The Holly chieftain., 1904-04-29
CHAPTER XIV.
The Narrative.


These remarkable words were fol
lowed by arother silence. during
which the younger man seemed turn
ed to stone, and the other, who ap-
peared completely exhausted by the
strain of the last few minutes, let
himself fall back into his chair and
breathed heavily.
Then the first, recovering himself,
and speaking in hoarse, strange
voice, which even to his own ear
sounded unnatural, asked
What do you mean? What horrible
story is this? What foul lie"
The other man pointed TO the let
ter lying on the table between them.
Read it, he said, with an effort,
and, even as he spoke those two
words, the greyness began to return
and deepen, and his face seemed to
fall in.
Thus adjured, Ted stripped off the
outer cover.
Within were several sheets of pa
per, covered with writing, in the
heavy scrawling hand, which he now
knew well.
THE TRUE NARRATIVE AND
CONFESSION OF MIR. JAMES FER
RERS. OF THE STRANGE TRAG-
EDY OF THE 25TH OF APRIL"
Il arrived in England on the Gath
of April, after having been absent
twenty years. The reasons for that
prolonged absence do not propose to
enter into at length. Suffice it to say
that | had committed an act which
brought me within reach of the law,
and, but for the influence of friends,
| might have expiated the deed by
transportation.
Reckless extravaganza, betting and
gambling, with mad attempt to re-
cover my position by speculating with
money which was not my own,
brought me to this shameful pass.
The matter was allowed to blow
over--to be hushed up-and the actu-
al sum made away with was reim-
bursed. But I was Pariah-an out
cast-shunned and despised by all
but one. One friend stood by me,
one man still gave me help of his
countenance and extended the right
hand of fellowship towards me, and
| he was my old friend, Silas Burritt.
He alone was there to bid me fare
well as l left England, disgraced
man. He alone bade me hope for bet
ter things and look forward to re-
trieving the failure OF the past in tue
| promise of the future. So ! set sail
for America, with the expressed re-
solve of not returning until many
years had elapsed and those VITO
were acquainted with my shameful
| history were either dead or else hhd
forgotten it and me.
''At last the term of years which I
had set as the limit of my voluntary
exile having all but expired, 1 ven
tured to return. | fingered purpos e
| ly on my journey, SO that when /
landed at Dover. it was twenty years
to the very day | had first set sail.
"At Dover l waited the arrival Of
my old friend.
He came. and the meeting was n
! painful one on both sides.
| After so long parting, there was
a sense of restraint between us, such
| as there could hardly have failed to
| be. But. after while, this feeling
became less noticeable. We had much
to say, and |, for my part, had many
| questions to ask and much to learn.
! One thing ! did learn-the most i'm
portant of all-which was that, with
one exception, might consider my
self free from the. fear of any wit
nesses of the past appearing 10
blight the prospects of the future.
1T was agreed that | should spend
the next night under his roof and
make the acquaintance of, his wife
and family, and we agreed to travel
by that ill-fated train known as tne
| 4:30 express.
(To be continued.)