The Portland daily press., 1892-12-31


walls were bare, but it was apparently
inhabited, for there were few articles
of furniture-a rickety, spindle legged
table. couple of high backed, worm
eaten chairs and battered horsehair
sofa. In the CRATE, too, burned a small
fire and couple of tall, white candles
in tarnished sconces were on the narrow
mantelshelf.
In the dim light afforded by these
candles and the fire closely scrutinized
the woman who had brought me there.
She was tall and slender, and wore
long russet gown of an old fashioned
cut. but her face was pale and sad, with
sharp. clear cut features, and mass OF
rough, reddish hair was carelessly
twisted into long knot at the nape OF
her neck.
She motioned me to one of the chairs,
taking the other herself. and she now
sat bending over the fire, apparently too
deep in her own bitter reflections to be
conscious of my presence. The express
sion on her thin, worn face was very
sorrowful. and her hands were tightly
+ clinched in her lap. But, though thin
and worn, her face was still lovely, and
as gazed thought how lovely it would
be were the hollows filled out and the
deep lines snoothed away.
Suddenly, with little resolute ges-
ture, she turned toward me and began
to speak in low, rapid tones.
II brought you here because I wanted
to tell you my story. and want your
help if you will give it,"
Then, with voice rising and falling
with varying emotions, and with deep
gray eyes fixed on my face, she told her
sad tale. The beginning was common
place enough-a beautiful, willful girl;
stern, unyielding father; two lovers,
one brave and handsome, the other mo-
rose and unattractive; proposed fight;
sudden death; a broken heart-the last
three were the tragic elements.
"And l saw them carry him by the
nouse--dead," she said, speaking in
strange. dull way, "and for a long time
l think l must have lost my senses
When my father still insisted on my
marriage with the wretch he had chosen
for my husband l raised no protest. l
viewed the preparations for the we'd
ding with Indifference. / Iseemed turned
to stone. But week before the mar
riage my reason returned, and realized
the horror of the coil which was slowly
Tightening around me. Then it was
that determined on what was virtually
a living burial. was born in this dear
old house, and knew every nook and
Granny of it. My foster mother had
shown me the sliding panel in the room
above that which then occupied, and
she and were the only living perso rs
who knew the secret. She was devoted
to me, and | at length won her over to
my plan.
son the night before my bridal day l
fled down here, and here have remained
ever since. For eight years l have been
dead to the world. ! had valuable
jewelry which had been my dead mot l.
er's; that has been gradually sold, and
on the proceeds | have subsisted. My
foster mother comes daily and brings
me food-not through the house of
course. There is a secret path and door
of communication in the garden"
"And the ghost?' queried.
"Oh," she said, with queer little
smile, 81 am the ghostl You see, l
wanted to keep the house empty, so that
l might wander about the rooms and
grounds; but now am tired of this un-
natural existence. Life will always be
sad for me! have had dreadful grief,
and all my dear ones are dead; but, in
spite Of all, my youth reasserts itself, and
solitude has at last lost its charm. So
wish to return to the world, and you can
help me to do so. Will your"
Of course helped her, and within
week from that time the Thorpe manor
"ghost"-now laid forever-was safe
under the kind wing of John Ridgway's
homely little wife, and by the time the
roses were blooming in my sweet
scented old fashioned garden the
''ghost," too, had bloomed into beauty,
and l, sober old bachelor, had fallen in
love-quite hopelessly, told myself,
for her heart was with her dead, and
yet it happened that one June afternoon,
as we stood alone by the sundial on the
sloping shady lawn, something gave me
| courage. FeIuapS IL WAS tndG SIG
looked SO sweet in her fresh muslin
gown, with the flowers in her belt, or
perhaps because l caught strange,
fleeting look in her shy gray eyes; any
way know she murmured that she
loved the dear old home with it's many
gables and pretty garden. Then !
whispered:
"Need you ever leave it:' And look
ing under the broad bri1nmed garden
hat into her flushed happy face added,
"Come, sweet ghost, and haunt the old
place foreverp
And she consented. Munyon's Maga-
zine.
| What Do You Think?
Charley Horsey-I don't think $50
/ Il