Semi-weekly register. (Brookings, Brookings Co., S.D.) 1894-1898, 1898-11-18

VVSSO %SSO~tA lSV~
| left the Castle to dwell, temporarily at
| least, apart. No one wondered. The
! Hetherington temper was well known,
a by-word; it was as natural that such
a brother end sister should hate each
other as that swords should clash, or
fire and torrent disagree.
Creeping in secret to town upon the
English border. she had hidden her
shame among the poorest of the poor.
NO one knew her; no one suspected but
that she was some 'lowly woman who
mad gone astray in the manner only
TOO common among her class. Then at
last her little one was born.
Sitting and reviewing it all darkly
seeing memory's phantom images
flashing and fading before her, like
colors ever changing in Kaleidoscope,
Miss Hetberington felt again that wild
murderous thrill which hunted Great
ures, animal and human. often feel.
and which tempts them-despairingly
deliriously-to destroy their young.
She shuddered and covered remem-
bering her first impulse. But the child
had lived; and one night, holding it to
her heart, the mother had disappeared
from the strange town as mysteriously
as she had come. leaving no trace or
clew.
Fascinated and afraid she had re-
turned to Annandale, hiding herself by
DAY, travelling in the darkness only.
How dark 1t had been, how the wind
had roared, that night when she fitted
like a ghost round the manse. and
saw the gentle old pastor counting his
souvenirs within! Her intention had
been to go right on 20 the Castle with
her burden; but the sight of the good
man decided her, and she acted as the
reader knows-leaving the infant on
the doorstep, and fitting silently away.
That night the brother and sister
stood face to face. What was said and
done no one knew but after a stormy
scene the lady remained at the Castle
NO one dreamed Of connecting her with
the waif just discovered at the manse
door, for no one but her brother knew
the secret Of her fall; and as if by a
special providence the corpse Of wom-
an was washed up some days later on
the Solway sands, and suspicion point
ed to this woman as the mother of the
little castaway
From that time forth, till the day
(Which came so soon) when her broth
er died, Miss Hetherington had little or
no communion with him; and when he
passed away, as wildly and darkly as
he had lived. she shed no tears. She
had never forgiven him, would never
forgive him this side the grave. for
Staying the only man she had ever
loved, and who, perhaps, might have
made amends. She brooded over her
wrongs till she grew prematurely old,
and dwelt in the lonely house, of which
she was now sole mistress, like ghost
in sepulcher, from dismal day to day.
pursuit.
He fastened to Dumfries at once,
and, by questioning the railway off,
cials, soon discovered that the fugi-
tives had gone southwark by the mail
the previous night. Further inquiry
led him to Carlisle. and the very inn
they had stopped at. Here he learned
from the landlady that the young
couple had been married and had TAX
en- the one o'clock train for London.
1t was all over, then; he had lost Mar
jorie forever. OF what avail was it now
to follow and attempt to save her?
Dazed and despairing. he found his
way back to the railway station He
found the telegraph Office still open,
and at once dispatched telegram to
Dumfries, paying for a special messen-
ger to take it on to Annandale Castle.
The message was as follows:
"They were married here this morn
ing, and are gone south together. What
am to do?"
To this came the answer:
do not come back. Follow her;
hear the truth from her own lips.
Spare no expense, but find her. / leave
it all to you"
1t seemed a useless errand, but he
was in no mood to argue or disobey.
So he took the first train that was 60
ing southwark, and before midday was
far on his way to London.