Savannah morning news. [volume] (Savannah) 1868-1887, 1884-04-20

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bond gentry. Here, if they We're vacant,
she thought she would like to sit and
! think what next to do. As she could come
! 10 no conclusion in the house, perhaps
the beauty and quiet here might soOthe
| and help her. So she walked rapidly,
I glad, at least, of something to be doing,
/ OF some objective point to be reached.
! The place was deserted; nothing behind
and around her but the green cliffs on the
/ rivers bank; nothing before her but the
/ clear. bright water murmuring and
! sparkling in the spring sunshine, While in
! the blue distance the eternal hills lifted
| their misty unreal peaks to the sky. She
| remembered how often she had sat here
| before fretting and complaining at her
! grandmother's stern rule-fretting and
/ scolding, but happy, too, with a superb
/ bundance of life and hope and audacity
! A child then, now a woman, with al
/ ready wOman's unshared and unsharea-
| BILE woe within her heart. She felt too,
| to-day, sort of humiliating scorn of her
| self. She had been so easily won, so very
| easily deceived. He had come with his
| fair looks, his insidious voice. and uncle
! Henry's good name, and she had fallen at
his feet and wOrshiDed him. Poor
| Charles cheeks burned and her eyes
| flashed at the recollection. All! it is hard
so hard! "If life at eighteen is so intol-
! cradle, how can it be borne to eighty 2"
| she thought
Looking away off down the white road
she sees a gentleman and lady walking
| towards her. She has, at first, a little
fear that they will intrude on her, but
( they are soon out OF sight behind a large
clump of trees, and she thinks of them
no more. Then she goes over again and
again the sad record of the last two DAYS.
| The iteration is trying, maddening, and,
burying her child face in her two little
hands, she means aloud. just now she
has curious consciousness of some ones
being close by her. She feels this pres
ence though she has heard no sound; not
leaf or twig has seemed to stir; only the
murmur, murmur of the restless water is
in her ears. Startled and half afraid she
raises her head and sees Elaine We're
quietly sitting by her side. Hurt and in
dignant she draws up her proud. young
head and looks away off at the distant
mountains. Elaine looks fearfully pale
and tired, but the girl affects to take no
notice.
"Charlie," she says, gently. E'you must
/ listen to me. / cannot waste words to-
day. Albert Beltham has been lying to
! you. Last night he sent Mr. Fearne
away, telling him you were not at home.
He lied to you when he said that your
/ lover and l were old friends. l never
knew him until | came here. l was des-
I pCldlCl1 III ldob ulSul3 anu ltlt idluLluR III
/ his arms when you looked into the win
/ dow. Charlie, he is true and good, but
| you have been misled by a cruel, wicked
man. Charlie, my strength is going fast
! Tell me quick that you love him as be-
/ fore. l cannot die content unless you
1 do"
As she spoke the scales of suffering and
| mistrust seemed to fall from the girls
! eyes. She was even in this supreme hour
! n little troubled and ashamed
"Oh! Ellen" she said, impetuOusly,
( show / have wrOnged Escotte and YOU
/ and how l have sutferedr'
! you would tell HIM so, Charlie%
"Oh yes, yes; if he were only here"
! \ pair of strong arms from somewhere
/ caught Charlie to somebody's heart, and
! the sweetest voice she ever heard said:
II am here, my precious, my darling!"
! NOmOre words seemed needed. Charities
/ face was hidden, and the others face was
/ bent low over her. At last he found
words enough, but they were only whis-
/ pers-WhisperS lower and sWeeter than the
murmuung waters-and Charlie heard
! them. Suddenly remembering, she raised
| her head to look after Ellen. With a
shudder Of pain they see her lying almost
at their feet bathed in blood, apparently
dead.
"Ohl EscOtte, do something for her
/ quickly quickly. She mustnOt, must not
diew
With trembling hands they battle the
| cold face and rub her hands; but no sign
of life comforts them. Leaving her in
Charities hands Mr.. Fearne goes off, and,
| in an incredibly short time. returns with
farm wagon. In this she is carried to
the house at Mount Pleasant and laid on
Charles bed. A skillfuI physician is
| soon found, buthe brings them little hope.
| The hemOrrhage has been violent, and, he
| thinks, she will sink under it.
At last, after hours of insensibility, she
opens her eyes and knows everything.
/ Charlie, kneeling by her side, sobs out:
"My wilIlulness has caused this, FL
len! OH had almost rather have died
| myself"
Elaine smiled sweetly, peacefully, as if
| life had for her neither care nor suffer
ing.
Il am so happy, Charlie" she said. Il
am dying almost content"
There was wistful lingering on the
"almOst." Leaning tenderly over her Es-
cote asks:
''What will you have, dear Ellen?"
81 only want your father just for a min
ute"
che is coming; 1 have dispatched for
him."
YES"
She closed her eyes a little YEARLY as if
[
still until, a few minutes later, DR.. Fearne
walked quietly in.
'Ellen, my daughterr' his voice was as
| soft and tender as ever human tones had
been i'll this world before.
The girls eyes opened brightly. 4 look
| of glad comfort stole over her whole face.
Reaching to the old man one thin, white
hand, she said very clearly, very dis
tinctly:
"The Christ you worship is with
me, l think; don't be afraid" and with
! the last syllable on her lips the faint
! breath stopped.
With the effort to comfort her good
! friend had gone her last intelligence, her
last strength. Elaine We're was dead
dead! Yes, men of the world, who have
| known just such victims; yes, naughty
! women, who fear to touch such an one
/ with afinger-tip; yes, so-called Christians
! of every place and name, who reYel in ease
! whilst these, their sisters, starYe tor
| bread; yes, dead! OH society, which
| thrusts back even such Magdalensl OF
! you, each and all, this one asks not even
/ cup of cold water. She has gone to a
/ Higher Tribunal, where sits the Judge
who said: "Neither do l condemn theep'
/ Is it not possible to recognize pure
! gold, even sOiled and numbered with lit
! tie drOsss
I Errors like straws upon the surface flow.
He who would search for pearls must dive
! below"
One short fortnight later another sweet,
| fair woman lies dead and coffined in her
| house. Annie Beltham had paid her hus-
band just so much wifely obedience. She
had died because he ordered it, and her
| murderer stands by her side very i'll at
ease. His plan had prospered to this con-
summation, and yet-and yet he cannot
! feel content.
Since Elaine Nere'S death Charlie had
been jealousy kept at her uncle's, and
Annie's dying condition had prevented his
interfering. His wife had been brought
back to be laid in her graYe-nO more
cross, no more an impediment in his way.
Her coffin lid is securely fastened down on
her. She has gone; out of his sight, out
| of his way forever! Still he cannot feel
content. a vague unrest disturbs,
nameless dread Expresses him. He feels
/ constantly impelled to stand, as now,
gazing down on her marble-like features.
Her face does not even, to his excited
imagination, look reproachful; it is only
restful and sweet. But little by little be
gan TO dawn on his soul the fact that this
deed had been done for naught He had sent
this fair, sweet woman into her grave:
and for what? This unanswered question
had sprung upon him as the last breath
had futtered from his wife's pale lips,
( and zach SuppppdiDp bour had rnpoafod II