Grant County herald. [volume] (Lancaster, Wis.) 1850-1968, 1915-05-26
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ILLUSTRATED ~ LAUREN STOUT


whispered in the silk, and somewhere
in the yard below she could hear Sc
linn 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 it to the feet. 1t
had a peaked hood falling from it's
collar and into this she thrust the
resentful masses of her hair. Every
few seconds she caught her breath in
a 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. Se1im lifted his head and
she patted the snuEling inquiring
muzzle an instant before, with her
hand on his name, she led him
through the hedge to the stable. 1t
was but the work of a 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 the breath
through his delicate 1aring 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 flew 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 or
was she dreaming? Was she, Shirley
cambridge, really galloping down an
open road at midnight-because of the
hare-brained maunderings Of a half
mad old negro?
The great iron gate of Damory court
hung open, and scarcely slackening
her pace, she rode through and up
the long drive. The giooming house
front was blank and silent and its
huge porch columns looked like lonely
gray monoliths in the wan light. Not
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
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 is
the matter?"
The turbaned head turned sharply
toward her. dat yo', Miss Shirley"
the. old woman said huskily rs yo'
come ter see Mars John TO he gwine
away? Yo' too late, honey, too late!
He done gone ter de deepo TO- ter
ketch de th'oo train. En-, oh, honey,
All knows in NAH ole ha'at dat Mars
John ain nevah gwine come back ter
Danny co'ot no mol"
HHADTED