The times and democrat. [volume] (Orangeburg, S.C.) 1881-current, 1886-08-12
FORCED APART
By W. CLARK RUSSELL.
Anthor of the "Wreck of the Grosrenor,'
"a Sailors S,oeetheart," Etc.
CHAPTER XVIII.
A BITTER RESOLVE.

AL the evening Jenny had renamed In ner
room, and had but now, at this hour OF ten,
which was even tolling, said goodnight to
her mother, parting with her after long
and close embrace, and with prayer that
God would bless Eer for her love. Then did
she lock her door, and sit and listen; and
presently heard both father and mother
come to their bedroom, and the murmur OF
their voices.
In those old times there used to be in
fashion q little travelling box, light to carry,
with q strap across the lid that the arm
might sling it, and much used by country
folk.
One Of these boxes stood on the floor, end
the packing Of it, with many q long halt for
a sobbing ft, and active protest and hopeful
reinsurance, had been Mrs. Strapg6eld's oo-
cupation for q part Of the evening. Pres
emily rising, Jenny went to. the box and
tried its weight. Light enough 1t was-with
single change Of apparel only; yet she took
a turn with it about the room (treading on
tiptoe) as IL to make sure that it was not q
burden above her strength.
She was restless and could not remain
uuiet. Now she would draw out. her purse
and count the money that It held; now
SQ9 WOulu uppTOGCu UuD klSioo eiilR goo az
the spectral, mournful beauty Of her white
face; anon, and with no moro sound than o
mouse creeping, she would pace the room;
until the fever in her waned, and the passion
ate squirting of thought ceased to lacerate
and drive. Whereupon she extinguished the
light and took place at the window, and
surrendered herself to contemplation of the
stars.
Manifestly she meant to take no rest that
night, or was very long III going to it.
One would have had no need for sharp eyes
TO look at Jenny's face and know her as q
girl on the eve of some wild business. To
morrow morning was she to be carried long
and sorrowful journey by her father, and
when in London, from church to church they
were to wander; and all the while her heart
was to burn in tho fire Of his wrath, and her
sacred purity to DO blackened by his thoughts
of it. Her ignorance of matters which, had
she but foreseen all this, would have been
easy to learn and remember, was so deep
that even her mother had groaned over her
that evening. Tie very neighborhood
wherein Cuthbert had hired lodgings during
his holiday in London she did not know; she
had never had occasion to write to him. He
had come to Sydenham and met her by an
appointment planned before they left Grey
stone, and all their arrangements were ver-
bally concerted with never hitch Of weather
to disappoint them, and that was why no let
tiers had passed.
So, then, the London parish in whose
church they were united was unknown to
her. No light could she give, beyond taking
Gods holy name in witness that she spoke the
truth, which only her mother believed
But the uselessness of the journey, and the
fear of her fathers anger IL failure should
attend their search, were not tho first causes
Of her present resolution.
That night she resolved, would be the last
she should ever pass in the old wooden house.
Call her mad il you please-and few such
desperate resolves but have madness ut
bottom; but there was courage, too, virtu-
GUS audacity, and of most womanly sort,
acting without reflection; that is; influenced
by the present that was driving her, and
taking no thought Of the future upon which
she was rushing.
The church clock was striking the half
hour after eleven, when with shiver she rose
from her chair at the open window, and,
stealing to the bedroom door, opened it noise
lessly, and listened. Tho deep breathing in
the adjacent apartment where her parents
10y, the fall Of an ember in the kitchen crate,
the loud ticking of clock, were the only
sounds audible.
Leaving the door ajar, she put on her hat,
to which veil was attached, threw shawl
over her shoulders, and raised the little
trunk. There was clear moonlight abroad
now, and light enough reflected to give dis
tinctness to all objects in the room On tip
toe she descended the staircase. and, the bot
ter to make her exit soundless, went through
tho kitchen In few moments she had
lightly drawn the bolts of tho back door, and
stood in the moonlight.
The night was soft and sweet with dew,
and the mild stars shone lustrously. Now,
was it that the cool air and the deserted
length of the High street, and the black
shadows of the soaring town, brought to her
al unutGerable sense Of homelessness, and the
chill and terror Of the lonesome state. She
came round to the front Of the house, and
under the gloom Of the bay tree paused and
reflected, not daring to lift her eye to her
parents bedroom window.
She crept softly out of the darkness and
crossed the ROOD and went up the street, hug
ging the shadow of tho houses. When abreast
of the market place, again was she seized
with q numbing sense Of helplessness and
great agony of spirit. The sympathy of a
human voice-some one to tell her story to
and take advice from, she wanted, and per
haps the very last person whom it would
have entered her head to apply to under any
other circumstances sho now resolved to seek.
This was Mrs Mead, who had shown her
some kindness that morning, and the sort OF
sympathy that was not likely to thwart If 1t
did not profit her.
So she fitted like some restless spirit
through empty stalls and vacant, silent
gloom, and, hesitating moment before Mrs.
Mead's door, Knocked lightly.
Although there was no light in Mrs. Meads
window, the old woman was not asleep, hav.
ing not two minutes before Jenny's arrival
rxtnguished hHr tallow candle and got into
bed. Hearing II sound that rcscmbled u
knock at the door, T." old woman lifted her
ear out Of tho pillow and listened. After a
little interval the knock WAS repeated, and
there being no mistake about the noise this
time, Mrs Mead, greatly wondering, darted
',,,. ,.It Itlnr,1 l.ns ont nf bod struc!; a lirlt