The Penn's Grove record., 1882-01-14

the wish 10 Pnuupi TO nave you VlstI
us but he always speaks of the con-
trast between your life and ours you
in the city, with access to so much
that is entertaining, and we shut out
from the world. But because IT is
you, / think, Rae, / will show you
the house in the hellow."
1.-THE house in the hollow, Fan ?"
ayes, our ancestral home; for
Philip and L came of a prosperous
race, poor as we now are, and the old
house is full of Whit is beautiful and
rare. Get your hat, and we will go
new."
Through long Lines of laburnums,
across a tiny kitchen garden, along a
d~ecaying orchard, into a slope still
green in the November sunshine. AT
one end of the valley, which opened
toward the sea, stood a large and
handsome house of painted brick,
with oriel windows, and other pictur-
esque effects.
1t is not an old house, said Fan
ME. at was built by my grand
father, in his last days, as a wedding
present to my mother. The old
house, which formerly stood here, he
had pulled down and this n built.
Ee meant to reside with his only
daughter, when she married Israel
Beaucaire, a 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 forbade her to return.
But when Philip and / were father
less, my mother came, in her great
extremity, and begged her fathers
assistance. Grandfather gave her
this cottage we have now, and a small
income, with which to bring us up,
but never forgave her. AT last he
died, willing all his property to a dis
tant cousin in India, who has neve
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. Lowsbore is a most dis
tressingly healthy place." with a
faint smile.
"There are thousands of dollars
worth of silver in the bank, at Shore
borough" said Fannie, "and rents
accommodating which will be a small
fortune. But we b ave nothing"
"How hard how cruelv" cried
Rae. 81 should not think your grand
father could rest in his grave, to have
you and Philip, with your refinement
and culture, spending your lives in a
hand-to-hand scramble for bread"
"They say he does come back, and
wander uneasily about here" said
Fannie, carefully closing the shutters
and door, and coming out into the
sunshine. but, of course, such sto-
ries are told of all such residences.
Philip says he does not believe a word
of it," with a marked emphasis which
made Rae turn and look at her.
"But you do, Fam
"Twice people have tried to sleep
there, and declared that grandfather
appeared to them. / should not dare
to try it, for l am a timorous thing at
best, and
The intensity of Rae's thoughts
made her quite deaf to what further
her companion was saying. No Won
der Philip was sad and hopeless of
their marriage, as he was situated,
and seemed fated to continue TO be.
"The will was made Immediately
after mammals marriage" said Fan
ME, standing under the ~laburnums,
and looking up at the great house.
"Poor mother says he told her, on
his death bed, that he made another
will, perhaps in her favor. But what
she says goes for little. Her state is a
very strange one, since a fever she
had, Just after Philip became of age,
yet she seems to understand some
things, in our affairs, that we do not
understand till afterward. 1t is almost
uncanny, to think over the strange
knowledge she has had during these
past years." said Fannie, musingly.
They walked back to the tiny cot
tage. Rae's veins thrilled with ex-
element, but Fannie went soberly
about getting tea, for they kept no
maid, this poor, disinherited family,
and Rae learned that Philips own
hands titled the little kitchen garden,
while every labor of the household
was performed by Fannie.
She could not sleep that night, after
she had gone to bed. The moonlight
seemed 10 disturb her, and make her
brain wildly active. What influence
strung her nerves? For, when all
was still, and the night far advanced,
she rose, and dressing, donned a warm
sealskin cap and sack, and came out
into the hall. She took a bunch of
KEYS from their nail, and selecting
one, which she had seen Fannie take,
held it tightly in her slim, white fin
gers, as she went out into the night.
In the moons white light, she went
on through the long line of labur-
NUNS, across the tiny kitchen garden,
into the hollow. She stood a moment,
before the great still house, listening
to the roar of the sea. Strangely
enough, she did not feel afraid. If
she thought of the presence of an un-
e spirit, it was to appeal to it pray
erfully for help.
Another will. 1t must be. At least
1t would do no harm to search, and
that is what she had come for. She
left the hall door open, and the moon
light flooded the tiled hall. 1t
streamed through the chinks of the
shutters, which she opened one by
one, as she fitted keys to drawers of
all kinds. But there were no papers
--Lo~a Manu fhiOUa Uhfoh pauof