Waterbury evening Democrat., 1889-08-14

Rupert she glided to her apartments, lcay. ing him in ignorance of her walk thrcnyh the park with the son of poverty ho had or oered from his moneyed doors.
 Miriam had come into possession of the legend; little here and Q little there he'd been revealed to her until ahe knew the traditional curse by heart.
 Therc was a-timc when she had laughed It's import to scorn, but of late years she tion.
 A fortnight after parting from Arthur Q note was handed her by servant. It was from her lover, and stated that he had per- fectcd his plans for leaving for the mlnes, and that ho would be st the entrance to the park from the highway with q carriage for her on the morrow. '1n the afternoon, dearest" he had written, sI will come there is no need of me asking you to be punctual in meeting me at the iron wicket near tho chase ct three o'clock. as know you will not fail.''
 Fail! No, not for worlds, yet q strange yearning for the dark old Hall, a longing to be roconciled to the gray-haircd father, took possession of her. But more bitter than the waters of Mara came the prompt ings of pride and wounded fiiial affection It is utterly useless to grow morbid over impossibilities. She must bow to the rcd of heartless destiny, and go unpardoned and unloved.
 The morning daWned at last that closed the long, nervous sennight of waiting.
 Miriam woke from 8 terrible dream of death, and in an agony of doubt and terror she sprang from her couch. ''It was but a dream," she said, smiling faintly to her scared reflection in tho mirror, ''but Q dream" Yet she could not help but think that even dreams were significant some- times. She dared not mention it to Peggy; for that crcdulous creature would, with her Irish propensities for the mysterious, interpret a terrible revelation, no doubt And the yawning mines, the black pits, and the black-covered hearse of her night vision would be all but dire realities by the timo Clarkson would be done with them. She must not dwell on this; she must prepare for her flight. Her face assumed Gn ashen hue and her eyes dilated as she thought of this the last day for her within the hall as it's heiress.
 Disinheritance would be her doom. That was what had fallen to tho others; those that had gone befora her, and whose portraits she had so often seen in the gallery.
 Oh! yes. She must needs pay visit to her kindred of the silent room, doubly her AAiiANA SU AoS3 ASA tAiO uStI uou dII1Vcu aI last that another child of the PerciyAs was ready to depart from tho drowning shadows of Heatherleigh. How many sad hearts had gone from beneath it's roof, with the day of wrath treasured up against them.
 ''1f itm be, it must" she said, bitterly, as she walked the shadowy, silent length of the low gallery alone an hour before her departure, taking a last vieW of the re- verscd faces, hung in line ''like SO many gibbettcd souls," sho murmured. "I can not help being that eldest child,' neither am l to blame for tho curse of an ancestor falling to hapess posterity. Ahl you dear, proud one,' she exclaimed, with tremor of anguish in her tones, as shc turned the last portrait of the doomed to the light "You were youngest child, poor Allen! and whero arc you to-day? An! my fair, noblc-browcd relative, I fancy some ono will stand hero some day and ask that same question concerning me; perhaps not so very far hence, either.
 "Alas aiasl that am one Of youW she exclaimed, wildly. What thing love is to win us all away from our ancestral halls into so-callcd mcsallianccs, bringing down