Courier Democrat. (Langdon, N.D.) 1891-1920, 1900-04-05

UcuS Ol S1cepluS uOWcTS, 0NU SIlCcluA
nymphs and rOguish fawns hid their
marble forms amid clumps Of shrub
bery-down the steep river path, artis-
tically shielded by dwarf trees and
tangled vines, that seemed flung to-
gether in one of natures most frolick-
some moods-over the stone wall that
here marked the boundary Of the Give
estate, Sybil fed like q hunted doe.
The white wrapper she wore was wet
with dew; the Shetland shawl she had
thrown over her head and shoulders
was heavy and damp. But she did not
feel the chill touch Of the night air that
crept up, laden with mists, from the
river. Her cheeks We're burning. hec
head throbbing with a fever heat, that
no breeze, no moisture could allay.
She had no right, no place, in that
princely home, whose stately shadow
doomed up so darkly behind her. Nay.
perhaps she had the truest,
best right; but it could never be as
serted, never be acknowledged, neve.
be obtained!
1t was right that had been curse
of her past-and she pressed her hand
to her wildly-beating heart-and would
be a more dark and bitter curse to her
future.
Fannie and Herbert, those two bright.
joyous beings who had striven to fling
their own glad sunshine over her shad-
owed life-who would not see, would
not recognize, the barrier that separat-
ed them-had taken her by the hand,
and, despite her own will, led her into
the fowery paths in which they trod.
Oh, heaven! what cruel, evil fate was
it that made her their enemy-their en-
envy by birth. their enemy by blood,
their enemy by dark and awful VOW
Il dreadful vow, to which the dead had
borne witness, and that echoed still, i'll
all it's first fierce passion, through the
storms and changes of fiye-and-twenty
years?
A shudder convulsed the young girls
frame, as she paused for moment in
her rapid flight to take breath and look
around her.
She was at the foot of the hill on
which Give Towers was situated. and
the broad river rolled in silvery waves
almost at her feet-tllat same river
whose tossing waters she and Herbert
had watched ON the first night of their
acquaintance, a brief three weeks ago.
He had said then that some intuition
told him that they would be warm
friends yet; and were they not friends!
Aye, that pale. agonized face, that
quivering lip, added more than friends.
Had she been mad. or dreaming, for
the past three weeks? What feeling
was it she had allowed to creep into
her heart? What Lethe-draught had
she tasted, that she had dared, even
for one brief instant. to think of hap
piness-she, Sybil Wraye, the nameless
outcast, unfit to breathe the air. to
break the bread, to tread the ground,
with the happier ones of earth?
How those stern, naughty words had
stung her! What poisoned dart they
had left in her already tortured heart!
But it was no time to brood over them
now. The imperative summons she had
received that evening must be obeyed.
In the graveyard by the river, someone
awaited her who must not wait in
vain.
She had dim recollection Of the
place. She had been taken there once
before, years and years ago, when a
nameless grave had been opened, and,
in the solemn stiffness of summer
midnight, her mother had been laid
away to rest.
She could not be far from the spot
now. Aye, those dark old yews,
stretching out their hoary branches
just beyond her, shaded the moss
grown gate that led to the family bur
ial place Of the Gives.
1t had long ago been abandoned by
the family at the Towers. Old Basil
Give was the last of the mburied there,
and his grave was green with the sun
shine and showers Of five-and-twenty
years.
The dark old gravestones were crum-
bling away. and the grass grew long
and rank; only the stout fence. whose
timbers defied the attacks of time, and
4 certain terror that surrounded the
spot, prevented the grave yard of the
naughty Gives from being turned into
pasture OF picnic ground.
The present Mr.. Give did not even
recognize the bit of wildwood as a por,
ton of his property, and took no heed
of it's neglect or desolation, though his
own parents lay buried therein.
SYPHILIS mind was too clear and strong
to be influenced by superstitious fear.
but she could not repress the feeling Of
natural awe that crept over her rs she
crossed over Llle IuOS,S-SIOWl CufeSllOlu
Of the gate that led into this abode of
the dead.
High above all the other tottering
monuments rose the granite shaft.
sacred to the Memory of Basil Give"
and beneath it stood man whose tall.
athletic form seemed as strong and en-
during as. the granite itself-a man
whose bronzed face and dark, fierce
eyes frightened and softened into
woEdrous tenderness as Sybil, with a
low cry, half joy, half pain. sprang into
his arms and called him .'Father!'
"My brave girl!' he answered. in a
voice whose deep tones quivered with
emotion. IT knew you would not fear
to come. though we have to choose
strange and lonely meetings. my Sybil
| 1t will not always be thus my darling
twill not always be thus"
I you are in danger here" she said
clinging to his bosom. and lifting her
pale. anxious face to his. "Oh. father
dear father!-why did you come here to
seek me? Let us fly-let us both fly
far. far away. where we can find safe
ty and peace!"