The Bon Homme County independent. [volume] (Tabor, S.D.) 1904-1913, 1908-10-01

save myself pricked their ears and
pressed closer, and / looked swiftly
from face to face as the wavering light
lit UP now one and now another-old
familiar faces Tor the most part.
'1Weil, Sir Philip, will you stop to
supper?" / cried, with a laugh, when
he had had time, as I judged, to reach
the signature.
Go to!" he grunted. looking at me.
Nice fools you nav made of US. young
mani He passed the letter to Gre
vile. Sir Anthony" he continued. a
mixture of pleasure and chagrin in his
voice, you are freel l congratulate
you on your luck. Your nephew has
brought an amnesty for all things done
up TO the present time save for any
life taken, in which case the matter Is
TO be referred to the secretary. Fortu-
rateIy my dead horse is the worst of
the mischief so free you are and m
nestled. though nicely Master Cecil
has befooled u.s."
we will give you another horse, Sir
Philip" / answered.
But the words were wasted on the
air.. They We're drowned in a great
shout of Joy and triumph which rang
ment the purport Of the paper vas un-
derstood-a shout which made the old
house shake again and scared the
dogs so that they fed away into corn
ers and gazed askance at us, their tails
between their legs, a shout that was
plainly heard a mile away in half q
dozen homesteads where Cludde men
lay gloomy In their beds.
BY this time my uncIe's bar was In
mine. With his other he took off his
hat. Lads he cried huskily, rearing
his tall form In III midst, "a cheer
for the queenl God keep her safe, and
long may she reig11!"
This was universally regarded as the
end OF what they still proudly call In
those parts "the Cotton insurrection."
When silence came again, every dog,
even the oldest and wisest, had bayed
himself hoarse and fled to kennel,
thinking the end Of the world was
In, swelled high with pride, and there
were tears in my yes as well as in
my uncle's. But there Is no triumph,
after all, without It's drawback, no
fruition equal to the anticipation.
Where was Petronilla? / could see her
nowhere, l looked from window to
window, but she was Mt none. I
scanned the knot of maids, but could
not find her. Even the cheering had
not brought her out.
1T was wonderful, though, how the
cheers cleared the air. Even Sir
Thomas Greville regained good humor
and deigned to shake me by the hand
dild NApASSH ulIAtGtll piGdSeu IndIN LnG
matter had ended so happily. Then the
sheriff drew him and B~ridgewater
away to look TO their mems
ments, seeing, l think, that my uncle
and / would fain be alone awhile. and
at last ! asked with a trembling voice
after P~etronilla. g@
To be sure Sir Anthony answered,
furtively wtping his eyes, II had for
gotten her, dear lad. / wish now that
h had staid. But tell me, Francis,
how came you back tonight, and how
did YOU manage this?"
Something OF what he asked I told
him hurriedly, but then-be sure L
took advantage of the first opening-I
asked again after Petronilla. Where
has she gone, sir?" I said, trying to
conceal my impatience. II thought
that Martin told me she was here
indeed that he had seen here after / ar
rived
Il am not sure. do you know sir An
tony answered, eying me absently,
that l was wise, but / considered she
was safer away, Francis. And she can
be fetched back in the morning. I
feared there might be some disturb
ance in the house, ais indeed there well
might have been, and though she beg
ged very hard to stay with me l sent
her or"
This evening. sir?" I stammered,
suddenly chilled.
Yes; an hour ago.
But an hour ago, every approach
was guarded, Sir Anthony" 1 cried in
surprise. Il had the greatest difficulty
in slipping through from the outside
myself. well as / know every field and
tree. To escape from within, even for
q man. much less a woman, would
have been impossible. She will have to
be stopped"
II think not he said, with a smile
at once. sage and indulgent, which
seemed to add, You think yourself a
clever lad, but you do not know every
thing YETI
II sent her out by the secret passage
TO the mill house, you see" he X
pIained, 'aS Soon as j heard the sher-
iff's party outside. I could have given
them the slip myself had I pleased"
The mill house?" I answered. The
NH house stood nearly a quarter OF a
rile from Cotton End, beyond the gar
dens and in the direction OF the village.
I remembered vaguely that I had heard
from the servants In the old days some
talk of a secret outlet leading from
the house to 1t. but they knew no par
ticulars, and its existence was only
daTkly rumored among them.
you did not know of the passage"
Sir Anthonw said, ~chuckling at my as
tCDishment.
mo: I remember, but the girl did.
Your father and his wife went with
her. He quite agreed In the wisdom
of sending her away, and Indeed add
yiscd it. ON reaching the mill. IL they
found all quiet, they were to walk
across to Watney's farm. There they
could get horses and might ride at
their leisure to Stratford and wait the
event. / thought IL best for her, and
Ferdinand agreed"
And my father-went with her?" ]
nuttered hoa' sely, feeling myself
growing chill to the heart. Hardly
could l restrain my indignation at Sir
Anthony's folly or my own anger and
OBSERVATION-DISCLOSURES fear, for though
my read seemed on fire, and there was
a tumult In my brain. / was cool
enough to trace clearly my fathers
motives and discern with what a de-
ltberate purpose he had acted. He
I went with herr
a Yes: he and his wife" the knight
answered, noticing nothing In his OBJ
tusenesS.
You have been fooled, sir" / said
bitterly. MY father you should have
known. and, for his wife. she Is a bad.
unscrupulous woman! Oh, the mad
ness OF II, to put my cousin into their
i hands,"
What do you mean?" the knight
Ecried, beginning TO tremble. Your
fnther is a changed man, lad. He has
come back to the old faith, and in q
dark hour too. He
eye is a hvnonrita ara a viIiagnfo 7