Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, 1900-04-04


sent for Thomas?"
She was trembling violently. A
deathly pallor spread over her sweet
young face like q gray veil. Had her
father any confession to make to
Thomas Broxton? Why did he want
him to come?
The sick man looked at her implor-
ingly.
81 beg Of you. my daughter, to sum.
mon all your fortitude. Your agitation
reacts on me. You are losing control
of yourself. am very Ill man.
Govan does not try to deceive. me. Sew
eral days ago made Reuben send a
telegram to Thomas Broxton. He may
be here at any moment"
Eyes, father" She spoke In dull
monotone, but her eyes looked tender,
est pity into his.
81 want to beg his pardon"
"For what, father?" In the same sad
monotone.
"For my bad management of bis af-
fairs"
Olivia dropped on her knees by bis
bedside. She clasped both her hands
about one Of his. as If imploring him
to yindicate his own good name before
he left her.
"But you did the best you could. fa-
ther. OF course you did. Oh, ! know
you did! l know you did by Thomas
as his father would have done by me
If / had been left helpless little or
phan like Tom."
A groan was his only answer.
"There, dear. DR.. Govan will scold
me sharply for agitating you In this
cruel way. Don't let us talk about 1t
at all. papa. We believe In each other.
There. now. Go to sleep In your
naughty Ollie's arms"
She laid her soft cheek against his
and crooDed soft lullaby. He stroked
her shining hair caressingly.
"Olivia. my darling, you heard that
old woman's terrible charges. She
hurled them at me over this precious
head"
She lifted her head and looked at
him gravely.
"She knows better now, father"
"Knows better now?"
He repeated the words after her with
labored slowness. He looked bewil-
dered. Olivia smoothed the gray hair
back from his furrowed forehead with
q slow, mesmeric motion.
"Poor old Mother Spillman Is dead,
father. She Is at rest. l think Miss
Malvina is scarcely sorry. She says
life has been such burden to her
mother for great many years that
death meant release. She says her
mother was very queer"
"And she is gone. actually gone? Do
you know it to be fact, child?" he
labored to lift himself into a sitting
posture.
81 know it to be fact, father. l
saw her myself. dead. She looked 30
quiet. so serene. She is at rest"
"You saw her. Then you have been
to the Spillman cottage. What did you
20 there for" His voice rang out in
challenge.
She shrank away from him until the
pile Of pillows with which Reuben had
propped him into sitting posture hid
her pallid face from him. Was he 60
ing to force her to say why she had
gone to the Spillman. cottage? If he
did. must she lie? Instead be spoke
to her In the gentlest Of voices. Rath-
er did he seem to plead for mercy than
upbraid her.
Don't cover behind my pillows, my
poor child. Come where | can look
into your dear eyes. You have moth
ing to be ashamed of. Olivia. I know
what took you there. You went in
search Of vindicatlon for your most
unhappy father" Her head dropped
until It touched his pillows. "You
thought to learn something more about
the papers which she claimed to be
holding for Thomas"
"Yes, father"
the shrewd eyes Of the dying man. 1t
was almost as If his departing soul
paused to score on more pitiful little
triumph.
"Poor old magpie! She overreached
herself. Now they never will be
found"
"Were they very valuable to-Thom-
as-father? That is. If you don't mind
telling me. dear"
"They were-they are" he amended
slowly. ''of no value to any one. Thom-
as would not be one dollar the wealth
Ter for the finding Of them"
A silence fell between father and
daughter. The sick man seemed to fall
into a sudden doze. Olivia brought q
light chair and seated herself as close
ly as possible to his side.
The clock struck half past II. Reu-
ben was to come on watch at mid
night. She twlned her small, cool fin
gers about the sinewy wrist that lay
nearest to her and found its pulse.
The moments passed on. She waited.
For what?
The ticking of the clock on the man.
telshelf and the beating Of her own
heart seemed equally loud. A low
muttering from the sick mans sunken
lips made her bend her ear quickly.
Every syllable that fell from bis lips
now was a thing to be boarded. In a
state Of semconsciousness Horace
Matthews was doing battle with his
conscience for the last time.