The Arkansaw traveler., 1885-05-09
LA cHARMEusE DE PIGEONS.
WRITTEN BY LuclEN ARNOLD.
CONCLUDED

"The coroner, sir. It was in the room in South street with the skeleton of the woman. The coroner wants to have it opened at the inquest at o'clock to-day, if you do not know what is in it; and the coroner would like to keep it until this afternoon, and not have it opened until then"
 "What skeleton is this ?"
 Haven't you seen the papers this morning, sir2 Mysterious discovery of the skeleton of young woman in a storeroom on South street lay on a sofa; rats had picked the bones clean dia- mond engagement ring on the floor where it dropped off the hand, sir"
 The thought of Agnes last telegram flashed through my mind. "I will inform Dr. Arndt of my whereabouts at the end of six months" and the date was the 2d c! last Ju!y!
 "I will open this box here, in my of- hce," said 1, "in the presence of the coro- ner, if he desires. do not know what it contains, but must know before con- sent to making its contents public"
 The crowd filled the stairway and were pressing at the door, where another po-
 
 was sent for the coroner he reached my office about I2 Until that time the box remained in the custody of the policeman, and the crowd swelled and diminished and swelled again in front of the build ing, and the newsboys kept up their shrill chant of The skeleton in South street."
 Accompanied by the policeman with the box the coroner and myself entered private apartment. A moments work with file sufficed to sever the hasp of the paddock opened the box; it con- tained several small volumes marked va riously "Diary," Journal" Records, {" in gilt letters. On the top of all lay a card written upon in a clear, resolute hand which knew well these were the words:
 1T have just telegraphed my aunt that I would let you, pr. Arndt, know of my where absuts at the end of six months. You see I am punctual. AGNES ToXEL.n
 /Hiy ?, 1879.
 glanced at the books they were writ ten iull-Agnes' journal of her life.
 At the inquest enough was given to the jury to show the identity and circum- stances of the suicide. Nothing more. The skeleton of Agnes, hardly less white than the satin lining of tue coffin that held 1t, was laid in the vault of the Toxels, the last of the family and the name.
 Thefshoc was terrible for Mrs. Bax- ter; hardly think she will recover from 1t.
 wrote to George and sent him the papers, which made columns of the mat ter. He was far less moved than 1 over the death of the poor, beautiful, tortured girl. resume my journal:
 March I8.-George has returned. He is wholly himself again. He is older and graver; he talks less and his smile is rare. He landed early in the day and drove at once for his home. Alter din- ner, in the library once more, George asked me for the whole story oi Agnes death. told him how the skeleton lay on sofa, with the fragments of clothing scattered about and the long black hair strewn over the small room, and the skeleton hand dropping toward the floor, and the broad hoop ring with the inside inscription, George and Agnes, January ?, I87o," aud of the journals in which all of her innocent, unhappy lite was writ ten the high aims, deep reverence for the Creator, and her noble faith in exist ence, and the final despair when the con. viction that her love was fatal to its ob. ject drove her to unfaith and the desper- ate deed which ended a bitter and stainless life.
 At Georges request read those parts which cast new light upon the actions of the tender. perplexed and sorrowful heart, which erred, if it erred at all, through wonderful conclusion drawn from events which we'll might have wrought despair in any soul.
 This is what l read to George of Agnes writing:
 JUNE I6 ISoS.-My 18Th birthday. Is it possible that have lived only fifteen years, and that may live. that can live to live times that age2 Life must have great deal more in it than have found or will not live. Why should |? 1 am the last of the name, and among the last of the race. My aunt and my cousin Edward-but they are of another stock, though my aunt was Toxel. Edward returns tomorrow. He is not one of us. How little he knows of the strange world in which my father lived, of all the se- crets and strange speculations in those old volumes in my fathers room; the room where he died alone and unat. tended, with no one to see to him when the man became dead clay. hope will die alone when die. wonder if it will be soon? know they will think l am wasting away in a decline or some. thing they cannot name why should care to live? am sure do not; but 1 do not wish any one to see me die. When that times comes that am not Agnes Toxel-when cannot control my words or nay features-when must welcome death with hideous grimaces and coavul- sions-I will never die like that, and be looked upon by pitying eyes as pass from something to nothing. will die as my father died when my life is done, as he said his was done; will meet death alone and if meet it weakly no one shall be the wiser, or shall pity me for my want of strength. wonder if Edward has changed as much as have in his two @>I r. .-