Wheeling Sunday register. [volume] (Wheeling, W. Va.) 1882-1934, 1885-12-20


Door GOV, troubled look on his hsndsom 9
face, was trying to comfort her; but 'twasn {
bit of use. Shane, she sobbed, tia the
6rst time we've been parted, and my heart
tells me- we shall never meet again.
'Mslly," says the mssther despsriDgly,
what can say to comfort herr Then g
sudden thought striking him, be turned to
his cousin with a smile. and 'Msvourneen,
says he, you haven't forgotten the ould
story we read long ago of the brave Sir
Rowland, who sounded his horn in the
Pyreaees, when he was sore beset by the
Moors, and how Charlemsgue, the great
Emperor, heard the sound where he was
hunting, more than hundred miles away
She said she remembered the tale. We'll,
says he, am not your own true knight,
asthore2 And although haven't horn
like the gsllent Sir Roland, have some
thing Just as good-a stout stockman 8
whip. So. if danger betAll, I'll just fetch
a sounding smack with the lash, and here
in this cabin you'll hear the noise
HE was smiling all the time he Was
speaking, but Miss Kathleen took it seri'
ously. You won't forget, says She Sure
and / won't, says he if you promise not
to fret till yon hear the sound of the lash.
Il promise, says she, and with that Miss
Ellen and her brother came in at the front
door, and / went back to the kitchen.
well, Mics, Mssther Shane and his
friend started next day with half a dozen
men and four wsgous. You'll take care
Of Miss Kathleen" said the poor boy visit.
fully when bidding me goodbye, and
should anything happen to me you ii never
desert her, will you MsllyY Can you
doubt itT said /. But what should hap
zen TO one as is prayed for pure saint like
my Young ladyP What, indeed, muttsr-
ed he, and then he WruDg my hand and
hurried off to take his last kiss from the
sweet lips be loved so well, little thinking
twas the very last on this side OF the grave.
$50 we were left alone, the two young
ladies and myself in the little cabin IN
Melbourne. Miss Kathleen kept her word
and didn't fret, though many time her
heart was full. She Just went quietly
about the house thinking Of her cousin ans
nauQht else. 'Twould have been a dull
time but for Miss Ellen Doyle. She was
the one to be always singing, joking, OF
laughing, and the days sped rapidly unit
the ninth after the young gentlemen had
set out on their journey. Twas a Friday
night remember it well, for sorra bl
of tish could l get for dinner that day; anC
/ Miss Ellen laughed when / came bact
empty handed, and says she: We shan
dine to-day, Mslly; we'll just wait till tet
/ time And 30 they did. Passing mint
, o'clock they would have me into the psrlor
For, Mally,' says Miss Ellen, we wan
you to tell us one of your capital stories
, Let it be about Kerry. We were sitting
\ round the table. our knitting in our hands
was between the young ladies and hsc
: Just opened my mouth to say that the storl
4 / mean TO give them was called the Ban
I shee of Gobkillin, when, without bit o
warning, my darling Miss Kathleen gave 6
sudden start-'The stock whipP she cried
4 heard it distinctly Miss Kathleen
, tremblei like as aspen leaf; and calling tc
r mind Mssther Shsne's words, my hear
sank within me. She lay back in bel
) chair without sign of life, her fair yodng
, face con7ulsed with such look of terror
ss / never saw before or since.
I'VE got her into bed, and then Miss
Ellen ran out for a doctor, and CHANGING
to meet Mr.. Webb, the surgeon Of the ship
that carried us to Melbourne, brought him
back with her. He was both kind and
skillful, and did his best for my stricken
darling; but he told us plump and plain
that her case was o mortal bad one. Twas
brain fever she had and for weeks she lay
'twixt life and death, ravlng ever and al
WAYS of her cousin and the danger he was
in.
The fever was at its height, when, late
one night, yound Edward Doyle knocked
ct the door. Ochonel but he had the bad
news to tell Mssther Shane, the last and
BEST of his race, was dead, murdered by the
bloodthirsty blacks. Ii was on the ninth
evening" after they had left Melbourne that
the savages set upon them, taking them at
the unawares as they sat round their camp
FIRE. But q volley from the white men
pistols sent the blacks oack into the bush
bowling like Gends Then it was that the
masther, vowing vengeance on the savsges.
plunged into the wood in hot pursuit OF
them. The others followed, but in the
darkness lost sight of him; nor did they
find the poor boy till daybreak. He was
living under tree quite dead, the blood
slowly ozzing from a deep wound in his
side. He had flung away his empty pistol,
but his right hand still gripped the heavy
whip with which he had seemingly defend
ed himself against his enemies. They
buried him where he fell, under the shade
of blue-grum, with only rude cross at
his head, to mark where the last of the
0connelrs lay.
Such was the sad tale young Doyle
sold US, the tears running down his face
the while, for he loved Mssther Shane like
brother, and his heart ached for Miss
Kathleen. The doctor shook his head
when he heard the story. 'Twould be a
merciful thing, ne said, provided his patient
did recover, that all recollection Of the
past should have faded from her mind
"She did recover, poor darling. but very
slowly. At 6rst we thought her memory
was entirely gone. By degrees, however,
she began to remember, and by and by
asked for her cousin. To please her we
said he had gone on long journey up
countryj and when We found she believed
it Mr.. Webb told US to keep up the delu-
sion.
We'll Miss, there isn't much more 10
tell Miss Ellen Doyle married the Eng
lish officer who vas so sweet on her during
the voyage out, and went with him to
Tasmania. About the same time Squire
Doyle's eldest soA having been killed in the
hunting field, Masther Edward was written
for By his father. But before he went he
had his cottage built and furnished for Miss
Kathleen; and he and Mrs. Major Gay
worth-Miss Ellen Doyle that was--settled
a small pension on my mistress. that keeps
her in comfort. Here we've lived for over
thirty years; and except for the longing
she has to see her cosuin, it hasn't been
altogether an unhappy time tor my poor
/ lady. l used to worry myself, thinking
how lonesome shes feel if | were taken
first. But since shes come to know and
love you, Miss, I've been quite easy; for
should anything happen to ould Mslly l
know you'll never See her at loss.
The old Irishwoman had told her tale
~ ,r,o.;op Nor cOnl6 I for fha mn