The Clio messenger. (Clio, Mich.) 1907-current, 1914-10-30


lence, the voice of Mad Anthony, as
1t had quavered to her ear on the
doorstep of the negro cabin, with the
well-sweep throwing its long curved
shadow across the group of laughing
faces:
"Ah sees yo' gwine ter him. All
heahs de co'ot-house clock a-strikin'
in de night-en yo' gwine. q.
DON wait, dom wait, lii mistis, er
de trouble-cloud gwine kyah him
erway f'om yo' When de clock
strike thuhteen-when de clock strike
thuhteen-"
She dropped the lowered curtain
and drew back. A weird fancy had
begun to press on her brain. Had not
Mad Anthony foretold truly what had
gone before? What IL there we're
some cryptic meaning in this, too? To
go to him, at midnight, by lonely
country roadside, girl? Incredible!
Yet her mind had opened to a vague
growing fear that was swiftly mount
ing to a thriving anxiety. That innate
superstition, secretly cherished while
derided, which is the heritage of the
Southron-born bred from centuries Of
contact with a mystical race, had her
In its grip. Yet all the while her
sober actual common-sense was crying
out upon her-and crying In vain.
Unknown appetences that had lain
darkling in her blood, come down to
her from long generations, were sud-
denly compelling her. The curtain
began to wave in little wind that
whispered in the silk, and somewhere
in the yard below she could hear Sc
lin nipping the clover.
She was to go or the "trouble-cloud"
would carry him away!
A strange expression of mingled
fright and resolve grew on her face.
She ran on tiptoe to her wardrobe
and with frantic haste dragged out a
rough cloak that fell over her soft
house-gown, covering 1t to the feet. 1t
had a peaked hood falling from its
collar and into this she thrust the
resentful masses of her hair. Every
few seconds she caught her breath in
short gasp, and once she paused
with an apprehensive glance over her
shoulder and shivered. She scarcely
knew what she did, nor did she ask
herself what might be the outcome of
such an absurd adventure. She nei-
Their knew nor cared. She was swept
off her feet and whirled away into
some outlandish limbo of shadowy
fear and crying dread.
Slipping off her shoes, she went
swiftly and noiselessly down the stair.
She let herself out of the door and,
shoes on again, ran across the clover
A hound clambered about her, whin-
ing, but she silenced him with a whis.
pered word. Selim lifted his head and
she patted the snufiiing inquiring
muzzle an instant before, with her
hand on his name, she led him
through the hedge to the stable. II
was but the work Of moment to
throw on a side-saddle and buckle the
girth. Then, mounting, she turned
him into the lane.
He was thoroughbred, and her tense
| excitement seemed to communicate
itself to him. He blew tho breath
through his delicate fiaring nostrils
and flung up his head at her restrain.
ing hand on the bride. Once on the
Red Road, she let him have his will
The long vacant highway reeled out
behind her to the fierce and lonely
hoof-tattoo. She was scarcely con.
scious of consecutive Thoughtful was
a vague tumble Of chaotic Impressions
threaded by that necessity that called
her like an insistent voice.
Copse and hedge few by, streaks OF
distemper on the shifting gloom
| swarthy farmhouse roofs huddled like
| giant Indians on the trail, and ponds
| in pastures glinted back the pale
glimmering of stars. The faint mist
| tangled In the branches of the trees
made them look like ghosts gathered
to see her pass. Was this real OF
was she dreaming? Was she, Shirley
cambridge, really galloping down an
open road at acknowledgements Of the
hare-brained maunderings of a half
mad old negro?
| The great iron gate of Damory court
| huhb OpCHp 6CdICcly oidChtuiue
her pace, she rode through and uT
the long drive. The glooming house
front was blank and silent and Its
huge porch columns looked like lonely
gray monoliths in the wan light. Not
a twinkle showed at chink or Granny;
the ponderous shutters were closed
There was a sense of desertion, OF
emptiness about the place that
brought her heart into her throat with
q sickly horrible feeling of certainty
She jumped down from the blowing
horse and hurried around the house
The door Of the kitchens was open
and ladder of dim reddish light fell
from It across the grass. She ran
swiftly and looked In. A huddled fig
ure sat there, rocking to and fro in
the lamplight.
Aunt Daph." she called. "what ID
the natter"
The turbaned head turned sharply
toward her. dat yo', Miss Shirley 2
the old woman said huskily. 'Ts 20
come ter see Mars John TO he gwine