Custer weekly chronicle. [volume] (Custer City, S.D.) 1890-1931, 1898-02-19
CHAPTER III.

III.
DARRELL oUR is A PRISON TO MEW
1t was q beautiful May day, bright with
fresh spring loneliness. The leaves were
springing fresh and green from the trees; the
hedges were all abloom with pink hawthorn;
the chestnut trees were all in flower; the gold
of the laburnuln, the purple Of the lilac, the
white OF the fair acacia trees, and the deli
cate green OF the stately elms and lines gave
q beautiful variety Of color. The grass was
dotted with a hundred wild-iowers; great
clusters of yellow buttercups looked In the
distance like the upspreading Of the sea OF
gold; the violets perfumed the air, bluebells
stirred In the sweet spring breeze, and the
birds sang out loudly and jubilantly.
III one spot looked more lovely than anoth-
er on this bright May day, 1t was Darrell
Court, for II stood where the sun shone
brightest, in one OF the most romantic and
picturesque hooks of England-the part Of
Woodshire bordering on the sea.
The mansion and estates stood on gently
rising ground; a chain Of purple hills stretch
ed away into the far distance; then came the
pretty town of Audleigh Royal, the Aud
leigh Woods, and the broad, deep river Darte.
The bank Of the river formed the boundary
OF the Darrell estates, a rich and magnificent
heritage, wherein every beauty of meadow
and wood seemed to meet. The park was
rich In its stately trees and herds Of deer and
not far from the house was q t~ir-wood-an
aromatic, odorous fir-woOd, which led to the
very shores OF the smiling southern sea.
by night and by day the grand music of
nature was heard i'm perfection at Darrell
Court. Sometimes it was the roll of the wind
onrncS tho hile An tbn InnN - 80. ,,,A,,a
on the shore, or the wild melody OF the storm
among the pine trees, or the full chorus of a
thousand feathered songsters. The court it.
self was one of the most picturesque of man
slons. 1t did not belong to any one order or
style OF architecture-there was nothing stiff
or formal about it-but it looked in that
bright May sunshine a noble edifice, with its
quare overs covered with clinging Ivy,
gray ~turrcts, and large arched windows.
Did the sun ever shine upon such a combi-
nation of cOlors? The spray of the fountains
glittered in the air, the numerous balconies
were filed with flowers; wherever it was
possible for a flower to take root, one had
been placed to ~grow-purple wistarias, sad,
solemn passion-fowers, roses of every hue.
The star-like jessamine and scarlet creepers
gave t0 the walls of the old mansion q vivid
glow of color; gold and purple enriched the
gardens, heavy white lilies breathed faintest
perfume. The spot looked very Eden.
The grand front entrance consisted of a
large gothic porch, which was reached by a
broad flight of steps, adorned with white
marble vases filled with flowers; the first ter
race was Immediately below, and terrace led
from terrace down to the grand old gardens,
where sweetest blossoms grew.
There was an Old-world air about the place
something patrician, quiet, reserved. Ii
was no vulgar haunt for vulgar crowds; II
was not a show place; and the master Of 1t
Sir Oswald Darrell, as he stood upon the ter
race, looked In keeping with its surround
ings.
There was a diSttngue air about Sir Os-
! valid, an old-fashioned courtly dignity, which
never for one moment left him. He was
thoroughly well bred; he had not two sets OF
manners-one for the world, and one for
private life; he was always the same, meas
ured In speech, noble in his grave condescen-
sion. No man ever more thoroughly deserv-
ed the name of a%ristocrat; he was delicate
and ~fastidious, with profound and deeply.
rooted dislike for all that was ill-bred, vulgar,
or mean.
Even in his dress Sir Oswald was remark.
able; the superfne white linen, the diamond
studs and sleeve links, the rare jewels that
cleaned on his fingers-all struck the atten-
ton; and, as he took from his pocket a richly
engraved golden snuff-box and tapped 1t with
the ends of his delicate white fingers, there
stood revealed a thorough aristocrat-the
ideal of an English patrlcian gentleman.
Sir Oswald walked round the stately ter
races and gardens.
II do not see her." he said to himself; yet
most certainly Frampton told me she was
| here"
Then, with his gold-headed cane in hand,
Sir Oswald descended to the gardens. He
was evidently In search of some one. Meet,
ing one Of the gardeners, who stood, hat in
hand, as he passed by, Sir Oswald asked:
Have you seen Miss Darrell In the gar.
dens?"
II saw Miss Darrell in the fernery some
five minutes since, Sir Oswald" was the
reply.
Sir Oswald drew from his pocket a very
fine white handkerchief and ditfused an
agreeable odor of milletieurs around him the
gardener had been near the stables, and Sir
Oswald was fastidious.
A snort walk brought nm 10 the fernery,
an exquisite combination of rock and rustic
work, arched by a dainty green roof, and
made musical by the ripple OF a little water.
fall. Sir Oswald looked in cautiously, evil
IDENTIFY rather in dread Of what he might find
there; then his eyes fell upon something, and
he said:
Pauline, are you there?"
A rich, clear, musical voice answered:
"Yes, | am here, uncle"
my DEAR" continued Sir Oswald, half
timidly, not advancing a step farther into the
grotto, may / ask what you are doingp'
Certainly, uncle" was the cheerful reply;
''you may ask by all means. The difficulty
Is to answer; for 1 am really doing nothing,
and I do not know how to describe moth,
ing"
"Why did you come hither p he asked.
ITO dream" replied the musical voice. 81
think the sound OF falling water 10 the sweet
est music In the world. Icame here to en-.
joy il, and to dream over it."
Sir Oswald looked very uncomfortable.
Considering, Pauline, how much you
havebeen neglected, do you not think you
might spend your time more proftabiy-iu
educating Yourself, for examples"
This Ia educating myself. am teaching