Fort Worth weekly gazette. [volume] (Fort Worth, Tex.) 1882-1891, 1890-08-28

ing still-suppose we row in and ask hin
il he knows the bunohback lord by
sight?''
They followed this suggestion, and 9
few minutes later rowed up to the stock
ade where Juan was sitting, fishing rod
in hand, with his mandolin lying on one
of the props of the stockade beside him
Juan smiled politely as they APP
preached, laid down his rod, and went
to the landing stage to receive them.
They addressed him in English, but
Juan only shook his head, grinned out OF
his white teeth, and gave them TO under
srand that he knew no English. Then
Mr.. Whitmore tried him in French, but
again Juan shook his head, and began
to tell them volubIy in Spanish that that
language was his native and only
tongue.
Neither Mr.. Whitmore nor the detect
Ives understood Spanish, and therefore
If seemed hopeless to further question
Juan; Mr.. Whitmore pointed 10 Juan q
mandolin, and the black browed
swarthy rogue instantly accepted this as
an invitation to perform before them.
He took up his poetic-looking instru-
ment, to which long and varied colored
narrow ribbons of deep rich hues were
1
over his shoulder, began to troll forth in
his full meIodious voice some love ditty
of mis- romantic land.
His song WIS well worth listening to,
and the whole appearance of the man
was SO picturesque and striking that Mr..
Whitmore considered the performance
quite worth the shilling which he flung
at Juan s feet, who picked it up, grinned
and took off his tall pointed hat and
| seemed perfectly satisfied with the i'm
preston he had made.
''He's fine looking fellow - said
Whitmore as they rowed again into the
open, "but he looks bit of a scamp;
wonder who he belongs to?''
| "Probably to some Spanish merchant
| who ls settled III town. answered one
| of the detectives; ''these people take
| these small places down the river for the
summer months.
"Most likely,' answered Whitmore
| carelessly. and then the subject was
| dropped; and the little riverside villa
where Gerard, Lord Gilmore, had sat so
often of late soon faded from their view.
And all their researches and inquiries
| proved as vain as this row up the river.
Hundreds of people knew Lord Gilmore
by sight, but no one knew anything
| about his movements on the goth of
April, the day he disappeared, except
| Mrs. May and the servants of the Rock
cry, and the stationmaster. Nothing
would shake the stationmaster in the
statement which he had made, that he
had seen and spoken 10 Lord Gilmore on
the evening of the 29;h of April, at a
few minutes before II CLOCK and that
he had seen him enter the train.
eff he left in the train, then it is no
use looking for him at Maidenhead, -
the detective decided, and therefore
quilted the place. and search along
the whole line of railway from Maiden
head TO town was al once instituted.
In the meanwhile poor May, unable
any longer to endure the misery of her
positio turned IN her loneliness and
wretchedness to the father whom she
had forsaken. To the intense surprise
of John Summers, therefore, about a
fortnight after the disappearance of Gill
more, the rural postman one morning
delivered at his house a letter IL his
daughters handwriting
John s rugged brown facs flushed
scarlet the moment his eyes fell upon it,
and then he drew out his horn speUtacles
and having with trembling hands ad-
justed them, began to read the piteous,
heart broken words:
''My dearest father: Perhaps you
will be too angry with me to read this
yet if you knew all the misery and trou-
BILE 1 am in, think you would not be. l
know behaved very badly in leaving
you as did, but Gerard-my poor, poor
Gerard-gaVe me no choice. We
were engaged to be married when
Gerard lett Scarley, and then when |
he became Lord Gilmore, he wrote to me
to meet him in secret, and said he would |
keep his promise and marry me, but that |
our marriage must be kept n secret from |
every one for the present. I prayed |
very hard to tell you, but he would not |
consent, and at last l gave in. We were |
married in London at Il church all right, |
and then at another church, because |
Gerard had been brought up Roman
Catholic. 1 loved him very dearly, dear |
father, and we were very happy, though |
fretted about you, and about people |
not knowing that we were married. But |
the dreadful part of my news is yet to
come. A fortnight ago-ou the 29th of |
April-Gerard told me he was going up to
London to a dance which a bachelor friend |
of his intended to give on that night. l |
forgot to tell you that he has bought q
house for me down here, and that he
generally lives here, but he has rooms in
London where he stays when he goes
there. Dear father, he started in time
to go to this dance, and l have never
seen or heard of him again.. All sorts of
cruel things are said about his disappear
snce because people do not know that we
are really married, and some think he
has just run away and left me- But
do not think this because he has a good
think something dreadful has
happened to him, and / am IN utter
misery about him. Dear father, will
you forgive me aud come to me in my
great, great trouble? 1 will not write
any more now for l am broken down
with grief; but hoping soon to hear from
you and see you, remain your affection
ate daughter, May"
John Sumner read this sorrowful letter
twice, and then sank down on his knses
in solemn heartfelt prayer. 1t had been
more bitter than death to him, the
thought that his child was living life
of shame, and the knowledge of her
swept a great black cloud
from his soul. Long he knelt there,
pouring forth in untutored language his
and gratitude; praying as
ne had sometimes prayed when in great