and has almost decided upon the
first to the right, when she hears a
sound which turns her blood to ice
IN her veins.
A shrill whistle sounds to the left
once, twice, thrice,-and then it is
answered from the road in front.
There are two others. o God! if
she but knew which road to take!
She knows well enough the meaning
of those signals. She has heard
thew before. The masked cavaliers
are closing in upon her; and, as if
frozen to stone, she sits npon her
horse in the clear moonlight and can
not choose.
She is not thinking of herself. 1t
is not herself that she fears; but
there has come over her a horrible
numbing sensation that she is lost,
for she does not know which road
leads to those she seeks to save; and
at the same time there comes the
certain conviction that TO err would
be fatal. There are but two roads
now to choose from, since she has
heard the fateful signals from the
left and front; but how much de-
pends upon that choice! SIT must
be this" she says to herself; and, as
she says it, the siekening conviction
comes, "No, no! it is the other"
She hears the hoof strokes upon the
road in front, on that at her left, and
now, too, on that which turns sheer
to the right. From one to the other
the whistle sounds,-sharp, short
signals. Her heart sinks within her.
Size has halted Gt the very Fendez-
vous of the enemy. They are all
about her. To attempt to ride down
either road now is to invite destruc-
tion.
She woke from her stnpor when
the first horseman came in sight, and
thanked God for her dark horse and
II