The Montgomery advertiser., 1908-09-07
The Spanish Necklace
BY BER THA M. CROKER
CHAPTER I.
shaIesmoor Grange.
Copyright. isos by B. croksr All Rishts RsservsdJ

of her patient as she made this an- nouncement to a country girl at the further side of low bed.
 The form which had so recently ceased to breathe was that of an el- derly man wasted and shrunken by protracted illness: his sallow features were aquiline and austere. and the mouth. now for ever silent still pro- claimed invineible pride, as well as weary suffering Ambrose Forde was indeed dead, and so far neither sign nor tear had attended his passing. The countenances of the two women were grave and thoughtful, and as
 "Aw. well. he had not much of q life; the last i've years were no good to him or nobbuti-
 His daughter must be told at once" said the nurse--a woman with thin pale face and steady eyes.
 Aye. she is lying down--just wore out. poor thing She has had q sore time--he being so long bedridden."
 'And the housekeeper. Miss Jubber. where is she7-
 Shell be in a rare taking. Her sister. Liza, is laid up with the brown kitties and she's awaiting on her. To think of his going so sudden In the end, and at four in the afternoon --such an awk'ard timer
 There is no fixed hour for death.' 2 remarked the other. as she straight ened the pillow. ''He passed away quietly in his sleep"
 Aye" agreed the girl with a nod, ''an' wonder where he be nowr'
 Where we will all be some day" answered the nurse with low-toned emphasis. What is thisT"--drawing out from under the bolster q substan- tial locked volume.
 "'Tis his bank book, I take it: the key will be on him. He was main fond of the brass"
 There Is a good deal to be done" resumed Nurse Dixon--"message tn the doctor--telegrams to be sent tn the undertaken. and relations. and friends-"
 That's all right about the under taker--Toll of Scarborough does us-- there's no friends, and as for rela- tions. Miss Hester has not one in the world that 'ud speak to her. much less come hers+"
 You don't say so." calculated the other That Is stranEe!'
 ''Yes. ye see, 1t all coom of his run nings away" explained the girl, as she looked down at the clearly cut grim face--"frst fro his home, and then with his missus---"
 ''Whati That old gentlemani'
 Aye. just that very owd gentle manf
 The nurses face expressed a sudden awkward interest.
 "Ah. see there Is a story" she said slowly. then turned to the low windows, and stretched out her hand to pull down the blinds.
 Mary Dixon stood high in her pro- fession. being experienced. sympa- thetic. and firm: like Mir. Forde's or phan daughter, she was entirely alone
 
 was novel-reading; many a long night she had wiled away, and as the slow hours struck and the patient slept. the nurse forgot the cold, her aching bones. her little worries. once she was transported to that land of en- ehantment. the regions of Romance.
 A story appealed to her immediately. not that she was gossip or inquisi- tive. but simply that she lowed . mar rative for It's own sake.
 Buxom Fanny Tootle was by no means a clever girl, yet she intuitive- ly divined the other womans thoughts, and said:
 well. we have our hands full just now, but by-and-by. if you will be your supper. I will tell ye summat of ta queer tale Of this house."
 This death, conversation, and promise, took placo in a front room of Shalesmoor Grange. an ancient man sion. standing aloof from remote vil- lage In ''the Clays." A certain part of the low-lying country between Not tingham and Lincoln bears this stugu- larly depressing name; it borders the river Trent, and Is flat, almost tree- less tract, intersected by fine roads. which run through rich marly fields, and, at long intervals. struggling vil- lages. whose red-roofed houses and tall church towers break the dead monoto- ny of the landscape. Although Shales- moor lay within three miles of rail- way station. it derived but scant ad- vantage from its opportunities. and seemed the most forlorn and crest fallen of all the hamlets in the dis trict. There were a few gabled cot tages, whose windows, blazing with scarlet geraniums, overlooked trim little gardens all roses and hollyhocks There was still the old White Stag, so famous in coaching days; an inn where the stages changed teams. and which stabled hundred horses at a time; now the stalls were roofless, the cof- fee-room was a flour-store, and most of the upper windows had been boarded up.
 Though its glory had departed along with the merry horn and clatter- ing hoofs-yet the battered old sign, with its ghostly white stag. still hung over the entrance. and creaked it's desolation to the heartless winds
 With the decay of coaching and the ruin of the Steir family the village of Shalesmor had sunk into obscurity. Monuments of the great folk" were still to be seen within the fine old grey church, with its nachicolated tower Formerly the Steirs had been people of note; huge marble creations to their honored memory covered considerable portions of the sacred walls. and be- meath busts of danes, cavaliers, and statesmen, were long inscriptions in the Latin tongue. Otherwise the Steirs were now as extinct as the dodo, or the White Stag inn. Shalesmoor Grange-their ancestral home a rust colored Jacobean mansion, sheltered by few copperbee and yew trees, situated at the end of a lane in a re- mote hollow. enjoyed an isolation that was almost monastic. Entrenched be- hind high wall, its rows of prinn windows overlooked a small graVeled courtyard; the demesne being now shrunken to a kitchen garden and a few meadows. Once upon a time the lands of Shalesmoor had stretched to the Trent itself, the avenue reached to the village, and, if all tales were true, many passenger by coach and post-chaise had made his way to the Jovfal mansion, where as guest of the Steir family he shared in the best of good cheer good wine and high play The last Of their line .an aged spin Ster, had died in StraItepad ciPcuro.