Audubon Republican. [volume] (Audubon, Iowa) 1894-1925, 1901-07-11
CHAPTER XVIII.

IL was beautifuk morning-almost
as mild as IL it had been autumn, rath-
-er than December day. The sun had
advanced just high enough in the
heavens to pour down his mildest and
warmest beams, and the near village
and the distant hills were bathed in
the golden light, as. of old, the fair
Eden spread its beauty forth for
Adams admiring eyes.
1t was a blessed day. The most
careless heart could but drink in its
beauty in thankful mood; the fresh,
sweet air brought color to the most
pallid cheek. 1t was hard to look out
upon the glorious scene and realize
that world SO lovely and so fair
should be the home and haunt of all
that was contemplate and base-that
the serpent SANDER and the gaunt
fiend Care. and the demon of Murder,
with his red right hand, could fling a
shadow over all this beauty and cause
each heart that had loved 1t once. al
most to curse its memory in after
years.
And yet. even the singing of the
blithe birds on that lovely winters day
seemed to say that this might be So
seemed to say that the little children
sporting joyously in the village street
might live to feel that blighting scorn
which worldly spirits only understand;
that those pleasant rustic homes, scat
tered like visible blessings here and
there, might be the haunts Of flends in
human form, and the burial place Of
the hearts best affections.
For the singing of the birds, in some
strange way, seemed to speak that
morning Of one sorely tried and tempt
ed in her earthly pilgrimage, but now
at rest where no earthly malice could
disturb her-of one whose sweet eyes
would have gazed in calm contempla-
ton on that lovely scene, had no false
words ever kindled the flame Of love
within her breast, and then left it to
go out in darkness, in bitterness, in
tears and death!
Yet, on that lovely day, deed ap-
parently unsuited to the sylvan love-
illness of the scene, was about to be
done. On that day, the record of the
past was to be rudely searched-the
grave made to give up its secrets and
its dead.
Having undertaken the task. Mr..
Cowley was determined to accomplish
it; and yet. he would have given
worlds, as the hour drew nigh, that
he had never meddled with the mat
ter-never come to Hollow Ash Hail.
His nephew also seemed nervous
and Ill at ease. AS for the ladies,
they scarcely spoke, but sat huddled
together over the drawing-room fire.
all except Rose. and she was wander
ing over the house like an uneasy
spirit, till at last they missed her en-
tirely.
The morning was rapidly waning
away, and at last Mr.. Cowley rose
from his easy-chair with the air of a
man who had made up his mind be-
yond the power of change.
Come, Charles, let us get it over"
he said. gravely.
They went out into the hall Rose
met them there. and by her side stood
tall and handsome gentleman, with
a foreign air and appearance.
Father" said the girl eagerly, come
back into the library for moment
This gentleman knows the secret of
the haunted house, and is about to
tell 1t to you"
Mr.. Cowley~started, as well he might.
"And who may this gentleman be?"
he asked, somewhat stiffly.
"A friend of the Vernons." was the
quick reply. Let him tell you the
story of the haunted room"
They went back into the library to-
gether, and this was the substance
of the story which he told them of the
dead girl, the ruined family, and the
deserted house:
Marion Escourt had been a favored
child from the very hour of her birth.
True, her young mother died that she
might live, but a sister of that mother,
good and pure as she. took the infant
to her heart, and cherished 1t for the
sake Of the dead. Marion's aunt was
one of earth's saints. and. under her
loving care the child grew mild, and
good and gentle-beloved by every one
who knew her. Her father was an old
man, and. being the possessor of great
wealth, he chose to indulge his only
and darling child in every wish she
expressed. He seemed but to live that
he might please her; yet, strange to
say. in spite of all this injudicious
fondness. she was quite unspoiled.
A slight touch of haughtiness there
might have been in her manner, but
she was no more to blame for that
than that her eyes were so large and
dark, or her form SO reed-like and
graceful. With the beauty Of her
mother. she had inherited the stately
manner of her father, and though she
moved among her friends with the state
ly dignity of a young princess. no one
seemed disposed to quarrel with what
became her so well, and was so sweetly
tempered with modesty and gentleness.
and all good gifts.
Years passed on and added the arch
destinations of girlhood to her other
charms. Her playmates were forced
to select their cavaliers from the list
of her rejected lovers. and yet her
heart seemed all untouched.
At last she made her choice. 1t sur
prised every one. Her second cousin,
George Vernon, a graceless, drinking
aud dica;nu Oyford student won the