The Sunday morning news. [volume] (Jersey City [N.J.]) 1886-1891, 1890-08-10
MYRA'S SACRIFICE.
A Midnight Tragedy Whiph Win
Never be Explained in This World
by M1ss. II. LovETr CAMERON.


HttS Issue.
And added to al this, Lady Hilton had
only Just confessed to him that Of which
he had never Ind the rcInotest suspicion,
namely, that she had loved himself and
him only, eyer Stree she had been -. and
that it was only when Bernard had gone
away that she had nlAArriedin her despair
the first good man who had asked for her
hand in marriage, who happened to be
poor old Sir Thomas Hiltoni
1t was but d small and insignificant
drawback to all these attractions that
there should DO small rosy checked,
curly headed Sir Tom, aged 0, who went
to bed carly, remained for the greater
part Of the day discreetly out of sight
under the care Of his nurse, and made his
presence in no way unpleasantly con
spicuous to his future stepfather.
Yes, certainly, Mr.. Bernard Harding
was much to be envied individual, and
should have been a perfectly happy man.
Yet, was he?
Why was it that at that very moment
as he stood still and looked over the
1noonlit country, every acre Of which was
familiar to him from his boyhood, why
was it that something, he knew not
what, came flashing back with headlong
haste out of the dim vistas of that past
which his Constance had said was to re-
main forgotten for evermore, a some
thing which set his pulses beating and
brought with it so vivid and acute sense
Of reality, that involuntarily his bps
parted and there fell from them one
word, clearly and distinctly as cry for
help into the silence of the summer
night: ssMyraw
Then instantly, as if in answer to the
word, calne low moeking laugh to the
right of him, down somewhere IN the
darkness Of the meadow, dying away and
away in front of him along the road into
the strange semblance Of family echoed
words:
! eMyra is dead-dead- -deadr' the weird
waiiing voice that had begun in laugh
ter seemed to say, and frem afar hol-
low whisper out of the shadows repeat
ed yet once again:
"Dead-dead-dead~
The horse started violently, and swerv-
ed across the road.
, For a moment Demands heart stood
still, half paralyzed with an unknown
fear.
4 "Ah, am a foolr' he muttered II
must be strangely nervous tonight to
twist the cry Of a screech owl into human
words. and such words. tools
/ He shivered little and dug his heels
into his horses TANKS.
+ For some minutes he trotted on quick
" down the road; soon he almost Laughed
himself out Of that vivid Hash of resar-
rected memory. why should that have
risen again to haunt me tonight Of all
nights OF my lifess he mnrmured. For
so many years l have forgotten it, why
need I have remembered it nowf'
He was riding along straight fat
mile Of road at the foot of the hills. On
either side Of the hedge lay the hop gar
dens. In one the hops had been half
gathered, and the cleared ground was
numbered with fallen poles and stripped
binders. On the other side the hop poles,
garlanded with bloom and graceful foil
age, stood erect and dark in long serried
ranks Of strength and beauty.
Fantastic lights and shadows shot
through them, investing them with all
sorts Of strange shapes and similitudes.
Here company of giants seemed nod
ding their heads together, there despair
ing maiden tossed her long arms wildly
to and fro, or again, a group Of bent
backed old women crouched and chat
tered together under their mantling dra-
peries. And all the color was drenched
out of them by the witchery of the night.
so that there was nothing to be seen save
the wilderness of silver in clear relief
against the blaclness of ebony.
4 Suddenly, as he rode along, the figure
/ Of woman sprang forth out of the deep
shadow of the hedge, and stood in the
road before him.