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

When EscOtte Fearne returned he found
Miss Weston waiting out in the summer
house for him.
''What have you Iearned?" she asked,
eagerly.
F'That Charlie went off on the O'Clock
train and is at Mount Pleasant. am 60
ing at 2:2O. l came back to tell mother
and get my valise."
Il am gong with you"
NO, certainly; you are by no means
well enough"
Il tell you l am going. Charlie has
been good, so good to me, and | will see
her safe in your hands If l die. Don't
cross me about this thing, sir. 1t is the
greatest boon Of my life."
what will my mother say" he asks,
doubtfully.
S'She must not know. Do hurry and
let's be of"
every we'll, Miss Ellen. | shall thank
you another time for your goodness in
this matter"
He went quickly into the house and
soon returned with his valise. He made
Elaine wait in the garden until he had
cotton carriage; then they drove rapidly
of to the depot.
Charlie mad been walked, and the
chickens had been duly served, but her
kind hostess was distressed to find that
this young lady was not exactly the same
merry, fun-lOying girl she had been two
summers before. She piled her guest
with questions, hoping to arrive at some
explanation of her changed looks and
manners. But she learned nothing. The
one desire of Charities life was to be let
alone-tO 90 off somewhere away from
curious eyes and VeXing QueStiOnS-tO sit
mOtionless and bear the life which had be-
come a trial and a burden.
She had thought Escotte's conduct all
over. From her first meeting with him,
she had unconsciously ranked him
above all the men she had met.
This was before she had learned
to love him. He seemed less selfish. less
egOtistical, less eXacting than others.
But, above all, he had seemed so true, so
genuine, so good. If there was one
quality more dear to the girls heart than
another il was truthfulness. In all her
short life not one falsehOOd had marred
her clear record. She had been willful.
quick-tempered and rebellious: but,
through all her childish troubles. the
light of uncomprOmising fairness and
veracity had marked her character. Her
soul hated a lie, and yet! she had given
her great, generous heart to a man who
had been false from the beginning-tO
uncle Henry's son! not to an untried
youth, with a character yet hardly hard
ened into the consistency of perma-
nence, but to one she thought formed of
tempered STEEL How had she been so
easily deceived? so easily won!
''Oh! if she could only die to-day, and
have done with all the miserable shams
and pains of this lfe!' 1t was the i'm
patient cutlery of one undisciplined and
young-of one who had ''ted on the roses
and lain in the lilies of life." She was
not compounded of quiet and patient vir-
tues, this impulsive. high-spirited girl:
and she walked her narrow chamber up
and down, up and down in almost a fren-
~ of rebelli0us suffering. Towards even
ing, unable longer to endure her thoughts.
she put on her hat and walked of down
the country road. Her way, Just here.
presented no especial attractions. 1t
was only rough wagon way, on which
the broken stones lay. unsightly and
hard. But she knew fairer spot. and
her steps were bent toward it. About a
mile away, where the broad river was fed
10y a pretty tributary, a succession of
falls made perpetual music, and Charlie
had once thought perpetual beauty. She
remembered three deep stone steps or ter
races just there, probably built for the