Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, 1907-07-19
CHAPTER XVIII.
Vengeance.

a tall iron gateway, on the further slde
Of which ran the post-road to Quebec
with a telegraph wire following Its
long and lonely track. In the silent
garden a tame doe was feeding on the
short, sweet turf. Not far away ran
a broad river, full of foaming rapids
with the clustered roofs Of mills upon
its bank. An avenue Of tamarack trees
dripping now in a dreary drizzle OF
rain, led up to the porch. The shutters
were closed along the front OF the
house, and a funeral gloom and still
ness reigned about it-indeed, the mis-
tress Of the mansion had but just been
carried forth to her long home, and the
shadow of death seemed yet to linger
about her late earthly habitation.
A woman stood at the iron gate and
looked over at the sombre entrance of
Tamarack Hall. She was dressed in
black and closely yelled; but her hand
some figure betrayed youth and
strength, and two luminous eyes,
like moons, shone through the tissue
that covered her face.
This is the place." she said to her
self, then went boldly up the wet
avenue under the tamaracks, stepped
into a porch and raised the brass knock
er, middle-aged servant appeared
in answer to the call. II wish to see
Mr.. Fleetwood" said the visitor, in a
low, firm voice.
He is gone to ride with Miss LOTUS,
ma'am," said the woman.
The lady in black gave slight start.
BEG pardon" she murmured, behind
her veil, II did not hear the name"
Miss Loftus," repeated the domestic,
raising her voice a little. "Mr. Fleet
woods cousin-the young lady that
he's going to marry soon."
She stood like a craven image. The
tame doe lifted a gentle head and look
ed at her with wondering eyes. From
the tall tamaracks the rain dripped
like tears.
"Ah, yes-I understand" said the
veiled lady. Il have come a long way
to see Mr.. Fleetwood. My business
with him is of great Importance. Per-
nit me to wait here till he returns.
The low, sweet voice Won it's way to
the servants heart.
Certainly" she said: "Mr. Fleet
wood will soon be back. He's gone
down to the mills on the river. Come
in. The library Is the cheerfulest just
now, ma'am," beckoning the stranger to
a door on one side of the hall. There
was a funeral here last week, and 1t
seems as though the house was full Of
1t STILL"
Then Mrs. Fleetwood is dead?"
murmured the yelled visitor.
Yes, ma'am, dead and buried. OF
course you're some friend Of the fam
lily. Mr. Fleetwood's aunt is in her
room above stairs. Would you like to
have me call her?"
NO" answered the other, quickly;
II do not know the family do not
wish to see any one but Mr.. Fleet
wood"
The servant looked vaguely surpris-
ed, but she conducted the visitor into
Guy Fleetwood's library and there left
her.
1t was a handsome room, furnished
In oak. Heavy curtains draped the
long windows. Family portraits and
oaken shelves crowded with books
covered the warm tinted walls. On
the tiled hearth a jovial wood fire was
burning away the dampness Of the at
mosphere. The place had been recent
ly vacated. On low easy chair-a
woman's chair-lay a piece of Ken
sington needle-work, and on the floor
below was a handkerchief Of cobweb
texture, dropped plainly from some
fair hand.
Esther Fleetwood, the forsaken bride,
flung back her veil and stood for a
moment gazing around the apartment.
She was deadly pale, and her black
eyes shone like some wild hawks.
This was her husbands home-this
room was his private library-then, to
whom could these feminine trifles be-
long? With feverish haste she snatch
ed up the handkerchief, family scented
with heliotrope. In one corner name
was broidered-"Maud."
Her rival-the cousin to whom Guy
Fleetwood, according to the statement
Of his own servant, was about to mar
ry. Great Heaven! Then was she
Esther Hart, his lawful wife, or only
the victim of a gross deceit? And II
the former how dared he talk. or even
think, of marriage with another wo-
man?
She sank into a chair-this forsaker
girl who had crept by stealth into the
home of her husband. A black gull
of doubt and despair opened at her
feet. Over the mantel hung a portrait
of Fleetwood himself, Oh, the hand
some blonde face, with the bold eyes
and the smiling lips, how it Knocked
her now, as ii looked down from the
high wall! Maud, the cousin, held his
faithless heart. and she, Esther, was
scorned, betrayed, deserted. Ah, would
she tamely submit to this great
wrong?
The fire snapped cheerily on the
hearth. Now and then a step went by
in the hall outside. She waited with
such patience as she could command
and presently her strained ears caught
the sound Of approaching wheels. Yes
a carriage, drawn by a pair of hand
some Canadian horses, had just turn
ed through the iron gateway-it was
moving up the avenue of tamaracks
Quick as lightning Esther Hart dartet
to the nearest window, and slipped be-
hind the heavy curtain.
A sound Of feet in the porch, voice:
in the hall-one too familiar, alas
and the library door flew back, and II
swept Maud LOTUS, fat and fair, he
blonde comeliness set off to the bes
advantage by decorous mourning. A
her heels followed Guy Fleetwood.
II am quite chilled" she exclaimed
advancing to the fire with hands out
stretched to the warmth; "either b!