The weekly Union times. [volume] (Union C.H., South Carolina) 1871-1894, 1890-02-07
4; XXI. NEW SERIES.
was slain was there, secreted in the

closet.
You went down into the cellar. Your
feet stood above his buried remains
But you knew it not.
On the night of that dreadful storm,
last August, Mason Belmont came to
that house for shelter. 1 admitted
him, and knew him.
l was ordered to go to my room.
There was that in my fathers demeanor
that saw, that the visitor did not see.
1t troubled me. Never had seen him
look so woliish.
came back to the stairs, and listen
ed. l heard him Hercely rcproaching
your father for his misfortunes.
1 went to bed, but could not sleep.
The atmosphere of tho whole house
seemed charged with violence and
crime.
/ rose in the night, and partially
o, God forgive my wretched, mis-
guided father! 1 learned of his awful
crime.
Spare me the painful recital of all
that 1 saw and heard in those hideous
hours
At the peril of my own life (for
knew that the murderer would have
struck mo dead had he detected me), /
saw him burying the corpse of his vic
tim; 1 saw him sccreting the money.
And he never, to the moment of his
death, suspected that 1 knew aught
| it.
Discovery was threatened, when he
learned that Edgar Van Wyck had
! guided Mason Belmont to the house.
| Whether Edgar at any time suspected
hn / II - L L. -.
lence as to the presence of your father
in that house on that night was bought
by the promise of my hand.
What was to do? To live with the
dreadful knowledge that / had was
hard enough; was L also to see my
father go to the hangman?
That might have been the penalty OF
refusal of Edgar. = - -
Shall l speak of the daily aud night
ly horror of dwelling beneath that
roof since that August night? You
! may conjecture it; annot tell it.
Save for the tragic fate Of the un-
happy being who perished in the de-
struction of the house, cannot regret
that it has been swept out OF existence
To me it wo lid ever be place of
horrors.
Now you know all. You know the
life l have lately lived, the crushing
burdens / have borne. You know why
l have avoided you, why I fly from you
now.
Need I say more? Would you wish
for morep
Well, let me go on. You are large
of soul; you are generous far beyond
the power Of most men.
Will you still urge me? Do you re-
me that. Sm %ish nh tfoss sea assthso 81 sosss! ihs!
I qdences, aimentp should .olier no
Ka6dall Belmont, stop and thinkl
You come Of a proud and wealthy
ancestry. In the city where you live,
you are, or will be, known of all men.
You belong to its business, to its So
ciety; high honors must be waiting for
you in coming years.
Your wife must be one that Won arc
not ashamed of; whoever she be, her
history will be examined, questions
will be asked and answered about her.
And If l could occupy that place,
think how the question, "Who was
she?" must be answered by the hor-
riblc but truthful words, "She is the
daughter of the man who murdered
his father for money, and buried him
in the cellar!'
Because the story mast become
! known. Once 1 thought that would
| keep it forever hidden in my breast.
But you see why 1 am compelled; 10 tell
| you; and now, Others must know it.
| You must recover the remains and
give them Christian burial at your
hcme; the whole shocking story will
Or, if not, how would it be with
yourself? Would you Ike to be face
to face, for life, with the woman whose
father murdered yours? Could you
endure that?
No! There is no escape from the
conviction that, whoever else may be
joined together, we two must be for
ever sundered.
Farewell, then, forever! You have
tried to make me happy, but it cannot
be. May God reward you as you de-
| serve. I love you too we'll to make
you wietched JEssICA.