The National tribune., 1901-11-14
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CHAPTER ].
THE AppARITION.


Gilbert March had lost his way. He was
convinced of the fact as he reincd in his
horse and gazed about him.. The ann
forest road which he had been following
had Suddenly narrowed into Il mere path.
In fact. it gave evidences of extending
no farther than the diIapidated cabin just
ahead.
10 add to the unp.easautness Of the
situation a bank of dark clouds had drllt-
ed across the moon, and scattering laheS
of snow began to fall. With the rise OF
the wind. that moaued dlSmaiy through
the forests. the night grew intensely cpid.
The idea OF becoming lost anna tIe
wflds of the OZ;,.k Mountains at such Il
tine was not one to induce the most pleas
ant reflections. TO all appearances the
cabin lust ahead was deserted, but oil
beIt urged his horse forward III that dl-
rection, determined 10 investigate the mat
ter.
As he drew near he perceived that the
door was swinging open, and 1t was evil
dent that no one occupied it. lie sat on
his horse for Il moment, debating IN ms
mind as to whether he should push on and
try to find his way back to the main road,
or avail himself of the shelter offered by
the deserted cabin. In the darkness and
storm, and being ignorant of the coun-
try. he realized how hopeless would be the
task OF attempting to discover the lost
road. The night was already far ad-
vanced. and it might be best to remain
here till daylight
He dismounted. and leading the horse
into Il shed and hitching him, he pushed
the swinging door back and entered the
cabin. He lighted match and gazed
about him. There was nothing in the
room but a rude bench and a couple Of
I,t+ hn fIrpnlgPp
viting, and bringing some dry sticks from
the outside he soon had a cheerful fire
burning.
As the light and warmth pervaded the
room Gilbert seated himself before the
fire. feeling a sense of gratitude for the
shelter from the cold and storm.
Gilbert March was Il New Yorker. hand
some young and rich. 1t was an odd
fancy that had led him to come West. 1t
could not have been the desire TO inspect
the tract of wild mountain land that had
recently come into his possession, and
which lay in remote faStness of the
Ozark Mountains. 1t was merely one of
those odd notions that had induced him
to make the trip-such as had, in the
past, led him into many strange coun-
try and still stranger adventures. But
the events which had followed his arrival
in Missouri We're of such a character as
TO induce The belief that Fate might have
had something to do with his coming.
The young man lighted his pipe-an ex-
quisite article of Oriental creation-and
with a halo of smoke about his head. sat
thinking over the matter.
A sweet, oval face, lighted by PAR
of dark-brown eyes, came before his men-
tai vision-the face of Agnes Bennington,
and a tender look came into his eyes.
YES. it must have been the hand of
Fate that brought me on this trip to the
West he mused. What a sweet, glor-
ious creature she is-so different from
is so often forced to mingle with IN the
city. What lucky dog | am"
Shortly after his arrival in Springfield,
Gilbert met and fell in love with Agnes
Bennington, the beautiful niece of Col.
Withers an eccentric Southerner. He
loved her from the first moment he saw
her. and now she was his promised wife.
The thought thrilled him as he sat there
in the lonely cabin, and bright light
shone in his deep-brOwn eyes.
He thought of the many happy hours
he had spent in the society of the one he
loved. 1t all seemed like a blissful dream
to him now, and he was half fearful lest
he should wake to find it all a dream In
reality. 1t had been more than two weeks
since she had been so suddenly whisked
away to Pine Hall, her uncle's country
Ozark Mountains.
Gilbert was now on his way thither, but,
unfortunately, having never been in the
country before, he had lost his way
among the many dim roads that led into
the lumber regions.
He had hoped TO reach the little vii.
lage of Darkwood by nightfall, where he
expected to remain till the following morn
ing. Pine Hall stood in a little valley
some 10 miles from the village. miles from
the nearest human habitatiOn.
How the wind rOared through the for
ests. 1t swept in fitfUl gusts about the
cabin, sitting fine particles of the whirling
snow through the loose boards, and moan
ing dismally through the creyices.
The fire leaped and rOared on the hearth,
sending q cheerful light and warmth about
the room. Gilbert stretched himself upon
the bench before the fire, and closing his
eyes, gave himself up to pleasant refec-
tons. And lying thus. u sense Of drowsi-
ness stole over him and he fell asleep.
In his sleep he dreamed strange dreams,
aud in his dreams Agnes Bennington was
at his side, as the tive walked through a
deep forest. The winding road, it seemed,
led close by n deep abyss, and despite
his efforts to draw her away, the girl
walked on the very brink of the precipiCe.
His soul was filled with an agony of APP
pTehcnsion, and as he reached forward to
grasp her land. she reeled and went over
into the abyss, Il look Of hopeless horror
upon her face. Then, with cry Of agony,
he awOSc.
He sat bolt upright on the bench, and
stared about him i'll q sort OF stupefed
bewiiderment. He could hardly realize
that il was only a dream.
The fire had burned out, and only
pile Of red Goals lay on the hearth, send
ing a dull, uncertain glow about him.
As his eyes wandered about the room
they fell upon the window, against which
the low moon was sending flood of ra-
dance. lie could see that the clouds had
drifted from the sky and the stars were
cleaning brilliantly through the frosty
night. He had barely time to note this
when a face appeared at the window
For only u moment it was pressed against
the pane, then ii vanished as quickly as
it had come. Gilbert rose with a cry
upon his lips. 1t was the face Of Agnes
Bennington,
CHAPTER II.
THE LANDLORDS STORY.