The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1897-05-12
RIVALS
A Story of the Vengeance Of the Sea-,
Written for This Paper.
BY MAXWELL GRAY.
CHAPTER ].

CHAPTER ].
The village straggles over windy, tree.
less level above steep cliffs, the bases OF
which are eaten away and tunneleo
under by the perpetual action OF the
sea. Thence in quiet weather comes
the low lullaby OF a scarcely audlple
surge; there at the broken base OF the
storm battered wall it murmurs on
caressirgly through sunny moons and
moonlit nights, rarely quite still; 1t
deepens at times to mellow roar,
when a white sheet Of surf spreads
over the far-stretching reef.
From this low roar, through many a
cresoendo, the sea music rises to COM
plex symphony Of warning thunders
and blending harmonies, heard far in
land, then the soft surf rolls and RACES
into tumbling avalanches, the breakers
rise rush up the cliff till these are
half sunken in white waste Vi foam
and crowned by binding spray mist.
Sometimes the pillows rush like winged
monsters out Of the very heart OF the
sea and hurl themselves crashing on
the limestone walls, till the spray flies
far over the submits and dissolves,
dream-like, upon the windy waste.
That Is why the square, rock-lik
tower, rising above the graves Of chip
wrecked strangers, is often crusteo
over with fine salt, and only sea-loving
things grow near it.
All this fury of waters has so wasted
the shore that only the hardest rocks
remain In towering cliff and ragged
reef; the sandstone has either been
torn out by the sea or worn out by
tiny rill wandering seawards and max
Ing q chasm, irregular and broken into
many ledge, steep at the bottom and
shelving broadly toward the top.
Here is short, scant pasture, and
many sea-loving plant, with heather
and gorse feathering, away at the top.
And here, high in q sheltered nook,
commanding the southwark sea, is, or
rather was some years ago, Mary
Deane's low stone cottage, in its we'll
tended garden, with its shining myrtles
and fuchsia bushes.
Walled from the north and east by the
cliff, partially screened from the west
and fully open to the south, this garden
was q paradise, and was for many years
the chief support Of Widow Deane and
her son, now o strong, broad-faced man
of much resource, partly fisher, partly
gardener, and partly boatman, who
tended the COW, the pigs, the few hardy
sheep browsing on the broken cliff, and
the donkey which drew garden stuff,
crabs and Holsters, eggs and butter to
market weekly. Robert Deane could
knock up shed out Of few planks OF
driftwood, and most things out Of odds
and ends. He was comely, square,
built fellow, with bright, merry blue
eyes, and short, curly brown beard and
hair.
One gray still October afternoon he
was whistling in front Of lean-to shed
at the foot of the cliff chopping fire.
wood, Of which he had already piled q
good stock, made chiefly from the spars
and ribs Of bark that went to pieces
on the reef in the last winter. Through
the open cottage door he could see his
mother sitting ut work by a cracking
hearth fire, over which a swinging
Kettle sang. An oak-cased clock licked
costly by the staircase. The dark oak
dresser displayed it's cleaning crockery.
Flowers bloomed in the window. All
was tidy and clean, including Widow
Deane in her white cap and gray hair.
Sea shells, coral and foreign figures on
the mantelpiece, the shell Of large
tortoise, and the model Of a full-rigged
man-of-war gave the little cabin q full
sea flavor.
Presently Roberts rough dog
Refer cooked his ears, Roberts face
brig ehtened, foot steps sounded along
the cliff, the gate clicked open, and two
women stepped up the single path.
Here we be, Robert" said the elder
OF the two.
-Ay, sy, Mrs. Fielding" he replied,
dropping his bill-hook and coming for
ward; here you be, and welcome you
be, and here's fine lot Of fire-wood for
Rosie come winter.
The younger woman colored with hap
piness and spoke to the dog dancing
-Reefer knows the new missus
already" said Widow Deane, coming
out and kissing Rosie's fresh, firm
cheek.
man was passing down the steep
path, screened from their sight by
fuchsia-tree growing by the gate, but
not so thickly that he could not see
through its outer sprays. When he saw
the two mothers and Robert and the