The Springdale news., 1889-12-06

Il accompanied her, Of course, wondering why she wanted me, but after l saw her write that letter there on the railing and deposit i5 in tho bolt-casipg, why, under stood. You sac she wanted me to know it was there and 10 look after il, wsieh l have done. l never read it until to day, though, but l had an idea it was some thing awful-uhc because she looked like death itself and said, low and solemn like, shaft for shaft;' and I kinder thought she was driven at revenge on him. motioning to Sir Rupert, who now began to revive.
 Presently Sir Rupert opened his eyes with piteous, appealing look In them, and asked in whispered accents ;"Where is that letter! Gycit to mel It is all have left of her=of Miriam
 They gave him the fatal note, and he ca ressed it with Q kiss, and put it in his inner coat.
 Now take mo home, to that desolate Heatbcrleigh, " he said, wearily. And when 1 come again 1 shall not know aught of earth and it's hard, hard waysn' The men exchanged significant glanccs and helped him To the carriage. 1t was with difficulty that they managed to get him safely among it's cushions, and when they had accomplished it he was so exhausted Tn soul and body he seemed moro dead l than alive.
 You can't count on much speed" said the sexton, Warningly, as John mounted the box but you must be as quick as you can under the circumstances, or-or yell have him to brlng back here by tomorrow" They turned away from Oaltlawn then, and the sexton shut the great double gates after them with an ominous clang When they left the beautiful repose of 0aklawn behind them and turned into the l highway, Sir Rupert revived enough to sit i up and look about him. Suddenly, as if recoliectng something quite forgotten, he l drew from his pocket the fatal missive. 1 Folding and unfolding the scrap of paper, as one might in q dream, he murmured in vague, desperate way: "AI have left, all l have left of happiness is deathi
 ''Migam is gone-gone-gonel l had thought toto make amends, but it is too late; too Iate!' And lowing his head upon his trembling hands, he sobbed like a child in his great grief.
 ! The autumn breezes came softly over the sleepy world and gently famed the silky, gray halr on the aged crown; the sunset | fire famed low on the hills, and, stealing | brightly across, kissed the bowed form, but | lie needed it not. What was nature's sooth- l ing pity Or loving favor to himl He with | his cross heavier than he could bear, was al last suecumbmg to the inevitable. Moving his lips as if i'll praycrful suppli- cation, he raised his head and sank back l among the crimson cushions of his easy car | riage.
 Who would have dreamed e- any thing but comfort and luxury to have seen the Heatherleigh turnout rolling along the | picturesque lanes, with it's emblazoned 1 ba 1j hn G1a 1 la grays praneng along. restiye enough under the tight rein of handsome, rich-liveried coachman! But ahl had they seen the sor- rowful face withial
 Miriam then had gone from the Hall on that fateful day directly to Oahiawn and paid, as 1t seemed, her farewell visit to the dear, dead mother. And she had, under cover of all that stoieal, outward compos- ure, carried away from Heatherleigh Il breaking heart and felt her punishment keenly.
 Doubtless, too she had left the written good bye addressed 10 her dead relative at the tomb pufposely that 1t might some time 1 fall into the hands of her unnatural father; 1 putting the slip m the fastening in the pres enee of the sexton, she might have ehrewdly guessed that he would lose no opportunity To discover 1t to Sir Rupert, which he at tended to on his first visit thereafter
 If the design in leaving the paper at Oak lawn was to break the austere, hardened | heart of the master of Heatherleigh with | it's contents, the plan was well laid and eX ecuted to a fault, and the purpose had been accomplished without doubt. He sank visi- 1 bly, each day under the terrible blow dealt him by the proud, suffering daughter, and he would sit for hours, silently and alone, in his private apartments, with cur tains drawn, and greve m the gloom of his desolated home. The weight of retrbution was fearful Poor old man! that drive to Oaklawn on that quiet autumn day was his l last outing; he never recovered enough from the shock of that days experience to warrant riding out again, not even over his l favorite downs toward the sea.
 Nothing so dark and sad had befallen the many-shadowed Hall since Lady Percival' 5 death, not even the letter Miriam sent an nouncing the death of little Arthur
 That happened, as the reader is aware in the fair weather. Yes; in the floral sweet ness of May that missive, all bordered with black, found it's way to the Hall.
 How welt they remembered it. Not to the master exactly had it come, although to acquaint him with her second great loss had his stricken daughter written. The superseription, however, designated Peggy Clarkson as tho recipient of the sad news,
 And Miriam had said: "Arthur, my baby boy, is sleeping, too, under the dewy vioiets, and l believe my heart is broken utterly. An! why was I born for this desolate, love- less existence! God only can answer definitely. presume mortals. would only point to the terrible legend of the Perciyas and say that, as 1 am the eldest, and a daughter, l have no right to question my |
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