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i he Richmond Palladium, Wednesday, November 21, 1S06.
Page Seven. The HeTi s Y- V": Highway.,. Copyright. 1900. by DOUBLEDAY. PAGE & CO. SYNOPSIS OF STORY. m Chapter I :iarry Wingfield, nar rator of the story, Is tutor to Mary Cavendish, a belle of the colony of Virginia in 1682, and accompanies her oh a ride to church. He discovers her implication in a conspiracy against the king. She has imported arms and ammunition to aid in the rtlot. II and III Wingfield's past life In England. Although heir to large es tates and well educated, he is now .v deported convict in Virginia. Wing iield is devoted to his pupil. IV and V Sir Humphrey Hyde, in love with Mary, is with her in the plot, which is laid for the purpose of cutting down the young tobacco plants and thus depriving the king of his revenue under the unjust navi gation act. VI and VII Mayday frolics at Dralie Hill, home of Wingfield and Marr. Catherine Cavendish beseech ts the tutor to save her sister from participation in the conspiracy. VIII Harry and Catherine conspire to keep knowledge of the plot from Madam Cavendish, the girls' grand mother, who is a stanch royalist. IX Mary is deceived by Wingfield into thinking that Catherine has purchased finery for her, the real benefactor be ing Wingfield. his object being not on ly to please her, but also to prevent Madam Cavendish from learninig of the disposition of Mary's own money, which has been expended for the arms X Catherine, who knows why Wingfield is unjustly exiled, upbraids him for deceiving Mary. Planning to hid the arms and ammunition. XI Madam Cavendish, whose si lence about Winfield's innocence shields her own granddaughter, Cath crine, wishes him to wed Mary. Wing field is guided by a witch to a secure hiding place for the arms. XII The crand ball at the governor's, with Mary as belle. She reveals her af fection for Wingfield. XIII and XIV The development of the plot to fight the king. XV Catherine and Mary both avow their love for Harry. XVI and XVII The conspiracy comes to a head with the departure of the governor, and the young, tobacco plants are cut down by the conspira tors. "It you go not. men mcy win be lost!" .1" cried "out in desperation. For Mary was shrieking that she would'fiot to, find I knew that Humphrey did not know the way and could not find it and launch the boat, in time with that struggling in a id to encumber him, for already the door trembled as if to fall. "! toil you they will not harm a wounded man." I t ried. "If you leave me. I :ttn in no r.iore worse case tha now. ii lid if .von lrn-niii. think of your k!sWt. .Yvii know what she hath done to abet 'the rebellion. 'Twill all come out if she be found here. Oil, .Cather ine, if you love her, I pray tbee go." Then Catherine Cavendish did some thing which I did not understand at the time and perhaps never understood rightly. Close over me she bent, and her soft hair fell over my face and hers, hiding them, and she kissed me on my forehead, and she said low, but quite cle.TiJ.-. "Whatever thou hast done iu the past, my scorn henceforth nhall le for the deed, not for thee, for thou art a man." . Then to her feet she sprang and caught hold of Mary's struggling right arm, though It might as well have fctruggled in a vise as in Sir Humphrey Hyde's reluctant but mighty grasp. "Mary," she said, "listen to me. 'Tis the best way to save him, to leave him." Then Mary rolled her i piteous blue yes at her over Sir Humphrey's shoul der from her gold tangle of .hair. , "What mean you?" she cried. "I tell you. Catnenne, I win never Jeave "lini!" "If Ave remain we shall all be in cus tody," replied Catherine in her clear voice, though her face was white as if she were dead, "and our estates may oe forfeited, and we have no power to help him. And he must be taken in the cud in any case. And if we be free Ave can save him." "I Avill not go without him!" cried Mary. "Set me down, Humphrey, and take up Harry, and I will help thee carry him. Do as I tell thee, Hum phrey." 'Harry will be taken In any case," replied Catheriue, "and if you take him you Avill be arrested with him, and then Ave can do nothing for him. I tell thee, sweet, the only way to save him is to leave him." Then Mary gave one look at me. "Harry, is this the truth they tell me?" she cried. 'As God is my witness, dear child," I replied. Then she twisted her white face around toward Sir Humphrey's, who stood pinioning her arms with a look himself as if he were dying. 'Let me loose. Humphrey," she said. "let me loose. Then I swear I will go with you and Catherine." Then Sir Humphrey loosed her. and straight to uie she came and bent over me and kissed me. "Harry." she said in a whisper which was of that strange quality that it seemed to be unable to be heard by any in the whole world save us 'two, though it . was . clear enough, "I leave thee because thou tell- est me that this is the only way to save thee, but I am thine for life and for death, and nothing shall ever come forever between thee and me, not even thine OAvn self, nor the grave, nor all the wideness of life." Then she rose and turned to Sir Humphrey and Catherine. "I am ready," said she, and Sir Hum phrey gave my hand one last wring j i-i-.'