Grant County herald. [volume] (Lancaster, Wis.) 1850-1968, 1915-05-26
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to her. and she realized that it must
be the picture Of his father. The fact
shocked and confounded her. Why
should her mother carry in secret the
miniature of the man who had
killed
Shirley's breath stopped. She felt
her face tingling and curious weak
ness came on her limbs. Why, indeed,
unless-and the thought was like a
wild prayer in her mind-she had
been mistaken in her surmise?
Thoughts came thronging in panic
haste: the fourteenth of May and the
cape observation-disclosures might point
no less to Valiant than to Sassoon.
But her mothers fainting at the sight
OF the son-the eager interest she had
displayed in S1frley's accounts of him,
from the episode of the rose and the
bulldog to the tournament ball
seemed now to stand out in new
light, throbbing and roseate. Could
it be? Had she been stumbling along
a blind trail, misled by the cunning
dovetailing of circumstance? Her
heart was beating stifiingly. If she
should be mistaken now! She dashed
her hand across her eyes as though to
compel their clearness, and looked
again.
It was Beauty Valiant's face that
lay in the locket, and that could mean
but one thing: it was he, not Sassoon,
whom her mother loved!
The Iam2light seemed to grow and
spread TO an unbearable radiance.
Shirley thought she cried out with a
sudden sweet wildness, but she had
not moved or uttered a sound. The
illumination was all about her, like
a splendid cloud. The impossible had
happened. The miracle for which she
Historically prayed had been wrought!
When she blew out the light, the
shining still remained. That glowing
knowledge, like vitalizing and phys
ical presence, passed with her through
The hall to her room. As she stood in
the elfish light of her enc candle, the
poignancy of her joy was as sharp as
her past pain. Later was to come the
wonder how that tragedy had bent
Beauty Valiants life to exile and her
mothers to unfulfillment, and in time
she was to know these things, too.
But now the one great knowledge blot
ted cut all else. She need starve her
fancy no IongerI The hours with her
lover might again sweep across her
memory undenied. She felt his arms,
his kisses, heard his whispers against
her cheek and smelled the perfume of
Madonna lilies
She drew the curtain and opened
the window noiselessly to the light.
Only few hours ago she had been
singing to her harp in what wretC he'd
ness! She laughed softly to herself
The quiet night was full of his voice:
Il love youi l want nothing but you'll"
How her pitiful error had tortured
and wrung them both! But tomorrow
he, too, would know that all was well.
A clear sound chimed across the
distance bell of the courthouse
clock, striking midnight One! i.
Two! How often lately it had
run discordantly across her mood;
now it seemed a claimant watcher,
tolling joy. Three! Four!
Five! Perhaps he was
,sleepless. listening, too. Was he in
the old library, thinking of her?
Six! Seven! Eight!
Nine! If she could only
send her message to him on the bells!
Ten: 1t swelled more loudly
now, more deliberate Eleven! /.
Another day was almost gone.
Twelve! "Joy cometh in the
mOrning''-ran the whisper across her
thought. It was morning now.
ThirteenI
She caught sharp breath. Her
ear had not deceived her-the vibra-
ton still palpitated on the air like a
heart of sound. 1t had struck thir-
teen! A little eery touch crept along
her nerves and a cool dampness broke
on her skin, for she seemed to hear,
Quavering through the wondering 81
1ence, the voice of Mad Anthony, as
it 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. An
heahs de co'ot-house clock a-strikin'
in de night-en yo' gwine. E.
Dom wait, dom wait, III mistis, er
de trouble-cloud gwine kyah him
erway fom 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 if there were
some cryptic meaning in this, too? To
go TO him, at midnight, by a lonely
country roadside, girl? Incredible!
Yet her mind had opened to a vague
growing fear that was swiftly mount
ing to thriving anxiety. That innate
superstition, secretly cherished while
derided, which is the heritage of the