The Dickinson press., 1890-03-22

upon the child. and, beating at the fire
with my hands, mercifully succeeded in
extirguishing it before it really got hold.
My wrists were so badly burned that
they had to be wrapped up in wool for
long time afterwards, but with the ex-
ception of a single burn upon her throat,
little Stella Carson was not much hurt.
This is oil that remember about the
Christmas tree at the hall. What hap
pened afterwards is lost to me, but to
this day in my sleep I often see little
Stella's sweet face and the stare of terror
in her dark eyes as the fire ran up her
arm. This, however, is not wonderful,
for I had, humanity speaking, saved the
life of her who was destined to be my
wife.
The next event which I can recall
clearly is that my mother and three
brothers all fell ill of fever, owing, as
afterwards learned, to the poisoning of
our well by some evil minded person,
who threw dead sheep into it.
It must have been while they were i'll
that Squire Carson came one day to the
vicarage. The weather was still cold,
for there was fire in the study, and !
sat before the fire writing letters on
piece of paper with pencil, while my
father walked up and down the room,
talking to himself. Afterwards I knew
that he was praying for the lives of his
wife and children. Presently a servant
came to the door and said that some one
wanted to see him.
"It is the squire, SIR" said the maid,
land he says he particularly wishes to
see you."
every WE'LL" answered my father,
wearily, and presently Squire Carson
came in. His face was white and hag-
gard, and his eyes shone so fercely that
was afraid of him.
"Forgive me for intruding on you at
such time, Quatermain," he said, in
hoarse voice, "but tomorrow leave
this place forever, and I wish to speak
to you before 1 go-indeed, must speak
to you"
"Shall 1 send Allan away?" said my
father, pointing to me.
"No, let him bide. He will not under
stand." Nor, indeed, did at the time,
but remembered every word, and in
after years their meaning grew on me.
"First tell me-" he went on, chow are
they?' and he pointed upwards with his
thumb.
"Myw and two of the boys are be-
yond hope" my father answered, with a
groan. 81 do not know how it will go
with the third. The Lords will be done!"
1.-THE Lords will be done," the squire
echoed, solemnly. "And now, Quater-
main, listen-my wife's gone"
"Gone!" my father answered. "Who
with?"
"With that foreign cousin of hers. 1t
seems from letter she left that she al
ways cared for him, not for me. She
married me because she thought me q
rich English MILFORD. Now she has run
through my property, or most of it, and
gone. I don't know where. Luckily,
she did not care to cucumber her new
career with the child; Stella is left to
me-"
"That is what comes of marrying q
papist, Carson" said my father. That
was his fault; he was as good and
charitable man as ever lived, but he
was bigoted. "What are you going to
do-follow her?'
He laughed bitterly in answer.
"Follow her" he said; "why should l
follow her? If fImet her Knight kill her
or him, or both of them, because of the
shame they have brought upon my child s
name. No, never want to look upon
her face again. Itrusted her, I tell you,
and she has betrayed me. Let her go
and find her fate. But am going too.
l am weary of my life."
"surely, Carson, surely" said my
father, "you do not mean"-
"No, no; not that. Death comes soon
enough. But will leave this civilized
world that is living lie. We will go
right away into the wilds, my child and
I, and hide our shame. Where? don't
know where. Anywhere so long as there
are no white faces, no smooth, educated
tongues"
"You are mad, Carson, my father an
swered. "How will youlive? How will
you educate Stella? Be man and live
it down."
II will be a man, and will live it
down, but not here, Quatermain. Edu-
cation! Was not shc-that woman who
was my wife-was not she highly educa-
ted?-the cleverest woman in the coun-
try forsooth. Too clever for me, Quater-
main-too clever by half. No, no, Stella
shall be brought up in different school;
if it be possible, she shall forget her very
name. Good-by, old friend, good-by for
ever. Do not try to find me out, hence
forth shall be like one dead to you, to
you and all knew" and he was gone.
~'Mad," said my father, with o heavy
sigh. ellis trouble has turned his brain.
But he will think better Of it."
At that moment the nurse came hur-
rying in and whispered something In his
ear. My fathers face turned deadly PALE
He clutched at the table to support HIM
self, then staggered from the room. My
mother was dying.
1t was some days afterwards, do not
know exactly how long, that my father
took me by the hand and led me upstairs
into the big room that had been my mo-
theirs bedroom. There she lay, dead in
her coffin, with flowers in her hand.
Along the wan of the room were ar
ranged three little white beds, and on
each of the beds lay one of my brothers.
They all looked as though they were
asleep, and they all had flowers in their
hands. My father told me to kiss them
all, because should not see them any
more, and did so, though was very
frightened. 1 did not know why. Then
he took me in his arms and kissed me.
"The Lord hath given" he said, "and
the Lord hath taken away; blessed be
The name of the Lord"
cried very much, and he took me
downstairs, and after that have only a
confused memory Of men dressed in
black carrying heavy burdens towards
the gray churchyard.
Next comes vision of great ship
| and wide tossing waters, Nv father