The Irish standard. [volume] (Minneapolis, Minn. ;) 1886-1920, 1889-07-27


which only remember for its elegance as
fit setting for the almost divine beauty OF
my dear dead friend, as I call her to mind
Yes. shall know for myself if these I'M
canny tales be true. One bright CLEAN Of
hope in regard to my visit of commission
is that the old housekeeper, Peggy Clark
son and her husband. are yet occupying the
servants quarters at the Hall. Iremember
her odd but honest v1sage, and ii she re-
members me as kindly as do her, shall
be well taken care of, atany rate She was
once very fond Of me as ''me Leddy's guest"
and am in hope concerning Miriam's por-
trait.
Poor Miriam, in the far-away cottage at
Bayvlew! fancy she is promenading sor-
rowfully and alone, among the late lilies,
and thinking-of me.
l am back again in Cousin Gladys bright
little cottage home. have been several
miles into the country since [ sat in this
uncovered porch and listened to the re
cital of countryside episodes. And have
met with such strange experiences, and
listened to such blood-curdling story, that
I am half persuaded have lost my iden-
tity. Some way feel like crying out with
the old dame who took nap IN the Kings
highway: 'Lauk a mercy, It's none of l."
We do sometimes have adventures that
leave us in doubt as to our individuality.
and to say that am just waking up from
the nightmare of the Heatherleigh visit
would be, perhaps, the correct statement to
make.
Yes, have been there; the fine portrait
of Miriam hanging in the little drawing
room yonder, and which Gladys admires
very much, is silent but magnificent
sponsor, not to be gainsayed by any means.
And now, as my domestic cousin is elbow
deep in the brewing business this fine morn.
ing, let me sit here, where the roses have
all fallen off and been swept away by the
autumn winds, and tell you the story OF
Heatherlegh. I will, however, preface the
story proper by description of my visit and
the appearance of the Hall as it now stands,
knowing, as do, that my friend S tradition,
history and experiences would be unsatls-
factorily given without it.
1t is fitting that the roses have fallen, and
that the scurrylng breeze losses the dry al
der leaves in to my lap. 1t all murMurs With
the tone of the legend, voicing volume OF
bitterness. And the old housekeeper told
me, too, that was why my sorroWlag friend
over the sea was called Miriam. Because
her lot was one of destined woe the chris
tening was Miriam bitterness | confess
that such things rising before US bring the
question of Hamlet out in vivid coloring, as
we watch the merciless wheel Of fortune
crush out the besuty and JOY Of life for
some, when the fault lies generations back.
CHAPTER III.
The tall black chinneys stood out against
the gray October sky like ghostly silhou-
cites, and the evening breeze swept around
the lonely old structure when I arrived at
the Hall. The heavy shadows We're trailing
over the neglected grounds and settling
themselves in scores Of uncanny hooks, and
+ sLivered with nervous dread as put
my hand on the great brass knocker of the
western wing-the servants quarters--and
waited for admittance
Heatherleigh Hall stands desolated. The
building itself, a stupenoous, roomy affair OF
red brick, with great festoons Of the native
English ivy wreath1ng the dark gables, and
running over a goodly portion of the 'front.'
relieving the frowning severity OF the
weather-beaten and time-worn colonnade.
Three great yew trees, black as the
shades OF death, hover over the extreme
western wing, and imagined the evils of
the Hall concen trated their forces IN the
heavy branches in the hours of sunshine,
night on their mission of terror.
The Railways are wide, deep and dark,
and the ponderous doors Of heavy oak
changed ominously after me as slipped
from one apartment to another in awe Of
the mystery.
Yes; I found there was a cruel legend
connected with this once grand old place,
which, for two centuries or more, sheltered
beneath it's ample roof-tree the descend
ants of the proud, hot-headed Percival
house. But under the influence OF an an
cestral malediction, they had dwindled
down and scattered abroad, leaving the old
Hall with but few inmates, finally Sir
Rupert and his daugh ter being the last le-
gitlmate occupants.
Sir Rupert, after the death of his wife,
lived here alone in the great house with his
Inflated daughter, keeping but a few serv-
ants out Of the grand retinue of former
years.
The fewer there We're about him the bet
ter Sir Rupert was satisfied. AS to being
happy, or even halfway joyous, he was