Omaha daily bee., 1900-01-07

haired maiden, Anna Mark. 1t was wort
that William Bowman liked well enough
Tor not only was he a good scholar, bu.
he was glad to be quit OF the hanklcss task
of experimenting the workers in the mill
for the best part Of the afternoon.
Then when 80 began to grow dark TIM
phray ]Spurwly took me by the hand and We
vent gladsomcly together over to the little
house among the pines where my mother
dwclt. At first the Englishman talked
easily and answered all my questions. OF
which, as is the wont OF boys, | asked very
many and Of a very foolish sort. Bat as
We neared the cottage Of the Yeti Umphray
waXed silent and when he replied at all his
words were mostly spoken at random.
When we came to the door OF the lodge
Yeti | knocked. and heard old Caleb Cllnk-
aherry withdraw the bolts. clearing the rust
from the holdtasts Of the iron rods, and his
old throat Of the roopy weather at the same
time.
Come thy ways, Maestor Phil; thy mother
hath been in a rare takin' about thee. Eli.
Maester Spurway; an she will be glad to
SEQ thysen.'
And so, h~obbling forward with eager no
likeness, mixed with an under grumblc of
complaint concerning his standing for that
ancient "loombagus in the back" our old
English servant led the way to where nv
mother was sitting, looking younger and
prettier than ever | had seen her, in the
room that looks to the west through a kind
OF long alley cut out among the pines. The
sunshine Tor something else) was red on
her cheek as she jumped UP at sight of her
guest, and letting all her embroidery stun
fall in a tiutterinE cloud, she gave Umphray
Spurway her hand, never looking at him
| o. saving a word save IN ccnIi M, Gov b,;,r
such a trouble in bringing the gentleman
all the way hither on so cold a night.
"Will you be pleased to draw in your
CHAIR, sir?' said my mother. as a fercer
gust than before shook the window. rafting
the door, hooted in the chimney and then
fed, laughing tendishly down the darken-
ing aisles Of the wood.
| saw my mother shivcr and glance out OF
the window. The creaking and straining
beeches and pines could be both seen and
heard in the pauses of the furious gusts.
Their stif arms stood out like tall, gaunt
gallows trees outside of the windows. She
rose and moved to the cupboard.
1T is almost time to take our four hours"
she said. at seems to come early tonight
and to be more welcome than usual. 1t
darkens apace. Will you be pleased to stay
and drink a cup of tea? My brother. the
guineaman, brought me some after his last
voyage. He got it for having rendered some
service on his homecoming to a China
ship"
Il thank you, madam" said Umphray |
Spurway, making my mother a courteous
little bow. Il ought to be stirring, but l
must needs wait for that great pleasure"
Then my mother sent me upstairs for the
West Indian sugar, which Gust in case of
accidents) she kept locked in the great ma
hogany chest of drawers in her dressing
room. | went gladly, for such a chance came
not often and certainly was not to be missed.
And as l stood by the curtain Of the bed :
room cleansing the sickness from my !
fingers and wiping my mouth with the
silken lining, | saw a dark figure pass from
side to side of the wide. west-looking alley
in which a certain reddish light yet lin
gered, reluctantly to depart altogether. But
| thought nothing of this. For a s]ervitor,
going to the great house or one of Mr..
Spurway's weavers in search of a hare to
boil the pot was no unusual sight at the
Lodge Yeti.
l went down, and as I came near the door
of the little parlor in which l had left
Umphray Spurway and my mother. l paused
for no reason at all connected with them,
nor God woD with any idea of spying
upon their converse; for espionage at least
tWnateNeF my Otner taultS) was never any
part of my nature.
| heard my mother say: at is useless,
Mr.. Spurway. 1t is, indeed, most useless-I
will not listen-no. l can never listen. Be-
fore all | have my duty to the boy, and this
of all days is not the time to speak of such
things. Think of him that was my husband
and is no more!"
| could not hear what was said in reply
by Umphray Spurway, though ! am sure my
mother was weeping. For at that moment
| felt a hand close on the lobe of my right
ear, and old Caleb Clinkaberry bore me tri-
umphantly to the door of the parlor, with
a great piece of West India sugar in my
mouth, which l could neither swallow nor
yet rid myself of, so high did he hold my
head. He opened the door, crying: See,
madam, what ! caught this fine young gen.
tleman att
But that which we saw turned us to stone
in the very doorway. My mother had
her embroidery work and stood
erect. Umphray Spurway was just letting
go her hand, which he had been holding.
that was not the surprise and terror
for me.
My eyes were drawn irresistibly to the
window. 1t was one of the narrow and
high French sort opening in the middle, for
the house had been built in King Charles
Time lldI IL might ne Il summer pavilion
for a former lady of New Milns. Now the
stood open, and the wind rushed
triumphantly through the house,
every door with dreadful changing
Of iron and the clatter and clink of falling {
glass and breaking crockery. S
Framed in the blank blaCkness of the >
opening appeared a head, wild, dishevelled,
hardly human, the throat bare and the |
Jagged collar of a coat far too wide appear S
ng beneath. 1t was my father, the man
We had thought already hanged by the neck 7
n the Grassmarket of Edinburgh. Philip I
Stansiield, the parricide. His eyes glanced
along the level tube of a pistol barrel. s
Traitor and traitress, | have you both,
And now ! will send you TO hell together!" (
le cried, and so without another word, with c
distinctness, fired.
With a little shrill cry my mother tot
cred, swayed, checked herself, and then
;oftly sunk back into Umphray Spurway's c
lrms. Then quick as thought the face Il
yanished from the window. The leaves ~
dashed to, The Englishman gave my II
mother into the arms of Caleb Clinkaberry 5
without waiting to find his hat, he y
a pistol from his pocket, looked at II