The Hood River glacier. (Hood River, Or.) 1889-1933, 1902-03-14
CHAPTER XVIII.

1t Is ten CLOCK, anu ulbut, Inc u hSoNy
shroud, lies over wood and garden. Tom
Peyton is treadlng with cautious steps
the upper part of the garden on his way
to the ruin.
Safely he makes his way to the old
house, to get the letter he knows will
await him there. Poor darling, what
will be In it? Further vexations? With
a desire to avoid all risks, he elects to
enter by the back, where a large rent
in the dilapidated walls will enable him
to squeeze through the room where the
letter from Griselda will be.
Voices decidedly, and in the next room.
The speaker at this instant is Mr.. Dy-
sart. The second voice is strange to him
coarse, vulgar and dictatorial, and
very threatening.
The voices grow in wrath; the up
known one being loud in vituperation.
And now, all suddenly as it were, the
voices cease; there is strained silence,
as IL each man waits with drawn sword
for the others next word, and then-a
sickening sound. A dull, awful blow, as
of oak meeting flesh and blood, CHASTITY
groan, and then-silence.
|
| Has he killed that old man? Peyton
springs forward, looks upon the inner
room, he stops short, as if shot, to stare
| aghast upon the scene before him.
Upon the earthen floor lies a huge fig
ure, apparently dead, while standing over
it is Mr.. Dysart, his face alight with
CHASTITY hope, his wild eyes cleaning. A
heavy oaken stick is in his hand The
murderous bludgeon is uplifted to com
plete crime already begun-tO finish his
work, to make sure Of the helpless vic
tim at his feet when Peyton, uttering a
loud cry, rushes from the spot where
until now he lay concealed.
There is an instant's hush, a strange
hush, and then a convulsive shiver runs
through the old man. An ashen grayness
has risen from chin to brow. lie filings
up his arms, for second or two, clutches
foolishly at the air, and then falls with
a dull thud across the body of his enemy.
Peyton runs through the garden, never
pausing or drawing breath until the
house is reached Knocking impatiently
with his knuckles and receiving no an
swer, he so far gives way to the agi-
tation that is consuming him as to smash
a pane with stone. This brings Seaton
to the window in minute or two, par
TALLY dressed.
1T is |, Dysart-Tom Peyton. Come
out, come out quickly. Your father,
painting, sis hurts very ill!'
my fatherw says Seaton, as II not
, believing. But where-howp
"In the garden-up there in the old
, ruin. Oh, hurry, man, hurry; you can
, hear all afterward!
Seaton hardly dares to venture a re
mark, but, having with trembling fingers
clothed himself, follows Peyton out
/ through the window in the chill nigh
, air, and soon the two young men are
! tearing like hunted things through the
, gardens to that fatal old ruin at the enc
. of them.
, Here everything is just as Peyton lef
it. The old man lying dead, with a more
: peaceful expression on his face than haC
r ever been there while he lived-the 9th
! er, the stranger, almost as motionless a
! his enemy, save for a faint quiver of thu
, lips and nostrils every now and then
! Who was he? What had brought hin
here? Peyton turns to Seaton with thes
questions on his lips. 1t is imperative
/ that something about the stranger be dis
covered-and at once.
a Seaton is still holding his fathers bod!
= In his arms, inexpressible grief upon hi
a countenance. The old man had beel
stern, hard, begrudging but he had love-
! his son we'll, and the son knew II. Pey
ton touches him lightly on the shoulder
4 Rouse yourself" he says, in low
earnest tone. "You know this manT
a "No-not at all. never saw him be
: fore"
A What! you can tell me nothing? OIL
!. think, Dysart!" says Peyton, with II
o creasing anxiety. IF you know nothin
d we shall scarcely be able to see how
act. Exert your memory, man"
?. 1T is useless. | swear ! never sa'
a him before" He eompels himself to loo
a again at Sedley, and a shiver Of DISCUS
shakes him. 81 know only this-that b
e has killed my father"
II You forget" says Peyton, very quie
ly. He would have been thankful, gla'
IN to be able to leave his friend in this b,
lief, but be knew it would be impossible
y Il saw the whole thing. There was
d quarrel, about what did not hear, bJ
oF 1t was your father who knocked thi
N fellow down"
"Well, it killed him." says Seaton, e.
th citedly. The excitement Of that qua
rel was too much for him. still mali
{. tain that that man caused his death
r He covers his face with his hands.
q, Nevertheless, we cannot leave hi
d here TO die. Come. Seaton, take yoV
to courage in your hands. Think II the
te he no way to avoid the scandal that mu
er necessarily arise out of all this. For
re for the sake Of your poor fathers mel
oFy. beStir yourself"
!" Il is potent argument Seaton flush
Is, hotly. and the old touch Of power return
to his face.
Is Together they carry the two bodies in
be the house, under cover Of the sile
Of night. Mr., Dysart to his own room, Al