Hot Springs weekly star. (Hot Springs, S.D.) 1892-1917, 1900-05-04

1t was the water lilies that brougll
her to her death. The long clinging stem
among which she sank held her fair bod,
i'll their cold. clammy embrace, SD tina
she never rose again. 1t was lon. he
fore they found her.
And. oh. who shall ever describe tina
dreadful scene by the margin of Shndu
make Bath, while the terrified crowd tina
had gathered there quickly waited fU
her whom all knew to be hopelcssly gone
from them forever!
The sObbing, frightened women: til,
white. stricken faces of the mon; the ag
"ny of those who had loved her; the dis
trcss and dismay of those who had onl,
admired her; and there was one trcm
bling. shlddcrins wretch, i'll her satir
and her jewels. standing white and bag
gard apart, with knees that shook to
scther, and teeth that chartered, and tear
less sobs that shook her from head t.
foot. staring with IL half-maddcncd stare
upon the fatal waters.
Then. when all was at an end and the
worst WAS known, when the poor drip
ping b0dy had been revercntly covered
over and borne away by loving arms amid
a torrent of sobs and wailing tears to.
ward the house, then someone came neal
""s IVN -SoulSOiG Ol Muull
the water calne pouring in streams. and
whose face was white and wild as hc1
cwn.
"Get you away out of my sight, said
the man whom she had loved so fruit
lesSly to her.
Have pity. have PITY" was the cry of
despair that burst from her u,ivcrins
lips. WAS it not all an accidenty'
Yet. lpt IL In On fN fho v-n,ll hn.o,sn
You bear my name, and I will not have
it dragged through the mirc-to all 9th.
crs it is an accidcnt-but never to me,
for saw you let her go! There is the
stain of murder upon YOUR hands. 1 will
never call you wife, nor look upon your
face again: get yourself away out of my
sight,
with a low. sobbing Cry she turned and
fled away from him. and away from the
place, out among the shadows of the fir
trees. Once again s:NMeone stopped her
i'll her tcrror-stricl,,1 ..ss
III WAS Denis Wilde, who came stril.
ing toward her under the trees, and
caught her roughly by the wrist.
lit is You who have killed her. he
said. savagrly.
What DO You mean?." she murinurcd.
family.
u saw ii i'll Nonr face last night when
YOU were wandering. about the house dur
ing the thunderstorm: you meant her
.ea'h then; 1 saw it i'll your eyes. Why
did / not watch over her better. and save
her from such i; devil as yor.."
NO, no, ii is not true; it was an acci.
dent. On, spare me-, spare me..' with Il
ilteonsncss CT terror, WAS all she could
say.
"Aes l Will spare you, poor wretch,
Tor your husbands sa,le-hecause she low
ed Mni-aid his hirdcn, heaven hul,:
nm. Is heavy enough as it is. Co."
filnging her arm rudely from him. Go,
whiie you have got time, lest the thirst
Tor your blood be too strong for me-
And this time no one saw her go. Like
Il hunted animal, she lied way among
the Trees, her cleaning many-lluel dress
trailing all we and drabbled on the sod
den earth behind her, and the darkness
OF the gathering night closed in around
her, and covered her in mercy with its
pitiful mantle.
s. u j. * r. {.
In South Kcnsington there lives IL gay,
world-loying woman who keeps open
house, and cntertains pcrpetually. She
has horses and carriages. and Il box ut
the opera, and is always to be seen fault
iessly dressed and the giyest of the gay
at every race meeting, and ut every scene
of pleasure.
But there are things Mrs. kynaston
can never do; to read OF some dreadful
murder s,lcn as occasionally fills all the
papers for days with it's sickening details
makes her shut herself in her own room
till the horrible tragedy is over and for
gotten; TO hear OF such things spoken of
i'll society causes her to faint away with
terror. To walk by a pond, or even to
speak of being rowcd upon Il lake or
river, fills her heart with such horror of
soul that none of her friends ever care
to suggest IL water party of any kind to
her.
she saw that poor Miss Nevill drown
ed say her compassionate acquaint-
ances; lit has upset her nerves, poor
dear; she cannot bear the sight of wat
or" And there are Il few who think,
ana who are ashamed to whisper their
thoughts with bated breath. that she saw
Miss Nevill's sad death too near and too
we'll to be utterly spotlcss in the matter.
AS to Denis Wilde, he was young, and
in time he got over it and married an ami
able young lady, and he forgot his first
love.
Shadonakc Bath has been drained. MIR.
Miller has ut last becn allowed to have
his own way about it. 1t is an ill wind
that blows nobody any good. and there
could be found no voice to plead for it's
preservation after that terrible tragedy OF
which it was the scene.
So the old steps have all been cleared
away, and brick walls line the straight
deep sides, wherein grow the finest
peaches and nectarines in the county,
while a parterre of British queens and
h%autboys cover the spot where Vera died
with their rich red fruit aud their luXu.
rant foliage.
And at Sutton things go on much the
same as of old. Old Mrs. Daintree is
dead. The vicar has grown gray and
old; his back is more bent and his face
more careworn than it used to be. He
has never been quite the same since
Vera's death.
There is IL white marble monument in
the middle of the chancel, raised by the
loving hands of two brothers far away in