The record-union., 1894-10-20

Bamthets bloodv'
Yell hang soon enow, 'thout thot, ye
hoof-thick sornin' deevilr'
lhls was the painting response from
David Bamthet as he closed the door
upon his enemy and the storm.
But in the morning the tempest had
passed away, and with it apparently all
! the dread wraiths of the night before, for
David BamthepS face was as impassive
as his gray house walls OF stone, and
| Betty Bamthet's face was as radiant as the
glowing day without.
We had grown into habit of climbing
the hills toward nightfalI and descending
into the dale behind the shepherds ana
Inc herds. after lingering for a time be-
SIDE huge table rock, overhanging the
caIdron OF splendid waterfall which
broke from its dark and splintered
edge.
| The girl had avoided me this day. The
| afternoon had passed; the shadows were
! stealing into the lower gorges; the sheep
| had traIled melodiOuSly to their told. and
! no udlngs OF the girl had been heard.
! IL caused no alarm at the cottage, but
! nlIed with unaccountable forebodings l
| hastened up the nights. | called her
| name but there was no answer. l sped TO
| the table-rock with the direst misgiVings.
| There. upon her hands and knees, at its
| very brink and gazing into the dark wa
| ters below, as if with homecoming, eX-
| ultant face, was the Wretched maiden
| l sought.
half tainting from terror 1 could not
call. sprang TO her side just as it seemed
she must plunge to her death in the foam
| ing abyss below. | dragged her back and
/ held her with trembling hands. Even
then she regarded me with calm and pity
! ing eyes.
Betty! Betty! In heavens name what
were you about to do?''
| Just gaze oot o. th' sorra an fashin'
aboot me, sir. That's app
| by taking your own life?r
81 ha' nae leef left. It's deed-deed
| syne Robert DOrklin went wag'
Robert Dorklinr1
"Ay, that's ee. E'es ghaist coomed
! lest meet l. th' STORM. | seed it i th'
leetnin' flash. 1t stud by th' window an
| shook its fist am glower'd. 20, Robert,
! Robert! L screeched but it turned am
! SklrIed ava. In ain mair day auld Matt
! Curbison's COON. Thinkee, Phi bide u
| th' leevin' greave VII ee? l tell ee, sir,
| Pm already deed, deed, deedr'
My head Whirled from her impassioneCl
words, her pitItul harassments, her des-
! perate calmness OF purpose. Not know
ing what L said poured into her ears the
| widest protestauons of compassion. of
| friendship and L know not but of love,
! but all were OF no avail untiI.I STUN bled
upon the magic words:
~ on shall not we'd this wretch! I
| will save you from all this Infamy.
! Betty, Betty! l will myself take Won 10
your love, Tor Robert Dorklin is my
! friendv
! However long [ may live, whatever
scenes may look upon, it will never be
mine TO again have transfused into my
! own veins such thrill of transcendent
| JOY as now leaped into the face which but
| an instant before was set in the stony
! hardness OF heroic but insutferable pain
Almost heart TO heart we descended
! into the satfrony lighted glen. Hand in
! hand we ran, led by the impetuous girl
| to the lonely cottage. Arm in arm we
| stole under it's grand old sycamores and
| threw its rusty shutters open to the de-
| parting day. Still arm in arm we Won
| dered through its deserted rooms, while
! her now ecStatiC voice prattled on and on
! of a miserly old man who had lived here
| and died, how an orphan lad had grown
| to manhood in the same house, and be-
! cause of the uncle's hatred for her own
/ and the lads love for her, the stony heart
| had turned him from his door,
| How, too, he had gone away TO the
! great city to toll and save for her, with
| the brave parting words that if he lived
! he would come again for her: how the
! lonely old life had withered and shrunk
| in its hurt and hate within these very
walls, until upon his dying bed he had
| cursed the loving heart he had turned
away and left the tiny estate to stranger
| of her lovers selt-same name, who mad
never yet been found; and how here.
now at this very moment were all things
! still, just as they had been left, even to
| Robert Dorklin's room, which we were
now stealing INTO with the evening shad-
| owS; tor it must be seen by Betty Bam-
! thet, for the last time, now that she was
! going straight To Robert, straight to her
! love.
May th' guild God spare us !-its-Rob-
! ert-Dorklin's-gh ~
! And so it was. 1t arose straight and
! tall and wordless from Robert Dorklin's
| bed, as Betty Bamthet swooned between
| us at its ieet.
Then two huge arms shot out of the
! dusk, and their mighty hands rested
| upon my shoulders heavily, while Rob
| ert Dorklin's blazing eyes looked wildly
into mine
"Mon! monw he at last said almost in
whisper. list yoU 1 must settle WI
now ?"
mo, Bob-no, no, mop [ faltered, "un-
| less you would harm him who has.
! within this hour, saved that poor girPs
| life for herself and you.'
| He lifted her in his arms as though she
nad been sleeping child and strobe
down the lane with her, l following as in
dream, to David Bamthets cottage,
stan aside, ere!-stan' aside. ivery
| sOuI!' he said, with a wild gesture, as ne
laid the girl on the huge settee of the
| great room and stood guard like a fierce
! animal beside her.
Even the giant father quailed before
him now.
"Fatch leet!" he sternly demanded.
! Pm Z see her cen when she wakes Th'
mon her cen claps on first, is the mon |
settle VII before l gon'
| AT this moment a half crazed old
! woman and painting hind rushed into
| the door with cries that Matt Curbison
was biting off his deeing breeathD and
/ was ''skirlin' oot for ee's wullr,
! David Bamthet grew pale. his Guild wife
| shrleked. 'Lans mercy p' but the grim
! old statesman gave no answering word
| to the messengers back from the sordid
| life TO sordid death; and when he turned
again to the huge man who bore nv
! name, Betty Bamthet was croodled close
in his giant arms, and we heard enough
to know that they enfolded her thus for
! aye; while the other Robert DorllIin
| heir to the deserted cottage in the vale
! soon proved to his Statesman host, with
the aid Of Matt Curbison's will. how the
three longed-for "gradley pleaces' could,
| with little scriDbling from his over
willing pen, be happily and forever
merged within the same encircling
Umbrian metes and bounds.
THE WAIT, OE THE QUINN