Savannah morning news. [volume] (Savannah) 1868-1887, 1884-03-30

But he was too shrewd to show any eXul-
tation. Very kindly, very politely, he in
troduced Charities name, and again ex-
pressed his satisfaction at her approach
ing marriage. Then, not to ask too much
the confidence of this quiet and reserved
host, he adrOitly changed the subject,
touched on few topics of general inter
est and finally took his departure, leaving
Mr.. Eearne little more uncertain as TO
his character than ever. lie kept up his
easy uncOncern until he was fairly In the
street: then. no longer in danger OF sus-
picious eyes, he gave away somewhat to
his eXultatiOn.
"CouId anything have served me bet
ter" he thought, ethan to have brought
Elaine here? She IS the prettiest, bright
est. bravest lieutenant | could have
This Mr.. Fearne, who has spent his life
over musty books, is no match for her
quick wit and many destinations. She
has been under his roof but few hours,
when scholar, scientist, engaged to an
other woman as he is, he is already in a
measure, sub]ugated by her charms. She
was always a woman to beguIle men.
Less pretty than some, friendless and
poor, she has never failed to make her
influence felt. What the strange charm
IS never knew, though even L have been
curtously enslaved by il. This man will
never realize half her wiles until he is
fettered soul and body. All! my sweet
Elaine! you are well placed-well
placed; and by my hands too! / grudged
him the holding of your white hands
for a moment, but for a moment, so
strong has your hold been upon me, but
l resign you now; for, In the short dis
lance, l see my fair young ward&eirst
frantic with jealousy, then seeking COM
fort in my outstretched arms! What was
it which shOne in Elaine's dark eyes as |
entered that door? All! it was a look she
never gave me-a look | have tried to
find and always failed-a look | know she
never gave mortal man before. 1t was a
loving look, full of admiration, full of ten
derness. He is the very man to interest
women of her stamp. She fancies him
great and good, even heroic. Yes, and
she loves him even nOwl | could say,
Poor Elainev but that she thus serves
my purpose best. The game, pretty
one, too, is well in my hands, and it will
be but miserable laundering if l do not
manage it WELL"
And having reached his handsome
home Mr.. Beltham lightly opened the
gate and entered. Before he can ring the
door is opened by his mother with an eX-
preston of great concern on her face.
''COme into the sitting-rOOm, Albert; /
want to speak to YOU"
He knew his mother too well not to see
that something had moved her out Of her
usual calm self-possessIOn, but he said
nothing, only followed her into the sitting
room and took a seat. Mrs. Beltham shut
and locked the two doors, and after care
full look on the outside closed the Win
doWs before seating herself. Her son
looked on, silently waiting for her to
begin.
'1Albert p''she said, almost in a whisper,
but looking calm and resOlute, annie
has been very i'll since you have been
away"
He started up from his chair suddenly.
"Annie i'll? Then why do you shut
me in here? l will 90 to her immediate
ly."
"No!" she said, laying a OBTAINING hand
on his arm. NO; you must not disturb
her; she is relieved now and sleeping"
Every well; then why, may l ask again,
am | held shut in hereY'
because, my son, have that to say to
you which not even the walls should
hear"
She had begun slowly, deliberately,
but was evidently excited, and continued
in low, trembling voice:
''Annie is growing worse day after day,
hour after hour. She was so weak and
low two hours ago that she had no pulse,
and had to stimulate her to keep her
alive. She has rallied now and is doing
well enough, but, Albert, she cannot live.
She is dying My son, for PHYS sake, for
her sake, for Gods sake, tell me If you can
do anything for her help"
He looked at her cOolly, even contempt
uously as he said:
Il do anything for her help? Am | not
working to that end daily? haven't been
for months? Surely you ask curious ques-
tiOns."
albert, Albert Beltham, are you harm
ing my poor, dear adopted child?"
He arose with considerable dignity TO his
full height.
''Are you aware that you are accusing
me, your son, of crime, madam? Are you
aware that you are insulting me! Had
yUu not better call in the police at once
| and secure my arrest? Had you not bet
ter 20 upstairs and tell my sweet, young
wife that the man she has loved tor a life
time is killing her?'
He spoke with emphasis, but with per-
feet lf-pOssession. His mothers fears
were no match tor his GOODNESS.
"My son. if l am wrong, and, on my
soul, / believe l am, do try to forgive me.
l love Annie almost as l do you, and see
ing her struggle daily with some insidious,
ineXplicable disease, for which even you
have found no name, l first became anXi-
Gus, then miserable, then suspicious. The
medicines you give her, she says, always
/ increase her weakness, and she is certain
/ ly failing fast. Oh! l promised her dying
mother to care for her, and yet / cannot
help her at all. Don't be offended If l i'm
plOre you to call in other physicians. Let
| the world see that we leave no means I'M
tried"
.fDid l not at your suggestion send for
| your physician, and didn't he endorse my
treatment?"
Yes, but you must remember he hard
~ saw Annie, and she was far better
Them
Il don't intend to allow my wife's case
trified with. | know what l am about.
One thing is left to try for her, and | will
do that the earliest spring day. | will
take her to the seaside. Medicine now
can do nothing for her. l had talk with
/ DIR. Flying about her yesterday, and he
/ says that is the only thing now. After
/ the horrible injustice you have done me
/ to-day, l hardly like to ask any favor, but
/ you will oblige me by keeping your sus-
/ plciOns to yourself. Mothers are not
/ usually the first to believe their sons
/ criminal, and my wife would be heart
/ broken to know how | have been treated"
The mothers anxiety, naturally enough,
/ gave way to a great regret. She had al
WAYS found her son selfish and heartless !;
| but she had never known him criminal.
He had always seemed, too, prudent,
1 careful person of his own safety, never
J RASH VI llupulolNt3 ANU ACGlln5 III ACA
heart that she had done him a great
wrong, she most eagerly made quick
| atOnement.
son! Albert, l feel and know that l
have done you a terrible wrong; try to
forgive it; try to attribute it to the sick
ening anxiety l have been suffering about
/ poor Annie. OF course, of course, there
is no one in the world to whom l should
have suggested a suspicion of evil even in
your thoughts. All! me! L believe l have
staid at home and watched Annie until l
have became morbid and weak. Do let
us take her away soon and see what en-
tire change will do for her."
81 have just told you that / would take
her away at the earliest practicable mo-
ment," he replies, with severe GOODNESS,
as he opens the door and walks off to
his wife's room.
Here he finds absolute silence. Annie
is lying on lounge still dressed, but in a
deep sleep-sO deep, indeed, that little
startled, he steps softly to her side and
lays two fingers on her pulse. The throb
is very weak, and sometimes intermits a
beat or two. She is altogether too feeble
to suit his present purposes. Very gently
he leans over her and kisses her closed
lips to waken her. But she has suffered ter
ribly and the reaction is eXhausting. The
deep sleep into which she has fallen is
not so easily broken. With even a slight
look of alarm he shakes her arm and calls
two or three times At last the bIua avas