Wood County reporter. [volume] (Grand Rapids [i.e. Wisconsin Rapids], Wis.) 1857-1923, 1891-01-29
a BAG OF DIAMONDS.

MAJ that "Greenwood'' of soul be in sight,
a BAG OF DIAMONDS.
lie had screwed his courage to the stick
ing point.
After all, what good to the old man was
that bag of gemsP What good except to
count over, mark their twinkling facets,
gloat over their value, and laugh at those
who might covet them. Palsied fingers
would shake as the strings of the channels,
skiG treasury were r" pturousl " united, and
a moments life and energy fash into
pinched CHEEK and faded eye, as every eve
ming Che revelation of untold wealth woke
In a withered heart It's only surviving pas
sion. But what good to the world or to
the man was that brief minute of ecstasy?
Was it not paid for a hundredfold by
nights of fear and forebodings of robbery
that made fe perpetual horror? How
often had Paul heard his uncle wake from
his noontide nap with a dreaming cry:
my diamonds, my diamonds! Is that
you, Paul? | thought it was robber."
His thoughts were to come true tonight
Paul tried to pursuade himself that the
treasurS he had set his heart on belonged
to him as much as if they had been lying
in mine, the prize of the first finder.
Then came another thought. His own
poverty and his great love. His uDcle's
ward was as poor as hlmself-poor, proud,
and beautiful. Such flowers only grow In
hard and solitary places, in the nipping
air, and uncrowned even by the obtrusive-
ness Of love. Straight, slender, full-hued
as a rose, with a big soul beaming in her
face and eyes, with meek, silent ways, and
,l,,x, l. i
man 5 brutal tongue. this girl has presented
to the poets mind the image Of power, of
profound passion. of untiring constancy,
such as had enchanted him and transform
ed his life, She had first been shy to him,
then wistfully tender as she pitied him.
1t was in the arbor at the foot of the gar
den where he was seated now. behind the
hedge of clipped yew, that she had nestled
first moment CT Happiness in their deserted
lives.
we must he patient Paul.
Patient, did she say? They mad been
so long enough. His plans were ripe
now, and he was watching the light In his
uncle's window. The old man would
sleep well-he had taken care of that-to-
night. If he awoke? Well, that too was
provided for. Old men are not hard to
smother. The night dark, aud damp,
suited dark thoughts, and the sting of
long oppression, the blind feeling of re-
venge for years of cruel Sights and insults
now came vision of an earthly heaven,
the hope Of a new life beyond the seas.
Yes, will fly with you at any time
ii hol M,
1--WE shall be happy rich or poor"
against that.
The lights in the window of the man
sion had gone out. Even the windows on
the ground floor, which open on the piaz-
"a, are dark, That 1s his uncles room
Paul rises from his feet. The dripping
| josmine spray that strikes MS cneek as be
leaves the little summer-house makes his
heart stop for moment He fears even
the faint crunch Of his footsteps on the
gravel. There is a deg baying in the
distance, as if conscious that thieves are
about.
He steals past the big pear tree at the
| corner of the piazza, and tramping in the
soft mold of the flower garden, where her
| jenquiIs and tulips grow, he crept breath
|
is quickly opened. He thrusts out his
hand to find the knob of the house door,
and, taking latch-key from his vest
pocket, he opens it too. At the end of the
hall Is his uncle's room, The house is 81
lent. But bark! did he hear football? 1t
must be a heavy football that he heard on
the tuick carpet and steady floor of oak.
he had never before explored this old rum
bling dwelling in darkness. 1t was al
ways to him a sad and dreary place; a
place of faded hangings, old-fashioned and
tasteess bric-a-b-ac, paintings insipld in
their furnished frames, and books that
echoed the fancy and opinion Of a dead
| observation-disclosures as yesterday S news.
He has reached his uncle's door. There
he produces dark lantern from under his
cloak. Drawing up the slide for mo-
ment he flashes the cone of light over the
hall and up the staircase. 1t lights up
for moment oaken wainscoting, crowded
hatrack, the antlers overhead, and the
statue of Cupid. pallid as ghost, and
then falls on the staircase. As it does SO
he snaps down the slide, and all is in
darkness again.
Yes, all is dark and quiet. There is no
witness to his crime.
| What would she sal or think if she saw
him covering and crouching at his uncle IS
door? The thought of her rises like d
phantom in his mind; she is all in white,
yet calm, resolute, and beautiful-an
angel in contrast with the inferno of his
own troubled thoughts-and yet it deep
ems his resolution. He is the martyr see
ing the martyrs crown, the soldier with
the reward of his valor before his eyes.
In her purity, her strength, her peace, it
seems to him he would find an escape even
from the torture and shame of his guilty
mind. He would battle himself in her
presence as in flood of cleansing water a
second baptism. Her smile, her truthful
ness, the music of her voice would be a
heaven In which he might bask and rest,
and forget his fraud-yes, even his blood
outlines.
He turns the handle of the door quietly,
gradually, and enters. A delicate scent,
as from the folds of silken garments
strikes his senses. But he does not hear
a single rustic from his uncle's bed The
old man sleeps soundly indeed.
Then he draws up the slide of his
lantern.
So violently, with such trembling agita