The Tupelo journal., 1909-07-02

say, who could send me to battle with
a nice little quivery smile-sweet-
heart! Oh, I'm not good enough for
you, my dear, my dear" He felt an
immense humility as he contrasted his
own lot with the loneliness of
Keatcham and Mercer and the multi
tude of solitaries in the world, who
had lost, or sadder still. had never
possessed. the divine dream that is
the only reality of the soul. AS such
thoughts moved his heart, suddenly in
the full tide of hope and t~hankfulness.
1t stood still, chilled, as If by the
glimpse of an iceberg in summer lei
Yet how absurd; it was only that he
had recalled his stoical aunt's most
unexpected touch of superstition.
Quite in jest he had asked her If she
felt any presentiments or queer things
In her bones tonight. He expected to
be answered that Janet had driven
every other anxiety out of her mind;
and how was she to break it to Mill
cent?-or with some such caustic re-
partee. Instead, she had replied test
lily: Yes, / do, BERTHE. l feel-hor-
rid! l feel as if something out of the
common awful were going to happen.
1t isn't exactly Atkins, either. Do you
reckon it could be the l Suey When,
that bamboo-shoots mess we had for
dinner?"
Although they spent a good 20 min
utes after that, joking over super
stitions, and he had repeated to her
some of Tracy's and Arnold's most in
genious "spooky stunts" to make the
neighborhood keep it's distance from
Casa Fuerte, and they had laughed
freely, she as heartily as he, never
theless he OWNED that her smile was
a p%retense. Suddenly, an unruly tremor
shook his own firm spirits. Looking
out on the stepped and lanterned
arches of the wing, he was conscious
of the same tragic endowment of the
darkened pile, which had oppressed
him that night, weeks before, when he
had stood outside on the crest of the
hill; and the w%ould-be murderers
might have been skulking in the
shadows of the pepper trees. He tried
vainly to shake off this distempered
mood. Although he might succeed for
a moment in a lovers absorption, it
would come again, insidiously, seep.
ing through his happiness like a fume.
AFTER futile attempts to sleep he rose,
and still at the bidding of his uncanny
and tormenting impulse he took his
bath and dressed himself for the day.
By this time the ashen tints of dawn
were in his chamber and on the
fields outside. He stood looking at the
u~nloveliest aspect of nature, a land
scape on the sunless side, before the
east is red. The air felt lifeless;
there were no depths in the pale sky;
the azure was a fiat tint, Opaque and
thin, like a poor water-color. While
he gazed the motionless trees, live.
oaks and olives and palms, were
shaken by a mighty wind; the pepper
plumes tossed and streamed and
tangled like a banner; the great elms
along the avenue bent v e in a break
ing strain. Yet the silken cord of the
Holland window shade did not so
much as swing. There was not a
wings breath of air. But gradually
the earth and cloud vibrated with a
strange grinding noise which has been
| described a hundred times, but never
adequately; a %sickening crepitation, as
of the rocks in the hills scraping and
%splintering. Before the mind could
question the sound, there succeeded
an anarchy of uproar. In it was
jumbled the crash of trees and build
ings, the splintering crackle of glass,
the boom of huge chimneys falling and
of vast explosions, the hiss of steam,
the hurting of timbers and bricks and
| masses of stone or sand, and the
| awful rush of frantic water escaping
from engine or main.
"Quake, sure's you're born!" said
the colonel softly.
Now that his invisible peril was
real, was upon him, his spirits leaped
up to meet it. He looked coolly about
him, noting in his single glance that
the house was standing absolutely