.-'Y-. MAFLY E. WILKINS nnn s.Tm' rnnt ne wouia sraria nv me. Then they fled, and as I lay there alone I heard their footsteps on the cellar stairs and presently the dip of the boat as she ' was launched, and heard it above all the din outside, so keen were my ears for aught that concerned her. Then that sound and all others grew dim, for I was near swooning, and when the door fell with a mighty crash near me it might have been the fall of a rose leaf on velvet, and I had small heed of the fierce faces which bent over me, yet the hands extended toward my wounds were tender enough. And I sa as in a dream Captain Robert Wal ler, with his arm tied up, and wonder ed dimly if we were both dead, for I verily believed that I had killed him, and I heard him say, and his voice sounded agrif a sea rolled between us: " 'Tis the convict tutor, "Wingfield, who held the door, and unless I be much mistaken he hath his death wound. Make a litter and lift him gently, and j gve 0f you search the house for what ever other rebels be hid herein." And as I li'e, in the midst of my faintness, which made all sounds far away as from beyond the boundary of the flesh and beyond the din of bat tle, which was still going on, though feebly, like a fire burning to its close, I heard the dip of oars on the creek and knew that Mary Cavendish was safe. A litter they fashioned from a lid of a chest while the search was going on, and I was lifted upon it with due regard to my wounds, which I thought a generous thing of Captain Waller. But when I was on the litter, breath ing hard, yet with some consciousness, Captain Nael Jaynes lay dead he bent close over me and whispered, "Sir, your wounds are bound up with strips torn from a woman's linen. I have a wife, and I know. Who was In hiding here, sir?" My eyes flew wide open at that. "No one," I gasped out. "No one as I live." Rut he laughed, and bending still lower, whispered: "Have no fotir as to that, Master Wingfield. Convict or not, you are a brave man, and that which you perchance gaAe your life to hide shall be hidden for all Robert Waller." 1 So saying he gave the order to carry me forth with as little jolting as might be and stationed himself at my side lest I come to harm from some over zealous soldier. The.grounds of Laurel Creek and the tobacco fields were a most lamentable sight, though I seemed to see every thing as through a mist. Here and there one lay sprawled with limbs curled like a dead spider or else flung out at a stiff length of agony. And Captain Noel Jaynes lay dead with a better look on his gaunt old face in death than in life. In truth Captain Noel Jaynes might almost have been taken for a good man as he lay there dead. And the outlaw who lived next door to Margery Key was doubled' up where he fell in a sulky heap of death, and by his side wept his shrewish Avife, shrilly lament ing as if she were scolding rather than grieving, and I troAV in the midst of it all the thought passed through my mind that it was well for that man that he was past hearing, for it seemed as if she took him to task for having died. Of Dick Barry was no sign to be seen, but Nick lay not dead, but dead drunk, and over him was crouched one of those black women with a knife in her hand, and no one molested her, thinking him dead, and she was wound ed herself, with the blood trickling from her head, unable to carry him from the field as she had brought him CHAPTER XIX. HEN I came to a consciousness of myself again, the first thing of Avhich I laid hold with my mind as a means Avhereby to pull my recollections back to my former cognizance of matters Avas a broad shaft of sunlight stream ing in through the west window of the prison in Jamestown. And all this sun beam was horribly barred like the body of a wasp by the iron grating at the window, and had a fierce sting of heat in It, for it was warm, though only May, and I was in a high fever by reason of my wounds. For some little time I did not think of Mary Cavendish, so hedged about was I as to my freedom of thought and love by my physical Ills, for verily after a man has been out of consciousness with a wound it is his body which first struggles back to existence, and his heart and soul have to follow as they may. So 1 lay there knowing naught ex cept the weary pain of my wounds, and that sense of stiffness which for bade me to move, and the fretful heat of that fierce west sunbeam and a buzzing swarm of flies, for some little time before the memory of it all came to me. Then indeed, though with great pain, I raised myself upon my elbow and peered about my cell and called aloud for some one to com, thinking some one must be within hearing; for the sounds of life were all about me-the tramp of horses on the roadside, the even fall of a workman's hammer, the sweet husky carol of