Sacramento daily record-union. [volume] (Sacramento [Calif.]) 1875-1891, 1890-05-31
The old woman led us across the church.

uHSiS udu uccu ueSCrlUluS 10 Inc the prev
Gus evening, bright, saucy-eyed servin
girl.
cts mound next against buttress,
said the old crone as we picked our wa,
amidst the graves along the wall of TIL
church. "The third buttress from tn
end. The old gentleman used to come ant
lean his arm against the buttress and cry
We were close to the third buttress. NJ
uncle took off his hat, and the sprins
breeze played in his few thin white hairs
Only against the third buttress Their,
was no mound, but big altar-tomb il
good repair, with the dates 1889, 1899
1901, 1903 freshly repainted
Leaning on my arm, my uncle stood 81
lent, trembling slightly. His eyes wer,
fixed upon the old woman, who was look
ing puzzled.
"Fve come to poor Miss Jessy's grave Sc
often," she said meditatively "No; thi,
one"-she pointed to the altar-tomb-"wa.
always here. 1t is the one next to this"
She led us on to the next buttress
There was little chantry door near it.
NO." she said again; sit was not here
by the door. 1t must have been the Other
way, the second. No, 'twasn't the second
| know. Perhaps twas the fourth
GLOW long is it since you came to Mrs
Morgan's grave? ~ asked my uncle. He
had put on his hat.
The old dame shook her head.
~ used to come very often. sir, at first
she answered slowly. But the last time
well, sir, tits many years ago. But
she resumed, more quickly, I'm sure
han't forgotten. fits not by the fourth
buttress it must be by the fifth, for I'm
near certain 'twasn't the second twas by
"She has forgotten, Bob,' said my uncle
gently. 'Let us CO."
So we returned to the carriage.
Taking last look at the gray old
church my uncle sighed, "Poor Jessy p
and then we drove away.
In my letters home | said nothing
about our visit to Northbrook. | had nc
instructions to that effect from my uncle,
but could divine the old gentleman's
wishes.
However, as l had anticipated, his visit
to Northbrook did him no good He be-
came restless, and before the end of the
next week we returned home His ar
rival there entirely upset him. After
dinner he expressed wish to be alone,
and SO we left him by the dining-room
fire. At half-past eleven, having neither
seen nor heard anything of him, we be-
came anxious and went to seek him.
We found him in the chair in which we
had left him, apparently unable to rise.
He was pale and very agitated and gave
US to understand that something had hap
pened which he was unable to explain.
But he was annoyed at our having come.
We were naturally alarmed and persuaded
him to spend the next day in bed and to
see the doctor. What had happened we
were never able to find out, but it was
some time before the old gentleman left
his room. When he was a little better
his old friend, the Dowager Countess Of
K sent him an invitation to spend a
fortnight with her in Warwickshire
The prospect of the visit cheered him
wonderfully. The invitation was accepted
and he and I, week later, went down to
the old Countess's.
We must have been in Warwickshire
about ten days when it happened that one
afternoon our conversation fell upon the
subject Of recent murder in a certain
noble French family. All our little party
were that afternoon assembled on the ter
race, sitting under the shade of the trees
whose foliage spread above us dark against
the deep-blue sky, for it was now high
summer. Many things were said about the
murder, and someone remarked how dread.
full it was that it should be possible for a
man at the end of long, innocent and
honorable life, to commit so great crime.
The old Countess shrugged her shoul
ders.
"a great crime at the end of an limo
cent and honorable life p she remarked in
credulously. "You young people believe
in it? | dare say you do. The world
grows ignorant apace since you have al
gone crazy about education. And yor
young folks know nothing about great
crimes. A mans great crime is committed
before he is one and twenty"
Some of us protested.
"Fiddle-de-dee," retorted the Countess
''What do you know?-you children Dc
you notice, my boy"-this, giving me g
tap with her fan-"that your uncle say:
nothing?"
Because" answered my uncle slowly
II agree with you, Countess. A man:
great crime is committed before he is one
and twenty"
And how the old noblewoman looked al
him and nodded to herself! Half an houl
later, she and / happening to be left alone
together. she asked me:
Bobby, did you ever hear of one Jessy
Gwynne
l answered little reticently that hat
hard oh la,
"Hm" remarked the old woman. with
a look that seemed to look me through anC
through.
81 believe" l explained, "that my great
uncle was once upon time in love will
her, and that it came to nothing. Tha
was all"
'Yes-that was ALL" remarked tn,
Countess in an odd tone. BOBBY" sh,
added, "you are a baby. You are al
babies now, think. Did you ever read
III NY guere d'homme assez habile pou
connaitre tout lie NAL quill fait'? I dar,
say not. 1t is in book you young people
don't read"
When | went up stairs that evenin,
with my uncle to his room he sat down, a
he generally did, to talk little befor
asking me to wind up his watch and t,
assist him to undress.
"a wonderful woman, Lady K, Bob,
he began. "There are no women like tina
now. A wonderful woman Did you thi
afternoon remark that observation of her
about great crimes, Bob? ?"
81 did," replied, ''but l cannot say tina
| understood it."
profound, Bob! Profound" saidt oil,
man." "Nine crimes out of ten, nephew
spring from mems ignorances and hoy
great are young peoples ignorances Tha
is what young people never know; ant
there's the rub, Bob. That is what lead
them into their great crines-wrong
against fathers and mothers, those VIII
love them, and those whom they love best
You are fve-and-twenty, Bob. Your grea
crime has been committed, or you vii
never commit one. Take an old mans ad
vice look wali around vn,, ord f,1 o,,,