Waterbury evening Democrat., 1889-01-09
CHAPTER xxx.

The next morning was fine and still, one of those lovely autumn days of which we get four or five ill the course of a season. After breakfast Harold Quaritch strolled down his garden, stood himself against a gate to the right of Dead Mans Mount, and looked at the scene. All about him, their foliage yell lowing to it's fall, were the giant oaks, which were the pride of the country side, and so quiet was the air that not leaf upon them stirred. The only sounds that reached his ears were the tappings of the nut matches as they sought their food in the rough cran- nies of the bark and the occasional falling of & rich ripe acorn from its lofty place on to the frosted grass beneath. The esunshine shone bright, but with chastened heat, the squir- rels scrambled up the oaks, and high in the blue air, the rocks pursued their path It was beautiful morning, for summer is never more sweet than on its deathbed, and yet it filled him with solemn thoughts. How many autumns had those old trees seen and how many would they still see long after his eyes had lost their sight. And if they were old, how old was the Dead Mans Mount there to his left. Old, indeed! for he had discovered it was mentioned in Doomsday Book, and by that name And what was it--a boundary hill, natural formation, or, as its name i'm plied a funeral barrows He had half mind to dig one day and find out, that is if he could get anybody to dig for him, for the people about Honham were so firmly con- vinced that Dead Mans Mount was haunted, reputation which it had owned from time immemorial, that nothing would have per suaded them to touch it.
 He contemplated the great mound care fully without coming to any conclusion, and then looked at his watch. It was quarter to 10, time for him to start for the castle for his days shooting, so he got his gun and cartridges, and in due course arrived at the castle, to find George and several myr- midons in the shape of beaters and boys already standing in the yard.
 "Please, colonel, the squire hopes you'll go in and have glass of something before you start" said George; so accordingly he vent not to 'have a glass of something," but on the chance of seeing Ida. In the vestibule he found the old gentleman busily engaged in writing an enormous letter.
 "Halloo colonel" he hallooed, without getting up, "glad to see you. Excuse me for few moments, will youa I want to get this off my mind. Here, Ida! Ida! Ida!" he shouted, there's Col Quaritch."
 'Good gracious father" said that young lady, arriving ill hurry, ''you are bringing the house down." and then she turned round and greeted Harold. It was the first time that they had met since the eventful evening described a chapter or two back, so the occa- sion might be considered little awkward, at any rate he felt it so.
 "How do you do, Col. Quaritchr' she said, quite simply, giving him her hand. There was nothing ill the words, and yet he felt that he was very welcome. For when a wo- man really loves man there is about her an atmosphere of softness and tender meaning which cannot be mistaken. Sometimes it is nr,1x +lN e. himself, but more generally is to be discerned by any person of ordinary shrewdness very short course of observation in general society will convince tho reader of the jus tlce of this observation, and when once he gets to know the signs of the weather he will probably light upon more affairs of the heart than were ever meant for his investi- gation.
 This softness, or atmospheric influence, or subdued glow of affection radiating from light within, was clearly enough visible in Ida that morning, and certainly it made our friend the colonel unspeakably happy to see 1t.
 "Are you fond of shootingg, she asked, presently.
 "Yes, very, and have been all my life"
 "Are you good shota" she asked again.
 II call that a rude question:" he answered, smiling.
 "Yes 1t is, but want to know"
 'Well," said Harold, 1T suppose that am pretty fair, that is at rough shooting; Ihave never had much practice at driven birds and that kind of sport"
 ''I am glad of that.'
 Why, it does not much matter. One goes out shooting for the sport of the thing"
 "Yes, l know, but MT. Edward Cossey,n and she shrunk yisibly as she uttered the name, lis coming, and he is very good shot and very conceited about it, I want you to beat him if you can-will you tryG'
 "Well," said Harold, "I don't at all like shooting against man. It is not sportsman like, you know; and, besides, If Mir. Cossey is a crack shot, I dare say that I shall be mo- where; but will shoot as we'll as can."
 Do you know, it is very feminine but I would give anything to see you beat him" and she nodded and laughed, whereupon Harold Quaritch vowed in his heart that if it in him lay he would not disappoint her.
 At that moment Edward Cossey's fast trot- ting horse drew up at the door with pro- digious crunching of gravel, and Edward himself entered, looking very handsome and very pale. He was admirably dressed, that Is to say, his shooting clothes were beauti- fully made and very new looking, and so