a slave's song and the laughter of children at play. So I shouted and waited, and ahouted again, and no one came. There was in my cell not much besides my pallet, ex cept a little stand which looked like one from Drake .Hill, and on the atajid j was a china dish like one which I had often seen at Drake Hill, wiUi some mess therein what I knew not and a bottle of wine and some medicine vials and glasses. I was not ironed, and, indeed, there was no need of that, since I could not have moAed. Between the wound in my leg and various sword cuts and a, general sore ness and stiffness as if I had been tumbled over a precipice, I was well nigh as helpless "as a week old babe. I called again, but no one came, and presently I quit and lay with the burn ing eye of the sun in my face and that pestilent buzz of flies in my ears, and my weakness and pain so increasing upon" my consciousness that I heeded them not so much. I shut my eyes and that torrid sunbeam burned red through my lids, and I wondered if they had found out aught concerning Mary Cavendish, and I wondered not so much what they Avould do Arith me, since I was so weak and spent with loss of blood that nothing that had to do with me seemed of much moment. But as I lay there I presently heard the key turned in the lock, and one Joseph Wedge, the Jailer, entered, and I saw the flutter of a woman's draper ies behind him. but he shut the door upon her, and then, without my eA'er knowing how he came there, was the surgeon, Martyn Jennings, and he was over me looking to my wounds and letting a little more blood to decrease my fever, though I had already lost so much, and then, since I AVas so near swooning, giving me a glass of the Burgundy on the stand. And while that Avas clouding my brain, since my stomach was fasting and I bad lost so much blood, entered that woman AA-honi I had espied, and she was not Mary, but Catherine Cavendish, and there was a gentleman with her who stood aloof, with his back toward me, gazing out of the windoAV, and of that I was glad, since he screened that flaming sunbeam from me, and I concerned myself no more about him. But at Catherine I gazed and mo tioned to her to bend over me, and whispered, that the jailer might 'not hear, what had become of Mary. Then I saw the jailer had gone out, though I had not seen him go, and she, mak ing a sign to me that the gentleman at the window was not to be minded, went on to tell me what I thirsted to know that she and Mary and Sir Humphrey had escaped that night with ease, and she and Mary had returned to Drake Hill before midnight and had not been molested. If Mary were suspected she kneAv not, but Sir Humphrey was then under arrest and. was confined on board a ship in the harbor with Major Bever ly, and his mother was daily sending billets to him to return home and blaming him, and not his jailers, for his disobedience. She told me, fur thermore, that it was Cicely Hj'de who had led the militia to our assembly at Laurel Creek that night and was noAV in a low fever through remorse, and, though she told me not, I afterward knew why that mad maid had done such a thing 'twas because of jeal ousy of me and Mary Cavendish, and ahe pullud down more upon her own head thereby than she wot of. All this. Catherine Cavendish told me in a manner which seemed strange ly foreign to her, being gentle, and yet not so gentle as subdued, and her fair face AA-as paler than eAer, and Avhen I looked at her jind said not a word and yet had a question in my eyes which she Avas at no loss to interpret, tears welled into her own, and she bent low er and whispered, lest even the stran ger at the window should hear, that Mary "sent her dear love, but, but" "What haA-e they done with her?" I cried. "If they dare" "Hush," said Catherine. "Our grand mother hath but locked her in her chamber, since she hath discovered her love for thee and frowns upon it, not since thou art a convict, but since thou hast turned against the king. She says that no granddaughter of hers shall wed a rebel, be he convict or prince. But she is safe, Harry, and there will no harm come to her, and v - Catherine visita Ha.rry in prison indeed I think that If they In author ity have heard aught of what she hath done they are minded to keep it quiet, and and" - Then, to my exceeding bewilderment, down on her knees beside me went that proud maid and begged my par don for her. scorn-of me, saying that she knew me guiltless and knew for what reason I had taken such obloquy upon myself. Then the gentleman at the window turned when she appealed to him and came near, and I saw who he was my half brother, John Chelmsford. CHAPTER XX. T was six years and more since I had seen my , half brother, and I should scarcely have known him, . for time had vrorked great changes in both his face and form. He was much stouter than I remembered him, and wore a ruddy point of beard at his chin and a great wig, whereas I recalled him as smooth of face, with his own hair. But he was a handsome man, as I saw even then, lying in so