Waterbury evening Democrat., 1889-01-22

allow me again to assure you that l consider you both e cur and a blackguard, and to wish you good morning. And he bowed himself out, leaving Edward Cossey in curious con- dition of concentrated rage.
 CHAPTER XXXVIII.
 THE COLONEL GOES TO SLEEP.
 The condition of mind which could induce a peaceable, Christian natured individual, who had moreover in the course of his career been mixed up with enough bloodshed to have acquired a thorough horror of it, to offer to fight duel is difficult to picture. Yet this condition had been reached by Har- old Quaritch.
 Edward Cossey had wisely enough de- clined to entertain the idea, but the colonel had been perfectly in earnest about it. Odd as 1t may appear in the latter end of this Nineteenth century, nothing would have given him greater pleasure than to pit his life against that of his unworthy rival. Of course, it was foolish and wrong, but human nature is the same in all ages, and in the last extremity we fall back by instinct on those methods which men have from the beginning adopted to save themselves from intolerable wrong and dishonor, or, be it admitted, to bring the same upon others
 But Cossey utterly declined to fight. As
 
 50 there was an end of it. Indeed, in after days the colonel frequently looked back upon this episode in his career with shame, not un- mingled with amusement, rehecting when he did so on the strange potency of that passion which can bring men to seriously entertain the idea of such extrayagances.
 We'll, there was nothing more to be done. He might, 1t is true, have seen Ida, and work ing upon her love and natural inclinations, have tried to persuade her to cut the knot by marrying him off hand. Perhaps he would have succeeded, for in such affairs women are apt to find the arguments advanced by their lovers weighty and well worthy of con- sideration. But he was not tie man to adopt such course. He did the only thing that he could do-answered her letter by saying that what must be must be- He had learned that on the day subsequent to his interview with his rival, the squire had written to Edward Cossey, informing him that a decided answer would be given to him on Christmas day, and that thereon all vexatious proceedings on the part of that gentlemans lawyers had been stayed for the time He could now no longer doubt what that answer would be There was only one way out of the trouble, the way that Ida had made up her mind to adopt.
 So he set to work to make his preparations for leaving Honham and this country for
 
 put Molehill upon their books to be sold or let on lease, and also to various influential friends to obtain introductions to the leading men in New Zealand. But these matters did not take up all his time, and the rest of 1t hung heavily on his hands. He mooned about the place until he was tired He tried to occupy himself in his garden, but 1t is weary work sowing crops for strange hands to reap, and so he gave 1t up.
 Somehow the time wore on until at last it was Christmas eve; the eve, too, of the fatal day of Idas decision. He dined alone that night, as usual, and shortly after dinner some waits came to the house. and began to sing their cheerful carols outside. The carols did not chime in at all well with his condition of mind, and he sent five shillings out to them, with a request that they would go away, as he had a headache.
 Accordingly they went, and shortly after their departure the great gale, for which that night is still famous, began to rise. Then he fell to pacing up and down the quaint old oak paneled parlor, thinking until his brain ached. The hour was at hand-the evil was upon him and her whom he loved. Was there no way out of it-no possible wayf Alasl there was but one way, and that a golden ono; but where was the money to come fromi He had 1t not, aud as land stood 1t was impossible to raise 1t. An, if only that great treasure which old Sir James de la Molle had hid away and died rather than reveal could be brought to light now, in the hour of his house's sorest needl But the treasure was very mythical, and if 1t had ever really existed, it was not now to be found. He went to his dispatch box and l tookfrom 1t the copy be had made of the l entry in the Bible, which had been in Sir 1 James pocket when he was murdered in the court yard. The whole story was . very 1 strange one. Why did the brave old man wish that his Bible should be sent to his son, ] and why did he write that somewhat pecu- 1 liar message in iti
 Suppose that Ida was right, and that 1t I contained cipher or cryptograph which l would give 8 clew to the whereabouts of the 1 treasure. If so, it was obvious that it would | be one of the simplest nature. A man con- 1 fined by himsen in dungeon and under ina- mediate sentence of death would not have bean likely to pause to invent anything comphcat- ed. It would, indeed, be curious that he should have invented anything at all under such circumstances, and when he could have % little hope that the riddle would be solved. But, on the other hand, his position was des. perate; he was quite surrounded by foes; l there was no chance of his being able to con- vey the secret in any other way, and he l might have done 60.
 Harold placed the piece of paper upon the mantelpiece and, sitting down in an arm chair opposite, began to contemplate it earn estly, ss indeed he had often done before. In ease the reader should not remember it's exact wording, it is repeated here. It ran: Do not gr!eve for me, Edward, my son, that am thus suddenly and wickedly done to death by rebel murderers, for naught happeneth but according to Gods will And now farewell Edward. till we shall meeb in heaven. My money have hid, and on ac- FOR SALE.