Reporter and farmer. [volume] (Webster, Day County, Dakota [S.D.]) 188?-1946, 1895-01-03

behalf of that young lady.
The gentleman had alighted ut the
corner Of a ~neighboring street; and
after his departure, the coachman had
found upon a seat of his vehicle a
small pocket-handkerchief which he
presumed had been left there by the
young lady, and which, as 1t was on his
way home, he had brought to Mrs.
Lindsay.
And when the had concluded his
extraordinary narration, Mrs. Lindsay
exclaimed:
THAT which you have just told me is
impossible, or else my poor daughter
has fallen into some snare, which has
been spread for her."
The coachman protested that he had
spoken only the truth.
Then you must at once convey me
to that house, said the poor mother.
The coachman demonstrated with
her that she was in no fit state for
v%enturing abroad at such q time of the
night.
But he spoke to deaf ears; Mrs. Lind
say felt that she must behold her
daughter again. or she would die.
And so she eXnrted all her strength
to reach Der bedroom to procure her
bonnet and shawl.
As the coachman, grumbling to him
self that he and his horses should be
kept from their natural rest, opened
the street door, preparatory 10 mount
ing his box, a person brushed past him
and entered the house, and after look
ing around, turned to ask Of the coach
man, who had followed him back into
the parlor, concerning Mrs. Lindsay.
But the moment the new conner
caught sight Of the coachman's face,
he exclaimed, with considerable u
prise:
why uncle, what can possibly have
brought you to this house?"
Il was waiting for a fare-but why
are you here?'
ITO visit a patient"
''The sick lady here Is one Of your
ratients?"
"Yes, 1 have attended her for some
time, and always visit her before re-
firing for the night"
"Ah, she seems very ILL.," said the
C achman, p~ityingly.
"She has not much longer to live"
And after pausing an instant, the doc
tor added:
"And it is here. too, rha: the young
lady dwells of whom I have so often
spoken to you"
"She whom you lover the coach
man ~anxiously inquired.
Eyes, uncle, and with whom 1 hope
soon to wed!'
you mustn't do that, boy-you must
not do that!'
what do You mean, unc1e?"
81 mean," his uncle replied, that her
mother is just now In despair at her
absence, and that the poor woman has
hired my coach that she may go in
search of her daughter"
"Emmeline is lost" the young doc
tor exclaimed, in great alarm.
"No, not quite, since / well know
whittier / conducted her three hours
ago." the coachman said, expressively.
The doctor entreated that his uncle
would speak intelligibly.
And but too plainly did he speak, for.
said he: ~ took her to the house of
a Mr.. Noel harrington, a commercial
traveller, and she must have found her
self very comfortable there, for she
sent word to me that / had no need to
wait for her"
The doctor would not believe it,
that could not be!
But his uncle insisted that It could be,
since 1t had been, and was: and assert
ed that while the poor mother was tor
menting herself at her daughters alb
sence, the girl was happy enough In
Barrington's company.
To B%arrington's house would the doc
tor at once proceed, he said, and his
uncle should drive him thither.
But his uncle objected, that he was
engaged by the girls mother.
"Mrs. Lindsay must not leave the
house. It would kill her." said her
physician; "and tbs me alone whom you
must conduct"
"You must do as you please with me,
boy" grumbied the coachman, 'for you
are a doctor, and I am bound to follow
your prescriptions"
And presently Mrs. Lindsay, hear
ing the sound of receding wheels, look
ed from her bedroom window, and saw
the coach she had engaged driven
rapidly from the door
And then she sank down on her bed.
and sobbed, and moaned, and feared
she was about to die, and that she
would no more behold her darling
child.
And during all this time, where
was Emmeine?-what had, indeed, be-
come Of her?
On arriving ut Barrington's house,
Emmeline entered 1t by means Of the
key which had been given to her moth
er by the possesor of the letter she had
come to seek.
Emmeline had forgotten till that mo-
ment that she would need a light, and
now she knew not how, nor with what
excuse, to procure one.
But she would not retreat; there
would be at least a Slimmer Of light
from without, and she would be able
to distinguish the bureau, and that
discovered the rest would be easy.
Closing the outer door behind her,
she was In complete darkness; but
made bold by the dask before her,
she CROPPED her way to the stairs, IS
cended them, and soon knew that she
had reached the drawing room, for
going to one Of It's windows, she was
looking on to the street
There was, as she had expected, q
feeble gllmmer Of light In the room,