The herald., 1894-05-01
A MIDNIGHT CRY.

country inn after a hard day 'systruggle
through a sppwNnam ON horseback, es-
pecially If that inn be situated in the
heart of picturesque region much be
loved by summer tourists, III the host has
been taught thereby the art Of malzina
comfortable and Is inclined, through
leisure, to exerciseit was glad, there.
fore, when drew up before the old fash
toned hostelry, for the night was coming
down fast with cold and cloud and
blackness in it's train. / was still 10
miles away. from Grafton, my destina.
ton, and any further attempt at reach.
ing it would be apt to end in snow.
drift. So. willingly enough, l suffered
Princess to be led away to box stall,
willingly enough swallowed the steam.
ing punch which the landlord deftly
mixed for me- willingly enough thawed
and revived before the fervent hickory
logs on the taproom hearth until was
called into the great deserted dining
room, where chicken and eggs and slices
of fried potato and tender cakes. afoat
in butter, wcse awaiting me.
Willingly enough, too, after had met
these most captivating enemies and they
were mine, did ensconco myself in oil.
easy chair before the CHEEKY grato In the
best front chamber and over q cigar
mediate on my good fortunes.
Yes, it was best from every point of
view that should be here. The increas-
ing tempest bowling around the angles
and under the caves, warned me to be
thankful for perils avoided. Recollection
assured me that the Grafton tavern af-
forded no such entertainment, and then
was it not well that should have fur
ther time to consider my mission before
chance met certainty face to face? Had
Eunice forgiven me, and, even so, was
forgiveness necessarily the herald of re-
turning love?
Ten years, truly, must assuage the
most poignant grief, ten years must tenn
per anger with humane excuses, but
might they not also fade passion into
q dream and dream into a sorrowful
"reminiscences? But no. Eunices nature
could never become apaShetic. If she
had loved me that terrible day when /
rushed despasringay from her sight, she
loved me still. She had never married,
so my fricndsstold She was living
with her father in that old house at
Grafton-that dear old house, SO replete
with co9iness and hospitality until that
cloud of horrorihad burst over it! Had
she forgiven me?
Did she still slove me? Come, living
embers, imbued with thought, reveal
my future to mo- Instheir tranquil but
intense glow Tsseemed to see my dar-
ling's eyes as they gazed on me that
morning-deep, pensive, mournful eyes,
so true, so beseeching in their truth.
Don't go, Harry" they had said II
know you too we'll not to know your
weakness I love You too we'll not to dis
regard them. " But II was over
whelmod with shame. Like Cain, my
punishment was greater than / could
bear. Forth l went a fugitive and a
vagabond in the earth. Throughout the
adventurous years that followed-years
that proved, however cowardly l really
was, that could still be courageous
those dear eyes heSsgazed on me beseech-
ingly, responsibility, until at last they
had drawn me to my native land, until
now they were drawing me to that spot
which innocent blood, still unavenged,
made it seem proclamation for me to ap-
proach.
"Ah WE'LL" unused. cts idle to
speculate. The morning will surely tell
Why should l not be patient and hope:
was but boy then. Why should
have been expected-but no. must not
think of it. If do, that whole horrible
nightmare will return to me with I'M
diminished reality"
threw away my cigar, rose from my
chair and strolled about the room Yes,
the landlord had given me his best with
the graciousness born Of superabun-
dance. Probably was the solo guest, but
no, there was some one directly over
head "A restless some one from the way
he was pacing up and down the floor, a
stalwart some one from the weight of
his tread. But had the best notwith-
standing. This room had clinging air
of home about It. Likely it WIS occupied
year after year by the same summer
boarders. The curtains were tied back
with coauettish bows. There were vases
and fly blown photographs on the man
tel, and on the bureau there were crewel
work mats. In recess were shelves
lined with books. and on the top coil
of stout fishing line which bespoke the
taking Of pickerel. Why did l, ordina-
rily indifferent to my surroundings no.
tice so small detail as this latter, yes,
and calculate that it's strength must be
great? l don't know. do know, how
ever, that realization of this vagary
made me uneasy, so turned to the books
as to refuge.
Why is it as one grows older one hest
tates the moro on starting q new book?
Does the mind, like the body, crave ad-
venture in youth and familiar scenes in
full maturity? Does q renewed reading
crafty through intolerance, or does it act
as spur to exoteric recollections? I
know that, though there were several
works attractive in promise to me, 1 Sc
lected "Jane Eyre, " conscious that had
read it years before, oblivious, though,
under what circumstances and perhaps
unconsciously curious Regarding them
resumed my seat by the fire, and for
an hour or moro I yielded to the charm
of the story-for an hour or moro, and
then Of sudden tremor Of terror, alas
not new, swept over me.
Unsusrecting, I had read on and on
until had reached that scene where
Jane in her now position of governess to