The county record. [volume] (Kingstree, S.C.) 1885-1975, 1904-08-25

finally quit that sequestered spot where
| was born, whose every nook recalled
some pleasant incident OF my child
hoods happy days when my father
had watched over me with tender
and anxious solicitude such as man
only bestows Oh motherleSs Child,
was prepared to abandon it at once
and for ever rather than renounce the
dear girl whose love had won. 1t was
| hard for me to leave my home and live
estranged from my lifelong companion
and friend, the one to whom l owed
everything; but even that, hard as it
was, would be easier tnan the alrerna-
tive offered to me. These corsidera-
tions brought tears to my eyes, but
my purpose was never for moment
weakened. Suddenly reused myself
from the reverie into which l had
fallen, and turning to 60 to my own
room, encountered Mr.. Wolsey at the
door.
What is all this trouble between
you and your father, Ernest: asked
the old gentleman.
"You had better inquire for the par
ticulars where you learned the fact,
1 answered testify; for could not
help thinking that Mr.. Wolsey was in
some measure responsible for the
present resolute attitude OF my
father; that he had been exerting his
influence to annul the friendship
which he knew existed between my
uncle and me. Without waiting to
hear any further remark from him,
1 passed my interrogation abruptly
and continued my way to my room.
No sooner was l in assured solitude
than 1 sat down, and resting my
aching head on my hands, endeavored
to impartially review the whole
course of my life, which consisted,
found, Of two periods-nearly twenty
years Of happy. careless indifference,
and six months of high hopes, grave
anxieties and bitter disappointmepts,
the division being marked by my in
PRODUCTION to uncle Sam. The shorter
of the two periods seemed the longer,
the fight Of time being appreciated
FOR the importance rather than the
number of it's events. For two hours
did wrestle with myself and suffer
indescribable anguish Of spirit, vain
ly desiring the ligh: and guidance
which 1 knew not where nor how to
seek. The purest, most loving, most
disinterested, most generous being l
had ever known was Constance
Marsh, and to her would l so to
claim the promise she had made to
become my wife. Would that I had
accepted her advice, and abandoned
all hope or thought of the cursed Sc
auins! But the mischief was past and
irreparable, and 1 could only resolve
that never again-no, not even though
the clearest conceivable indications
of success were placed before me
would 1 so much as lift my hand for
! the recovery of treasure the very
name Of which must ever be asso-
ciated in my mind with misery.
NV resolution was taken: 1 would
certainly leave home. Indeed, there
was nothing else for me to do. my
fathers terms being precise, and such
as I could not bring myself to accept;
vet did l love my father as well as l
had ever done, and the thought that
was now going away from Holden
hurst, perhaps never to return-that
| possibly l had looked upon my
fathers face for the last time-cut
ME to the heart. l sat down at a
table and wrote upon a sheet or
paper, which l could only dimly see,
| few lines addressed to my father. re-
GREETING that my conduct during the
| past few months had been such as he
could not approve, especially as that
conduct had been based upon a sin
| cere belief in it's righteousness. be-
| lief which I still entertained; and
therefore, by his own ruling. Holden
hurst was no longer my home. 1
| closed with many endearing express
sions, not forgetting to state that
should he ever desire to see me, 1t
| would be my pleasure no less than
my duty to come to him.
My painful task completed. folded
the note, and rose to pack handbag.
AS did so the looking-glass revealed
my face and startled me. so pallid
and haggard had l become. OBJ
served my appearance for but q mo-
| ment, and then hurried forward my
scanty preparations for departure.
Yet few minutes later, and 1 had
left the house with no more than l
could conveniently carry, coming away
unobserved through door which led
from the garden into an orchard, and
thence along the footpath which
| served US as a convenient short cut
into the Bury road.
1t was early morning, and the au-
| tumnal mist which obscured the fields
was slowly disappearing before the