The Democratic advocate. [volume] (Westminster, Md.) 1865-1972, 1886-05-22
Select STORY,
THE OAKLY HALL TRAGEDY.

THE OAKLY HALL TRAGEDY
In the Summer of 1884 I was on a visit
to married sister Of mine in the west OF
England, and in one of my afternoon strolls
my eyes were attracted to picturesque
old mansion which much reminded me of
the "stately homes of England" There it
stood, alone in all its grandeur, some dis
tance from the busy little village, in quiet,
elevated, rural spot, around which the wild
birds were chirping and singing as if try
ing to break the spell of silence.
There was something about the dear old
place, with its diamond-paned windows,
ivy-cappcd gables and stcne-built walls,
that seemed to enchant me, as there | stood
without endeavoring to picture scene
within Stirring my imagination, L fan
cied myself walking through its banqueting
rooms, corridors, and other oak-paneled
apartments. But enough of my sweet re-
verie, for very soon an old country gentle
man came upon the scene, introduced him
self in true country fashion, and asked
"What do you think of it, sir?'
at is a grand old house" l replied.
"Ah, yes-it is indeed, sir; and, like
most grand old places, it has had its skele-
ton in the cupboard"
'Indeed," said l. "Then it is haunted,
l presume" ?"
"Well, sir, that is question | cannot
answer; but it was once the scene of trag
edy that will, l think, cling to it for some
time-many years.
l need not recite the whole of the con-
versation between us; suffice it he there
and then unhesitatingly described the trag-
edy in question while we were seated on
grassy bank. 1t was as follows:
"Well, sir, l will tell you the story of
Oakly Hail." he began. "Twenty odd
years ago it was the country seat of Sir
Walter Harold he was good, dear,
old warm m-hearted, gentleman, whom all the
villagers loved. Sir Walter was widow
er, with only one child-a lovely, blue
eyed, golden-haired daughter, and at the
time my story commenced-which is a true
one-vas just jumping out of her teens.
All the village folk believed that she had
long been engaged to young Squire Clou-
desley, whose mansion | will show you if
you will return to the inn with me. OF
course he is middle-aged squire now, as
| am speaking of twenty years ago: when
Sir Walter Harold was cruelty murdered
which caused certain family secrets to oozc
out, and may add, they are very impor
tant items in the story or tragedy of Oakly
Hail.
One bleak December morning Sir Wal
ter was found groaning on his death-bed,
with a fearful wound on his forehead,
caused his death few hours after being
discovered by the servants, who, as | was
told, heard their masters faint groans as
they were going down stairs early in the
morning to attend to their several duties.
''The village doctor and constable, and
others, arrived just in time to watch the
last dying moments of the good old knight.
There he lay, dead, sopped in his own
blood, with his fair daughter weeping, raw
ing, and bending over the remains of her
beloved father
'sThe old mansion was most minutely
examined, with the result that it was proved
beyond all doubt that not onl y had it not
been broken into, but there was not sin
gle article of any kind stolen. Such being
the case, it was justly inferred that the
murder was committed by some person or
persons who that dreadful night slept or
resided at the Hall. Who did it? Alas,
week after week passed in search for a
circumstancial clew! At length one was
found.
Sir Walters fair daughter-to whom l
have already alluded-one evening con-
fessed she had been playing double game
in the intricate art of love-making. She
declared, although apparently engaged to
Squire Cioudesley, to please her father, she
was actually betrothed secretly to her faith
er's butler, subject to conditions of sworn
secrecy, and that they were not to be mar
ried during Sir Walters lifetime
at was in giving the young squire the
good-by, ,sand making him acquainted with
the fulfilled conditions of her secret en-
gagement to the butler that the rejected
one at once set to work conjuring up a
thousand suspicious to hang his presumed
guilty rival.
"The butler was arrested, and after the
first hearing before the magistrate, was
morally condemned by the whole village,
that was ready to lynch him and his fair
young mistress forthwith.
"Again and again the prisoner was re-
manded and never a word came from his
lips, probably because his legal adviser had
requested him to be silent.
''The trial came There stood the pris-
oner to confront judge and jury and his
accusers, among whom we're his odious rival
and his fair young mistress-his lost .tiancee
who was now his bitterest enemy, and
trying her utmost to get his head into the
hangman's moose. Her conduct at the
trial, where she gave evidence against her
presumed guilty lover, replaced her in the
hearts of the villagers The poor tremb-
ling culprit heard her evidence go against
him. He fixed his eyes upon her, shaking
with emotion from head to foot. His
tongue was tied-he spoke not. His head
fell, and he wept, but his tears did not
touch the heart Of his accuser.
"Again he turned bis pale face towards
her, but she spurned it so severely that his
hand went quickly to his wildly beating
heart. Judge and jury seemed ready to
condemn their prisoner, but there was DO
evidence to sustain verdict against him.
1t was question of life and death, and
they were constrained to give the wretched