Savannah morning news. [volume] (Savannah) 1868-1887, 1884-04-13

her heart and loved on trust, declared her
self a deceiver this very day, and might
there not be more to tell? Might not her
anger and denunciation have stopped a
confession that would have implicated her
lover?
Like all persons inexperienced in life's
trials, she was ready at the first discovery
Of deceit TO call all mankind false. In
vain she tried to bring her contempt
and dislike Of her guardian TO bear on his
words.
Her knowledge of his true character
seemed to fade out of sight, and she only
( heard his death-dealing, hOpe-killing
words. And in the night, and in the dark
ness, the orphaned and friendless girl,
shorn Of hope and happiness at a single
blow, sat silent, with two small helpless
hands clasped tightly together, hardly
/ realizing where she was. hardly con-
sciOus Of anything, only feeling a longing
desire then and there to lay down the
weary burden Of being and live never
/ more.
Mr. Beltham looked eagerly at her, but
the friendly darkness yelled the poor,
pale face and wide-opened, startled eyes
eyes which looked intently forward yet
saw nothing.
"Have 1 hurt you, Charlie, darling?
I'd rather have died than have done it."
She made no possible answer. Perhaps
dared speak again. Somehow, he feared
he had gone too far. Natures, like this
girls, he knew were intense to enjoy, in
tense to suffer.
Half-regretlully he sat wondering what
he should do next. Atlast she sprang up
| hastily, as if possessed with some definite
intention, and said:
''At what hour do you and mamma leave
! tomorrow
cat 1907 he said. ''Ah! I trust you
will go with us"
Good night, Mr.. Beltham!' she said,
very, very quietly, as she walked OFF
into the house and up the broad stairs to
| her room.
The man sat and listened, but no sound
reached his ears though he bent every en-
! ergy to hear She must have sat down
| Immediately on reaching her room, so per-
! fectly still was the whole house. One
/ thing gave him little comfort. Charlie
/ was proud, quick-tempered and resOlute,
| and he could not but hope that the next
/ morning might find her ready to fly from
! scenes SO painful, and, once away from
/ Mr.. Fearne, he believed he had the power
to ensure a complete separation.
| In her room Charlie sat dumb and
| stricken for a long time. She was trying to
4 know just what to do, but her mind SEEM
/ ed only black CHAOS in which but one
! thing was discernible; this was terrible,
/ measureless wrong, which was doubled
/ with a giant pain. She was fully re-
! solved to 90 away, not with her guardian
| certainly, but to q nearer place, where
! she had been once before happy child
/ a quiet, pretty country place, not very far
! of but where she should be lost to pry-
/ ing, cruel eyes until she might Wrestle
| with her trouble.
Suddenly she remembered that she had
no money. Dstasteful as it might be, she
IL
! get it. Very softly she ran down into the
colOnnade and stood by his side before he
/ knew she was anywhere near him.
! s'What is it, dear? What do you want?
Can do anything for you"
Il want some money, sir"
.sOf course; yes" he said, delighted at
this turn Of affairs. you will 90 away
| tomorrow, CharlieY
Yes"
''And you will want some money. Let
| me see! Come into the light and ] will
| set you up,' he said, pleased and laugh
ing.
mo, L will wait here.a
every well. I'll be back in a second"
He returned quickly and handed her
| small roll Of notes.
"That is all l have with me just now,
my dear. l can supply you at any time,
/ you know, and, OF course, l Will look at
| ter your bills, etc. Are you gone already?
Well, good night. I'll see that you are
walked early in the morning"
In sort of nervous haste the young
| girl made her preparation to leave; busy
| little hands packed her trunk and a
satchel and made all proper prepara
tons.
Then she went down to the kitchen and
. ordered her baggage carried to the depot
| at once, and locked in until she called for
| it. In everything that was done she
seemed hurried and impatient, as if these
unimportant details were but interrupt
ing something Of far more Importance,
and so it was.
Charlie was wrOnged, outraged, broken
hearted, but she was brave and generous,
too. Circumstances seemed terMbly to
condemn her lover, but he should have
! one more chance. She had determined to
go to her uncle's. If she could discover
/ that EscOtte was absent. she would make
a short visit, and perhaps perhaps some
thing might transpire to clear up what
now seemed so cruel and hard. 1t seemed
! that her lover should have one more
chance; one more little chance to dis
prove these awful charges. OF Ellen
| Weston she never even thought; not
particle of resentment went to the girl
whom she had so lately forgiven. She
only thought of Esc0tte Fearne, dashed
down from the high pedestal on which she
! had fancied he stood in a purer, better at
| mOsphere than other men. 1t was still
quite early, and fearlessly she walked
alone along the familiar streets. She re-
called that first time she had met him,
and how his kindness and courtesy and
dignity stood her friend in spite Of her
self. All. hOwEshe had lOved-had! how
she loved him nOw-nOw! with love
which, in spite of pride and wrong, would
90 with her to her grave. Pretty soon
her uncle's house is in sight. The Win
I I
| She concludes to peep in once at uncle
Henry before she goes in, and stands on
tip-tOe to accomplish her purpose. One
look, just one, she takes, and then, with
one little moan OF pain, she darts through
the open gate and runs, like one driven by
| horror or fear, runs madly down the
| dark streets, nor stops, nor rests until she
has reached her room and locked herself
safely in its privacy and shelter.
And what sight had this hapless child
seen which had sent her half crazed with
suffering from her good uncle's loving
home?
When Elaine We're had walked back
/ leaning on Charities arm she had said.
"She was BETTER and so she was; but she
never thought of telling her sweet friend
| what she knew would be so distresstul to
her; that she was on the verge of another
| serious attack, perhaps, very near death.
So she went home bravely laughing and
talking, drawing her breath painfully the
while, and never permitting her friend to
get good look at her face, and parted
with her at the gate apparently as COM
Portable as ever. This was about noon.
EXcusing herself from dinner she rested
| quietly in her room for several hours, and,
finding that her indisposition sorely dis
! tressed Mrs, Fearne, she made great eff
| fort and dressed for tea. Altogether she
felt better than she had hoped, but DR.,
! Fearne watched her with no little ankle
| ty. He did not feel satisfied with her
/ looks at all, and, as his son went out af-
! ter an early tea, to make his promised
visit to Charlie, he followed him outside
/ to ask that he would call en- their family
physician as he went, and request him to
come and look after Ellen. His son
thought there was no immediate necessi-
ty for medical aid, but promised to send
the ply SiCidn. NOW MI. EScOtte Fearne
was no dreaming. lOye-sick boy; still his
whole heart was filled with the charming
/ girl who had promised so soon to be his
wife, and he had not seen her for five
days; so it is not altogether astonishing
that, grave, self-pOssessed and dignified as
he was, he should entirely have forgotten
the other girl left behind. He forgot Ell
len, father, physician, everybody and
everything but pretty Charlie Barrett,
and only remembered them when his ar