The Florence daily tribune., 1899-01-03
CONFESSION


of Peakland. Written from the
against the cross where. in bygonc
times, stood the chapel of the White
Monk
Sir: Report, doubtless, hath it that /
am driven lunatic by the untimely
death of her whom / loved heart and
soul. speak of my mistress, Euphra-
sia, your daughter and one eve lamb;
of her who seemed the true phoenix
and the star of womanhood. There is
little need to eSpatiate on the merits
of one so kind and so beautiful; let il
suffice that her untimely ending hath
drawn black cloud from cast to west
from north to south. have wandered
day after day, night after night, on
these barren moors, craving for the
last pang. But Death will have none of
me yet awhile, and / must abide and
endure.
Tomorrow, long ere the carrier de-
livers this epistle--perchance il may
not reach Aldon-in-the-Wate till Fri
day-I shall have left the hill country
for ever. On Thursday | embark on
my pilgrimage. My own land shall
know me no more; all my future days
must be spent wandering in search of
peace. Call to your minds eye the pic
ture of tattered beggar-I take
naught with me save the captains fee.
l shall live as the friars did, pleading
for my bread from door to door.
My estate leave with you to use
as you will. If after this recital your
breast holds one spark of pity. pray
take upon yourself the duties of mas
ter. There ARE servants for whom
fain would have made provision; and
the roam mare, which was my fathers,
let her feed upon the sweetest grass
in summer. and in winter lie in the
warmest shed.
II was l who destroyed Jervase
Whittingham.
You have not forgotten that on one
day year ago he and came to you.
at separate hours, each to ask leave
TO pay court to your daughters: and
that to both you made answer that. =.
your parents interference. you had
vowed that Euphrasia should choose
of herself. To me You expressed pref
erence; it had long been desire OF
yours that the divided estates might
be joined again; notwithstanding, you
forbore TO move in favor OF either. II
Jeryase We're the fortunate lover, you
declared you would acquiesce without
unwillingness. So was fain I o be con-
tent with this poor comfort. On' the
following day pleaded with Euphra-
sia, and received neither aye nor nay.
bade her tell if her affections were
given elsewhere. She was silent, and
II sudden gladness filed me, and
would have embraced her, but she
withdrew from the chamber.
That night | could not rest, for my
brain tecmvd with rich pictures of
conjugal happiness After midnight
| rose and dressed, and went privately
from my house to taste the fresh air
of the moorlands and to watch the
breaking of the day. i had not walked
far ere in the moonlight / beheld Jer
vase on the bank of the river, beside
the rotten bridge. A food had risen
in the uplands and the current swirled
madly in its loamy bed. Jervase was
talking to himself; | could hear him
speaking of me-of me who had been
his lifelong friend-in words of CON
tumely. ,ennazed. l stole to his side
and laid my hand on his arm.
What hath distressed you, Jerry p"
l said, all my fondness being yet alive.
why speak SO harshly of me?''
He leaped toward me, struck me
with all his might above the heart. 1
fell. half senseless, to my knees. When
recovered, he was on the further
bank, and the bridge, torn from its
creaking piers, was floating down the
river. l stood trembling with impo-
tent fury on the brink. while he MINI
licked my every gesture There was n
wicked leer in his eye. and his thin lips
were pouted as those of fish.
.'I have spared you this time," he
cried. THE next, by heaven, if ever
you touch me again. I'll tear you limb
from limb"
AS I gazed upon him, still half be-
wildered, the moon clouded, and for a
short space it seemed as if great
ribbed wings had sprouted from his
shoulders and horns had budded on his
forehead. Yet important issues were