The pioneer press. (Miller, Hand County, S.D.) 1893-190?, 1902-05-22
CHAPTER N..-The House of the
silent sorrow.

| swinging cadence like a passing bell.
! On winter nights, folks passing the
| House of the Silent Sorrow, compared
| the doleful changing to the boom that
! carries the criminal from the cell to the
| scaffold. Every night all the year
| round the little valley OF Longdean
! echoed TO that mournful clang. Per-
| haps IL was for this reason that a wan
| dering poet christened the place as the
| House of the Silent Sorrow.
For seven years this had been going
! on now, until nobody but strangers no
! ticed IL. From half-past seven till eight
o'clock that hideous bell rang it's swing
| ing. melancholy note. Why il was no.
! body could possibly tell Nobody In
the village had ever been beyond the
great rusty gates leading to a dark
drive OF Scotch frs though one small
boy holder than the rest had once
climbed the lichen-strewn stone wall
and penetrated the thick underground
beyond. Hence he had returned, with
white face and staring eyes, with the
information that great wild dogs dwelt
in the thickets. Subsequently the viii
lage poacher confirmed this informa-
ton. He was not exactly loquacious
on the subject, but merely limited that
the grounds of Longdean Grange were
not salubrious fer naturalists with a
pedatory disposition.
Indeed. on moonlight nights those
apocryphal hounds were heard to bay
and whimper A shepherd up late one
spring night averred that he had seen
two of them fighting. But nobody could
say anything about them for certain:
also, IL was equally certain that nobody
knew anything about the people at
Longdean Grange. The place had been
shut up for thirty years, being under
stood to be in Chancery, when the an
nouncement went forth that a distant
relative of the family had arranged
to live there in future.
What the lady of the Grange was
like no one could say. She had arrived
late one night, accompanied by a niece,
and from that moment she had never
been beyond the house. None of the
large staff of servants ever left the
grounds unless it was to quit altogeth-
er, and then they were understood to
leave at night with a large bonus in
money as a recompense for their prom
Use TO evacuate Sussex without delay.
Everything was ordered by telephone
from Brighton and left at the porter's
lodge. The porter was stranger; also
he was deaf and exceedingly i'll tenn
pered, so that long since the village
had abandoned the hope of getting any,
thing out of him. One rational being
they saw from the Grange occasionally,
a big man with an exceedingly benevo-
lent face and mild, large blue eyes--a
man full of Christian kindness and
given to largesse TO the village boys.
The big gentleman went by the name
of Mr. Charles" and was understood
TO have a lot Of pigeons of which he
was exceedingly fond. But who "Mr.
Charles" was, or how he had got that
name, it would have puzzled the wisest
head of the village to tell.
And yet, but for the mighty clamor
OF that hideous bell and that belt of
wildness that surrounded it, Longdean
Grange was a cheerful looking house
enough. Any visitor emerging from
the drive would have been delighted
with It, For the lawns were trim and
truly kept, the beds were blazing with
/ masses of flowers, the creepers over the
| Grange We're not allowed to riot too ex-
| travagantly. And yet the strange,
| and again huge black head would up
| lift from the coppiee growth, and a
long, rumbling growl come from be-
! meath double row OF white teeth. For
/ the dogs were no fiction. They lived
| and bred in the fifteen or twenty acres
! of coppice round the house, where they
| were fed regularly and regularly
\ thrashed without mercy IL they showed
! in the garden. Perhaps they looked
| more fierce and truculent than they
/ really were, being Cuban bloodhounds.
but they gave a weird color to the
! place and lent II new terror to the sim
! pie folk around.
/ The bell was swinging dolefully over
| the stable turret; ii rang out it's pass
J ing note till the clock struck eight and
| then mercifully ceased. At the same
| moment precisely as she had done any
/ time the last seven years, the lady OF
| the house descended the broad, black
| oak staircase to the hall A butler of
/ the old-fashioned type bowed to her
/ and announced that dinner was ready.
| He might have been the butler OF an
| archbishop from his mien and deport-
| ment, yet his evening dress was seedy
| and shiny to the last degree, his patent
/ leather boots had long lost their luster,
! his linen was terribly frayed and vel
! low. Two footmen in livery stood in
the hall. They might have been supers
| playing on the boards of a travelling
! theater, their once smartly cut and
trimmed coats hung raggedly upon
! them,
AS to the lady, who was tall and
| handsome. with dark eyes and features
contrasting stragely with hair as white
as the frost on winters landscape,
| there was a far-away, strained look in
the dark eyes. as il they were ever
| night and day looking for something,
! something that would never be found
| In herself the lady was clean and
| wholesome enough, but her evening
dress of black silk and lace was drop
| ping into fragments, the lace was in
| rags upon her bosom though there
were diamonds OF great value in her
white hair.
And here, strangely allied were
wealth and direst poverty; the whole
| place was filled with rare and costly
things. pictures, sratuary, china; the
floors were covered with thick carpets,
and yet everything was absolutely
smothered In dust. A thick, white
blankety cload OF II lay everywhere
1t obscured the china, IL dimmed the
glasses of the pictures, II piled I'm lttIa
drifts on the heads and arms o< ~
dingy statues there. Many years must