The weekly Union times. [volume] (Union C.H., South Carolina) 1871-1894, 1889-10-25
CHAPTER XXI.
A DASTARDLY DEED.

A DAsTARDLY DEED.
One would fancy, perhaps, that the
startling contrast in her surrounding
! to those of two or three hours previous
| ly; the rough, lonely by-path, over
shadowed by the night, the gloom O
tho Woodland through which her roaG
! aNsuburb of the city in tested by tranips
would have intimidated my lady Cora
| and brought her to her senses, before
she had progressed two rods from hel
domain.
IL any one entertained such an idea,
it is evident that they had no concep.
tion of the indomitable pluck of nv
lady Cora. Had the intense grit been
applied for good, she would have been
great woman whom the world would
have had reason to bless; as it was, she
syas bad, and her influence was for the
worst.
With never q thought of fear or a
single nervous qualm, she drew hel
dark cloak about her, and hurried along.
keeping close to the low bushes that
fringed the path.
About midway of her course, her
quick ear detected the sound of foot.
steps approaching from the opposite
direction, and not wishing to be seen,
she stepped aside into the shrubbery,
and effectually concealed herself be-
hind clump of aldeIs.
She had to wait some time, for the
advancing footsteps were slow and lag.
ging. At last, when she parted the
leaves of her ambush and peered
through, she discerned the dim, bent
hgure OF man stumbling along the
middle of the road. and heard deep.
toned voice mumbling inarticulate
words.
"Some drunken countryman," she
told herself.
Little did she dream that the strao-
gler, who had passed on into the
shadows of the night, was her father,
old Jean Leonard, wandering in his
ha!f-crazed way toward the place she
had left.
Wholly ignorant of this significant
fact, she regained the path, and made
up for lost time by increasing tho ra.
pidity of her steps. She progressed
without further interruption, until
broad belts of lamp light intersected
her way, and upon glancing up to in
vestigate the cause, she found herself
nearing a small wayside inn, Of decided
iy forbidding appearance.
If she could have avoided CROSSING
the belts of light, she would gladly
have done SO; but it was out of the
question, owing to the dense woodland
that at this point bordered both sides
OF the road. Therefore, keeping as far
as possible from the den, from whose
open doors and windows loud voices
and snatches of song escaped to the
vulgar twang of banjo badly played,
she hastened on, until, with a start.
she became conscious that she was fol-
lowed.
A swift glance over her shoulder as
sured her that such was the case. A
big, brosd-shouldered ruffian had seen
her fit past the inn, and was shambling
along in her wake.
Naturally her first impulse was to
take to her heels and fly.
Upon second thoughts, however, she
recognized the utter absurdity of such
q proceeding. II she fed, the rascal
in all probability would outrun her.
and oven il she succeeded in eludine
him, whittier should she go for shelter
and protection, stranger as she was to
the district2
Besides, il she were to demand as
sistance at any of the farm houses she
would be obliged to disclose her iden-
tity, and defeat for time, perhaps,
the all important project she had in
hand. Under the circumstances, she
suddenly determined to dare the in
evitable and face the music.
Consequently she turned about in
the path, halted, and waited for her
pursuer to catch up with her, which
the fellow lost no time in doing.
When he paused close before her, Cora
demanded in daredevil tone, which
for moment staggered the mani
Look herel Are you following
me?"
Il was travelling along the same
road was the reply, delivered with 0