much pain and weakness, and he came and stood over me and looked at me more kindly than I should have expected, and I could see something of our common mother in his blue eyes. He reached down his hand and shook the one of mine which I could muster strength" to raise, and called me brother, and hoped that "I found myself better," 'and gave me very many tender messages of our mother, and - of his father- likewise, which puzzled me exceedingly, until matters were explained. Colonel Chelmsford had parted with me when I left England with, but scant courtesy, and as for my poor mother, I had not seen her at alL she being confined to her chamber with grief over my disgrace, and not one word had I received frem them since mat time. So wnen joud cneimsroro. said that our mother sent her dear love to her son Harry, ahd that nothing save her delicate health had prevented her from sailing' to Virginia in the same ship to see the son from whom she had been so long parted. I gasped and fe,t my bead and 1 caIled UD my mother's face, and verily I felt the tears start in my eyes, but I wau very AA-eak. Then forth from her pocket Catherine drew a ring, and it flashed green with a great emerald, and particolored with brilliants, before my eyes, and I was well nigh overcome by the sight of that, and everything turned black be fore me, for it Avas my Lord Robert Ealing's great ring of exceeding value, for the theft of which I had been trans ported. Straightway Catherine saw that it was too much for me, for she knelt doAvn beside me and called John to give her a flask 'of SAveet water3 AA-hich stood on the table, nnd began bathing my forehead, the while my brother looked on with something of a jealous frown. "'Twas thoughtless of, me, Harry," she whispered, "but they say joy does not kill, and and dost thou know the ring?" I nodded. It seemed to me that no jewels could eAer be mined AA-hich I would know as I knew that green star of emerald and those encircling bril liants. That ring I knew to my cost. "My Lord Ealing is dead," she said, "and thou knoAAest that he was a kins man of the Chelmsfords, and after his funeral came this ring and a letter, and and thou art cleared, Harry. And and now I knoAV Avhy thou didst what thou did. Harry, 'twas 'tAA-as to shield me." With that she burst into a great flood of tears, eA-en throwing herself upon the floor of my cell in all her slim length and not letting my brother John raise her, though he stroA-e to do so. It Is here that I shall stop the course of, my story to explain the whole mat ter of the ring, which at the time I was too weak and spent with pain to comprehend fully as Catherine Caven dish related it. It was a curious and at the same time a simple tale, as such tales are wont to be, and its very sim plicity jmade it seem then, and seem now, well nigh incredible. My Lord Robert Ealing, who had come to the ball at Cavendish Court that long last year, was a distant kins man of our family and unwedded, but a man who went through the world with a silly leer of willingness toward all womankind. And 'twas this very trait perhaps which accounted for his remaining unwedded, although a lord, though the fact that his estates were encumbered may have had somewhat to do with. it. Be that as it may, he lived alone, except for a few old ser vants, and was turned sixty Avhen, long after my transportation, he wedded his cook, who gave him three daughters and one son, to whom the estate went, but the ring and the letter came to the Chelmsfords. The letter, which I "afterward saw, was a most curious thing, both as to composition and spelling and chirography, for his lordship was no scholar. And since the letter is but short I may perhaps as well give it entire. After this wise it ran, being addressed to Colonel John Chelmsford, who Was his cousin, though considerably younger: Dear Cousin (so .vrote my Lord Ealing). -When this reaches you I shall be laid in silent tomb, where, perchance, I shall be more at peace than I have eA-er ben in a wurld, which either fitted me not, or I did not fit. At all odds there wan a sore misfit betwixt us in some way. If it was the blam of the world, good ridance and parden, if it was my blam, let them which made me come to acount fo'rt. X send herewith my great emruld ringg, with dimends which I suspect hath been the means of sending an inosent man into alavery. I had a mind some years agone to wed with Caterin Cavendish, and she bein a hard made' to approche, haA'ing eA-er a stiff turn of the sholder toward me, though I knew not why, I was not willin to reek my sute by word of mouth, nor having never a gift in writin by letter. And so, knowln that mades like well such things, I bethought me of my emruld ring, and on the night of the ball, I being up Btair in to lay off my hatt and cloak. stole privily into Catherin's chamber, she being a-dancn below, and I laid the ring on her dresing table, thinktn that she would see it when she entered, and know it for a loA'e token. And then I went myself below, and Caterin, ehe