The Tabor independent. [volume] (Tabor, S.D.) 1913-19??, 1915-03-25

adjuration, with its expressive hand ac-
compartment, was meant for the dis
tracted boy, but somehow II went far
Their. IL vas the means OF checking the
caustic reprimand that rose to the lips
Of each of the elder Blagdens, as well
as putting his s~candalized wife n her
proper place before she could utter q
word-which was something he a
never been able to do before. You
must not give way to rage lii that.
You should try to govern, try to con
quer the vicious impulse thai Is back
OF such outbursts. I am sorry-very
sorry, Eric-to hear such words from
your lips. Only ruffians and the be-
sotted of our world utter such threats.
Compose yourself. You can overcome
these base thoughts II you will but try.
Try, my boy, try. +"
IS "Amen!" exclaimed his wife.
"Amen!" added Chetwynd from bis
chair in the corner. Mr.. Presbrey
turned a dark red. He was conscious
OF ridicule in the boys dolorous itera-
ton.
Mr.. Blagden-" he began warmly.
"Chetwynd!" Numbered the young
mans father. Leave the rooml"
What have I done?" whined Chef
wynd, thoroughly frightened.
Never mind, Mr.. Blagden, I beseech
you," cried Mr.. Presbrey in haste, re-
considering an impulse. Il am sure
Chetwynd spoke with sincerity in his
heart. Do not chide him, / implore."
Mr.. Blagden shook his finger ut
Chetwynd, and the incident was closed.
But in one of the undiscovered recesses
OF Mr.. Presbrey's soul. a small, bitter
thing took root, and from 1T. all IN
beknownst to him, a most unchristiap
aversion to Chetwynd was to TOW with
amazing swiftness. Mr.. Presbrey new
err had hated anyone or anything In all
his life. But he was destined know
the feeling and to enjoy 1t.
He renewed his appeal to the boy on
the sofa You would have though that
Eric already stood In the shadow Of
the scaffold. so e~loquently did the ex-
cellent gentleman plead for his re-
generation. The boy, after his single
outburst, shrank within himself.
crushed, Inundated, trembling. Some
lied to him. and that these horrid SEN
fences confined the truth. The light
went out Of his soul, the warmth from
his heart. A beautiful ideal vas being
shattered as he looked on, and he could
offer no resistance to the demolition. II
was all true. His father was a u
derer. He a shot down a man with
out mercy, without fairness. There was
nothing left for the boy to build on,
nothing that could stand firmly enough
for him to attach his dreams to-noth-
ingl The minister was telling the
truth. The minister could not lie. Old
Jabez had lied. Old Jabez could lie, he
recalled IN a hazy fashion as he tried
TO prop up his hopes by putting the old
seaman's word against that Of the
divine.
His face was white with the frost
that had entered his blood. His eyes
were burning, his soul was faint.
Twice, even thrice, he looked to his
uncle and aunt for succor, though he
knew not why. Something told him be-
.forehand that they would not come to
his relief, that they had no desire to
shield him from the truth-aye, that
they had brought It about for some in
applicable reason of their own He did
not feel the conclusive clutching Of his
sisters fingers; he was dead to every
thing except the steel that was slip
ping into his heart.
Once he heard Mr.. Presbrey say. ss
II from afar: Don't you remember,
Eric dear. the man who was hanged in
Ridgely county last fall? Think Of
that! Think of that mans feelings!"
But he could not think Of that mans
feelings. He could only think of his
own. of his sisters. Of his fathers.
that mans feelings? What was that
man to him, or to his sister? What had
he to do with the case? That man had
only killed his wife. He had not killed
a scoundrel, as his father had done.
Come to Christ! Come to Christi"
droned the gentle, persistent voice of
the minister, p~unctuating his harangue
Out Of the maze Eric heard his uncle's
voice:
DO not hesitate on my account,
Presbrey. Tell them Of their mother"
In the middle of Mr.. PresbreyNs de-
vout castigation OF Horace Blagden's
protagonistic sister, little Mary threw
herself on Eric's shoulder and sobbed
as IL her heart would break. Eric's
trembling voice broke in on her sobs,
in the feeble effort to comfort her.
Don't cry, Mamie, please don't!
Listen! You never can be like that.
You've got me-. I'll stand by you. Moth
ing a ever happen to you" Then he
turned fercely upon his uncle: why
do you let him say such things about
your sister. Uncle Horace? She was
your sister, my mother was. I'd kill a
man, IL / was q man, II he said such
things about my sister! AS an after
clap, he added shrilly: Even If they
hung me for It'll"
But Mr.. Blagden retained the unruf-
fled composure that made him the
great man Of Corinth. He felt Of his
watch fob-mind you, he did not tumble
it-and gazed blandly at Mrs. Pres
brey, q queer little smile OF apology on
his lips. AS much as to say: In my
own house, dear me-"
II won't listen to any more" cried
Eric, coming to his feet and facing
them all. II shan't stay here. Mary
shan't, either. Well go away tonight.
I know where we can go. l."
Eric! Be quiet" commanded his
uncle. "And sit down"
(Co7ttnued, pext walk