Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, 1883-03-29

gratitude, and until the gentleman has reg
ularly established his rights, he will, per-
haps, be so kind as to allow us to exercise
those which we derive from relationship"
eyes; interposed Tricot, whose wrath had
only increased from restraint, "and if Mon
sieur is fond of lawsuits, he can be furnish
ed with material for some."
"He and his protege," added Perrine.
''For instance, they will both be asked
where Cousin Duret kept his savings"
"And where his silver ware has disap-
peared, for there was some. 1 have seen
it,"
"And as they were alone in the house
when my cousin died, they will have to
account for what is missing"
"Wretches!" cried Fournier, almost be-
side himself at these outrageous suspicious,
advancing toward Tricot with uplitted
hand.
Rose, who had just come in, advanced
quickly and placed herself between them.
"Don't hinder him, don't hinder him!'
cried Tricot, who had armed himself with
shovel, picked up by chance; 'ehe is try
ing to get up quarrel, he wants a law
suit; we mustn't disappoint him."
"And you look out for yourself, schemer,"
added Perrine, menacing the young girl
with her fist eff you fall into my clutches
you'll remember it.'
"Oh come away, for Heavens sake" i'm
plored Rose, trying to pull away the doctor.
The latter hesitated moment, but regain
ing his self control, he cast glance OF con-
tempt at his insulters and followed the
young girl fom the hut.
twas only at the cottage door that both
stopped. Rose clasped her hands, and
raising her eyes, heavy with tears, to her
companion
"Oh, pardon, Monsieur !" she exclaimed
"for what you have endured for me, pardon
me and 1 thank you. A poor girl like me
never has chance to repay the the services
that are done her, but at least be sure that
I will remember you as long as l live"
"And what will become Of you now,
Rose? ?" asked the young man touched by
the look of quiet misery.
81 can't tell yet, Sir" she replied. To-
day am sad and cannot decide upon any
thing. 1 must give myself till tomorrow
to regain my courage. The grocer's wife
will keep me to highland afterward-well
afterward I shall have God left"
Fournier took her hand in silence, she re-
turned the pressure family, said "good-by"
in low voice and left him.
The young mans heart swelled with in
dignation. Once more in his room ne paced
the fooor with quick, excited steps. lie
vainly' asked himself how he could succor
the poor creature who hadjust left him. If
NJ. Duret had left will, NJ. LIE Blanc and
the Tricots had, no doubt, disposed of it.
But how was this to be proved? On the
other hand the will might have escaped
the search of the interested parties for the
words of the dying man indicated that ne
had hidden it. He had boasted of having
"taken care of that" he had directed them
to search. ......,..,.. ...~
But there his words had stopped. Death
had not suffered him to say more.
The young man, heated as by fever gave
himself up to suggestions. Evening had
come and standing at the window with his
forehead pressed against the glass, as in the
beginning of this story, he had seen the
cousins of the dead man come out loaded
with papers and the most valuable things.
His eyes CHANGED to fall on the empty
house, the deserted yard and the garden
overgrown with weeds, when they rested
suddenly on ruined we'll, built at the end
of the garden and just in front of wall
which was still ornamented by the remains
of a cornice. The sight of these objects sud-
denly reminded him Of the old sheritf's
last words: "In the garden behind the well,
the stone" Like CLEAN of lightning
these words came to him. There was the
dead mans secret to be found.
Moved by one of those sudden convictions
which resemble inspirations, he hastily de-
scended the stairs, crossed the yard and
opening with some effort, the garden gate,
approached the well.
The crumbling curb which bordered it
disclosed here and there, wide cracks filled
with broken plaster, which he examined at
first and tried to probe, but to no effect.
He could discover nothing. The back of
the we'll, under the fragments of a wooden
cap which had formerly sustained the cor
nice, was exactly the only spot which show
ed no cavity the free-stone solidly Wedged
in, had lost none of it's uprightness. After
turning two or three times around the Or
ifce, STOPPING down to examine it inside
and out, Fournier became ashamed of his
credulity. How could he have let himself
be impressed by this romantic idea of de-
posit hidden in an old we'll, and how could
he have taken for an indication the last
words stammered by dying man? He
shrugged his shoulders, cast last look of
disappointment toward the we'll and started
for the cottage.
But, in spite ofalE, an involuntary doubt
fingered in his mind. On the point of
leaving the garden he turned and scrutinized
The well and the wooden cap on top.
Yet this must certainly be the very spot
the old man meant" he said to himself,
"but near the well there is nothing, the
curb-stone is in it's place."
He paused abruptly.
'By the way" he pondered, "why should
that be the only one to remain solidly plas-
tered up?'
This simple reflection caused him to turn
back. He examined again, still more at
tentively the hewn stone, discovered that
it bore traces of having been lately reset in
small pebbles and that the interstices had
been filled in with earth. Tearing away
some of these tiny points of support, he
tried to pull it over, succeeded in weaken
ing its hold, and, finally, in displacing it.
A hole in the masonry then appeared, from
which he drew out not without some labor,