would have none of me, and made up such a face of ice when I ap proached, that methought I had maybe up uie eiaize x Millie, aim uie iiiib was xiui where I had put it. Then thinkin that the ring had been stole, and I had neither that nor the made, I raised a great hue . . . I- T . t J i - ' and cry, and demanded that a search be maid, and the ring was found on Master Wingfield, and he was therefor transport ed, and I had my ring again, and myself knew not the true fact of the case until a year agone. Then feeling that I had not much longer to live, 1 writ this, thinking that Master Wingfield was in a rich country, and not In sufferin, and a few months more would make not much odds to hiati. The facs of the case, cousin, I knew from Madam CaAendishs old serA-ant woman Char lotte, who came to my sister when the CaA'endishs left for Virginia, having a fear of the sea. and later when my sister died, to my wife, and died but a year agone, and in her deathbed told me what she knew. She told me truly, that she did see Madam Cavendish on the night of the ball go into Caterin's chamber, and oer, ana espying my emruld ring on her dressing! table, take it up and look at it with ex ceeding astonishment, and then lay It down not on the spot whereon I had left it. but on the prayer book on the little stand beside her bed, and then go down stairs, frownlngr. Then this same Charlotte, having litle interest in life as to her own affairs, and forced to suck others, if she would keep her wits nourished, being watchful, saw me enter, and miss the ring, and heard the hue and cry which I raised. And then she still watching, saw Master Har ry Wingfield. who with others was search ing the house for the lost treasure, stop as he was passing the open door of Cater in's chamber, because tha green light of the emruld .fixed his eyes, and rush in and secrete the ring upon his person. This Charlotte saw. and toM Madam Cavendish, who bound her over to aecresy to save the honour f the family, believ ing that her own granddaughter Caterin was the thief. This epistle, cousin, la to prove to you that Caterin was no thief, but simply a cold maid, who hath no love for either hearts or gems, but of that I complain not, havin as I believe, wedded wisely, if not to please my famly, and thre daugh ters and a son, hath my Betty given me, and- most exceedln fine tarts hath she made, and puddens, and I die content, with this last writ to thee, cousin, to clear Caterin Cavendish, and may be of an in nocent gentleman likewise. No more from thy cousin EALING. One strange feature there was about this letter.which the writer had not fore seen while it cleared me well nmh opinion of the family, to stran gers it cleared me not at alL for who was to know for what reason I had entered Catherine's chamber and took and secreted that ring of hia lordship's? Strict silence had I maintained, and so had Madam Cavendish ail these years. and naugiit In that letter "would clear me before any court of law. Catherine being the only one whose innocence was made plain, I "could now tell my story" with no fear of doing her harm, but let those believe my part of it who would.! Still I may say here that I verily believe that I was at last cleared in the minds of all who knew me well, and for others I cared not. My term expired soon after that date, and though I choe to remain in Vir ginia and not return to England, yet my property was restored to me. for my half brother. John Chelmsford, when confronted by any gate of injus- tice leaped it like an English gentle- eot:id t . ' h unly t!i latter for fear of man. with no ado. And yet after I innate Irjr ny wounds, and he use. I heard that letter I knew that I Avas a to sit ;:: rt-.ul me some of Will convict still, and knew that for soir I f?L:uke-;.e.;-;-says. which he bore uu would be until the end of the chapu-r, der iil.s -as,K-k, and a prayer book and when I grew a little stronger that j opcaiy in hand, that being the only n-tr lUdl uw ui.mi ua.c -uiuj illumed numii ice. iur uow euuiu i allow her to wed a man AA-ith a stain upon his honor? It was tnree days after thi, my brother and various others striving ail the time, but with no effect, to secure my release, that Mary herself came to see me. Catherine, as I afterAvard dis- cohered, liad unlocked her chamber Catherine throws Herself on the floor of Harry's cell door and set her free while her grand mother slept, and the girl bad mounted Merry Roger and come straight to me, not caring who knew. I heard the key grate in the lock, and turned my eyes, and there she Avas, the blessing of my whole life, though I felt that I must not take it. Close to me she came and knelt, and leaned her cheek against mine, and stroked back my Avild hair. "Harry, Harry," she whispered, and all her dear face was tremulous with love and joy. "Thou art no convict, Harry," she said. "Thou didst not steal the rins, Nary confessea her love but that I knew before, and I know not any better now, and I love thee no better now. And I would have been thine in