The Manning times. [volume] (Manning, Clarendon County, S.C.) 1884-current, 1890-04-23

! hope" saws Dora. Il knew that man
too well to think him capable Of show
; ing any mercy"
aAnd yet that man, as you call him,
YOU would once have earnestly recon-
! iuendeli to me as lcsb:nd.' returns
! Florence, sterHly.
/ -Do not rcproach me now,' exclaims
; Dora; later on you sncll say to me all
: you wish, but now moments are pro-
: co,.s"
/ "You arc right. Something must be
done. Shall 1-shall I speak to Ar
Tillierse."
4 hardly know what to advise"-dis-
ractedlr. "It we give our suspicion
vet fn0 time and opportunity TO battle
and Gtsappoint us. Besides which, we
may be wrong. 1Io may have had moth
ing to 90 With it. and
AT that rate, il secrecy Is 10 be our
| first thought. le: yo;, and me 50 alone
In search OF Sir Adrian
Alone. and al this hour, 10 that aw-
ful rocI.' cxciaiins Dora, reoolllnS
from her.
"Yes. at Observation-Disclosures an
othe< moments delay
-Oh, can not declares Dora, shud-
aerlng Violently.
Then shall 80 alone!'
| As Florence says this, she takes up
her candlestlck and moves quickly to-
ward the door:
ling. But slight interruption occur-
ring at this instant, they are compelled
to wait Tor awhile.
Ethel Villiers. coming into the room
10 make her parting adieNs to Mrs.
Talbot, as she and her father intend
leaving Dext morning. gazes cnxJously
from Florence to Dora, seeing plainly
that there IS something an!ss.
WHIST is its" she asks kindly, going
up to Fioreare.
| ,aiiss I>c''T:a!cn, after nttle hesits-
t1om, eI.c'si::r~,:;! Dy giaAcc AZ Oors's
| te-r!ca,! c>iiItcnance. Ceternc!ne5 on
taking t!.e llsw-cU:ner into their conf
denco.
Ii "a e. word, Biz explains al that
nas tahc:i !.sco. znd their suspicion.
Ethe,. t:i<s.:s: ,&i!ug aeHeatA the hor-
rcr and s,ic.,riso r>@Ge;Cncd Gv the re-
cital, does not lose her self-posscssion.
Il will 60 viii. !on," she volunteers.
@But, let me say, she adds. Il think
YOU are wrong in making this search
without man. If-if indeed we are
still IN time to DC Of any use to poor
Sir Adrian-always sGpposlng he really
| is secreted IN that terrible roon--i DO
| not think any Of Us would be strong
enough to help hin: down the stairs;
and, if he has been slowly starving al
| this time, think how weak he viii be-"
"Oh, what q vrelnts::: picture you
| conjure up" exclaH1l5 Florence, nerv-
! ousfy clssping her hands. BAT you
! are right, and now tell me who you
think can best be depended upon IN
! this crisis"
Z am sure says Ethel, blushing
slightly, but speaking with intense
| earnestness. sthat, If you would not
! mind trusting Captain R;ngwood, he
| would be both safe and useful
| AS this suggestion meets With ap-
| proval, they manage to convey a mes
| sage to the captain, and in very few
| minutes he is with them, and Is made
| acquainted with their hopes and fears.
Silently, cautiously, without any
light, but carrying Two small lamps
| ready for ignition, they 60 down to the
| corridor where is the door that leads to
! the secret staircase
Turning the handle Of this dsof,
! Captain Ringwood discovers that 1t IS
| locked, but, nothing daunted, he pulls
| it so violently backward and forward
! that the lock, rusty with age, gives way
! and leaves the passage beyond open to
them.
Going into the small landing at the
! foot Of the staircase. they close the
door carefully after them, and then.
captain Ringwood producing some
matches. they light the two lamps and
| 60 swiftly, with an1io1sly beating
! hearts, up the stairs.
nothlns iH SGHs rems,ns iU5 but 70 mount the last
| flight Of steps and open the fatal door.
| Theil hearts st this trying moment
almest fail them. They look into one
another's blanched faces. and lock
there in vain for hope. at last, Ring
wood. touching Ethel's arm, says, in a
Come, have courage-sll may YET be
! WE'LL"
He moves toward the stone steps,
and they follow him. Quickly mount
ing them, he lays bis hand upon the
| door, and, afraid to give them any
| more time fc7 reflection or dread OF
what lnay yet be in store for them,
/ throws it open.
at first the feeble light from their
| lamps fails to penetrate the darkness
! of the gloomy apartment. AT the cur
| sory glance, such as they at first cast
| round the room. it appears to be empty.
| Their hearts sink within them. Have
they indeed hoped in vain!
Dora is crying bitterly; Ethel, with
| her eyes fixed upon Ringwood, is read
{ ing her own disappointmen ent in his face,
when suddenly a piercing cry from
| Florence wakes the echoes round them.
She has darted forward, and is kneel-
! ing over something that even now Is
| barely discernible to the others as they
| come nearer to it. 1t looks like a bun
die Of clothes, but, as they stoop over
it, they, too, can sec that it is In reali-
ty 8 human body, and apparently rigid
| in death.
But the shrek that has sprung from
the very soul Of Florence has reached
some still living flbers in the brain Of
this forlorn creature. Slowly and with
difficulty he raises his head. and opens
pair Of fast-glaZing eyes. Mechanic
ally his glance falls upon Florence.
His lips move; a melancholy smile
struggles to show Itself upon his parch-
! ed and blsckened lips;
him, save him! Adrian, look up
speak to me. Oh. Adrian. mako some
sign that you can hear mes
But he makes no sign. His very
! breath seems to have left him Gath
ering him .enderly in her arms, Flor
snce presses his worn and wasted faoe
against her bosom, and pushes back
the hair from his forehead. He Is 50
completely altered, so thorough q
wreck has he become, that it Is indeed
only the eTes Of love thas could recog-
nize him. Els cheeks have fallen in,
and deep h~fjt-*s show themselves.
His beard az SCown. and Is nov
rough az: = -; his hair is un-
combeG, ::;.= = want, despair, and
cruel sth-. ,.:ye blCttod out all
the OIL: -s-,s Of his features His
clothes sfns loosely about him;