The times. (Owosso, Mich.) 1882-1897, 1884-07-11
CHAPTER VI.


SHOW did Hester Clarke's counsel
get all that extraordinary evidence to-
gether in her favor?" exclaimed Frank,
when with Mr.. Eyre they stood waiting
for the horses without.
20! l told him" said Mr.. Eyre, care
lessly. when I left you ut the inn, I
caught him in the very nick OF time,
and told him every circumstance, in.
Guiding all you'd told me--everything
that could remember, to damn myself,
and clear her. In short, 1 coached him,
laid stress on myself as a villain; not
that there is chance Of saving her,
but she shall have fair-play. And, upon
my word, the defense was Ingenious;
that attempt to fix the murder on me
was an inspiration that deserves sue
cess"
But Frank shook his head; he felt
that the popular indignation was vio-
lently excited against Mr.. Eyre, and by
no means felt sure of the issue of the
morrow.
"Strange that did not see the man
in Synge Lane that night" said Mr..
Eyre, abruptly, as they rode away; ''for
l did think of killing the woman. The
demon of murder was abroad that night;
but it slew the innocent, not the guilty"
Frank, plunged deep into a tragedy
at war with his whole nature, remained
silent. There seemed no light any
where, and he had dreadful conscious
ness of something uneXplored-terrible
in Mr.. Eyre's breast that forbade
confidence.
The two parted, as usual, at the gates
of the Towers; but Mr.. Eyre did not on
this occasion Immediately climb the
steep path that led to the Hall; he turn
ed aside, and sought the churchyard, in
which all that was best in him lay.
He tethered his horse without, and
entered it in the murky darkness of q
chill November night, and finding Ills
way by instinct to that narrow dwelling
place of her body, he kneeled down be-
side it.
AS he stretched out his arms to the
cold sod, they met some human sub
stance that made him recoil.
But the next moment he advanced,
and seized something that struggled out
OF his grasp, crying pasSionately-
"She isn't yours; she's mine!"
twas Doune's voice that spoke, and as
Mr.. Eyre struck light he saw his first
born, standing at few PAGES distant,
clutching something white and shad-
owy to his boyish breast.
~ UllIlll IOlQ MIs Gudb
this was Madcap's baby, the child Of
and rs the wax-light died out in dark
ness he strobe forward, and snatching
that little bundle from Doune's arms,
folded it within his cloak, and turned
away.
''But at little distance he heard q
stihed cry, and paused to listen
Mother! mother! you asked me to be
kind to the baby, to take care of her;
but fathers taken her away and
Josephine doesn't mind when she cries
Il would like to die with you"
AS Mr.. Eyre lifted the little strug-
Cling body from its damp bed, for the
first time he realized that the loss of his
Madcap might be as irreparable an one
to others as himself.
When he walked into the nursery,
dripping with the November night
dews, and the two children nestled be-
meath his cloak. Josephine started up
in fear; though when he had given
them over to her, he departed without
a word or look to that part of the house
in which he had dwelt with Madcap.
But Josephine, giving back the babe
into the arms of its affrighted nurse,
who for hours had sought it, babe the
woman guard it better in future, since
the master of the house had chosen to
recognize its existence; then with a
shuddering glance around, put up her
hand to those magnificent plaits Of hair
which had imperceptibly increased in
bulk during the last fortnight.
A superb crown of plaits on woman's
head could scarcely hide visible secret,
vet it was curious that even at night
Josephine did not unfasten them. but
at dawn, and with locked doors, rose to