The Pickens sentinel. [volume] (Pickens, S.C.) 1871-1903, 1881-03-03
JEAN GLENDOWER.

dear Lady Elizabeth, Will you not
redeem your promise now, and tell me
why that grand old castle we visited
yesterday is left to be the abode of owls
and bats, while it's master wanders in
foreign lands? Look-from your east
window here the setting sun is just kiss
ing the old tower and tall chimneys
goodnight It is just the hour for q
story; please, Lady Morton, tell me
about it."
Ashadow crossed the face Of my beauti-
full old friend, and her dark eyes looked
sadly across the beautiful English
old trees, to far in the distance, where
the silver river marked the bounds Of
De Clifton Manor.
will bring flush to your Spanish cheek,
for one Of your countrywomen, dear, was
the cause of that beautiful homes be-
coming desolate, and its master broken
hearted wanderer. Come, sit here by
me, little one, and do not interrupt me,
while I turn back the leaves of my Life
and read to you from the brightest and
saddest among them.
-"Thirty years ago, Clifton Grange was
the finest place in Somersetshire, and
though not, strictly speaking, the hand
soonest, preserved its prominence on the
score of antiquity; plebeian feet had
seldom trod it's wide halls and grand old
rooms. You saw yesterday what the
house is--a massive pile Of Byzantine
architecture, with deep, pointed porches,
where pillars, once crowned with statues,
stand close around the outside, and
where fragments of O stately figure are
here and there remaining. The high
old mouldering walls of rugged sculpture
are gray and grisly now, with exposure
to wind and rain, but the old tower SO
high above them was then, rs now,
covered with the deep OF ange-russet
hchen which CLEANS SO lovely in the
sunset Behind tho castle were the
garden and fruit walls, where the bloomy
peach and purple grape ripened in rich
profuslon, and where may be seen here
and there among the nectarine the ves-
tigeB of an old cloister arch or wall re-
manning. A wide terrace runs around
the west front of the house, which was a
favorite walk of the inmates at all sea-
sons, for of all the views around the old
home this commanded the finest. All!
my DEAR" continued Lady Elizabeth,
laying her little, soft, withered hand,
with the frill of rich old lace around it,
on my head, "we were u merry party at
the old Grange that month! It was early
winter, and Lord de Clifton, just returned
from his travels, was the pleasantest host
in England. There were two beautiful
women with us--women whose delicate
feature portrayed the fairest types Of
their nationality Lalla Darst, with her
wonderful dover of Moorish beauty-the
full, voluptuous form and rich, red color
ing of her Spanish face-and Jean Glen
dover, with eyes like the blue-b bells Of
her own bonnie Scotland, and hair
tinged the sunlight that gilded it's noun
tains. There we're various guests beside;
guests assembled in honor of the young
Scotch beauty who was soon to wear the
d;adem of d viscountess; for Jean and
Norman de Clifton had been bethrothed
some months, and were to be married in
a few short weeks.
''Never did / see two people moro
completely fettered by the Silver chains
of love- he seemed - Mvo only in
her presence, while she-my beautiful,
gentle Jean!-returned it with passion
rs pure as the Dowerdale blood in her
veins; her blue eyes grew almost black
when he addressed her, and the lovely
face was touching in its sensitiveness
when he entered her presence.
eve had been Mt tho castle three
weeks; and our visit was drawing
to close; three weeks spent in every
species of pleasure and amusement that
the grand old place afforded. How
happy we were then--how happy we
were!" repeated the old lady. "All
full of hope: I first saw Sir Howard
that month"
She always called the now white
haired husband of her youth "Sir How
ard"--never anything more familiar or
affectionate--and yet never saw warm
er, or moro devoted, wifely love than
she showered on Sir Howard Morton.
"Bpt ! am telling Of Jean--Jean,