any case." "I am still a convict, sweetheart," I said, but, I fear, weakly. "Harry," she cried out, "thou wilt not let that stand betwixt us now?" "How can I let thee wed with a con vict if I love thee?" I said. "And know you not that this letter of my Lord Ealing's clears me not legally?" "That I know," she ansAA-ered, frown ing, "because thy brother hath con sulted half the lawyers in England ere he came. I knoAV that, my poor Harry, but what is that to us?" "I cannot let thee wed a convict, a man w-ith his honor stained, dear heart," I said. Then she fixed her blue eyes upon mine with such a look as never I saw in mortal woman. She knew at that time what sentence had been fixed upon me for my share in the tobacco riot, but did not know, and then and there she formed such a purpose as sure no. maid, however great her love fer a man, formed before. "Wait and see what manner of wom an she is who loves thee, IIarryt" she said. CHAPTER XXL LAY in prison until the 29th day of May, Royal Oak day. I know not quite bow it came to pass, but none of my brother's efforts toward my re lease met with any success. I heard afterward some whispers as to the cause being that so many of high de gree were concerned in the riots, and that if I, a t poor devil of a fonviot tutor, Avere fet off too cheaplyA why, I then the rest of them must be letVose only at a rope's end, and that it would i Cavendish's love, when she be wedded never do to send me back to Drake j to thee, Harry, for there is little com Hill scot free while Sir Humphrey 1 promise with her for faults, unless Hyde and Major Robert Beverly and she loveth, and she hath found out that my Lord Estes and others were in dur- j Cicely Hyde betrayed the plans of the ance, and some high in office in great ; plant cutters, and for her and Madam danger of discovery. ; Bacon her sweet tongue was like a At all events, whatever may have ' fiery lash, and Catherine was as bad, been the reason, my release could not i though silent. Catherine, unless I be i. ff.tri n 1.1 i n nmn t t.. n r,.. n " i. , those days, but with more comfort, S smce either Catherine or Mary Mary I think it must have been made a curtain for my window which kept out j that burning eye of the western sun j and also fashioned a gnat veil to OA-r- spread my pallet, so the flies could not ; get at me. I knew there were others in prison, but knew not that three of ; them were led forth to be hung, which j might have been my fate had I been i u man, nor uneAA mai anomer was released on condition that he build a bride nvpr Tr enn'a wmr ! This last chance my friends had striven sorely to get for me, but had not succeeded, though they had offered large sums, my brother being willing to tax the estate heavily. Soin4 covert will there was at work against me, and it may be I could mention it, but I like not mentioning covert wills, but only such as be downright and exer cised openly In the faces of all men. I lay there not so uncomfortably, being aware of a great delight that the to bacco was cut, whether or no, as indeed it was on many plantations, and the king cheated out of great wealth. This end of proceedings, with no Bacon to lead us, did not surprise nor disappoint me. Then, too, the fact that I was cleared of suspicion of theft in the eyes of her I loved and her family, at least, filled me with anr ecstasy which, sometimes awoke me from slum ber like a pain. And though I was quite resolved not to let that beloved maid fling away herself upon me un less my-inaocejnee was proye4 werld wide, and to shield her at a a costs to myself, yet sometimes the hope that in after years I mght be able to wed her and not injure her started up within me. She came to see me whenever she could steal awny, Madam Cavendish being still in that state of hatred against me for my participation in the riot, though otherwise disposed enough to give her consent to our marriage on the spot. And every day came my brother John and Catheriue. nnd now, and then Parson Downs. And the parwa us-: to bviv-x me choice spirits in his ti'H-liirt. iiisii. t:!s;tceo, though I j ipyvu oi i:yiocnsy Avmeu. er wn rtUOUt 1 arson l'OAvns "Lord. Harry, thou dost not want prayers." he would say, "but rather. ' being fallen as thou art, in an evil sink ; of human happenings, somewhat about them, and none hath so mastered the j farthest roots of men's hearts as Will j Shake.sieare. 'Tis him and a pipe thou needst. lad." So saying, down he Avould sii himself betwixt me and the fiery Avestorn window, and I got to believe more in his Christianity than ever I had done when I had heard him hold forth from the pulpit. 'Twas fnmi him I knew the sad pen alty Avhich they fixed upon for me for the 29th of May, that being Royal Oak day, when they celebrated the Resto ration in England and more or less in the colonies and on which a great junketing had been arranged, with races aud wrestling and various sports. Parson Downs came to me the after noon of the 2Sth and sat gazing at me with a melancholy air, nor offered to read Will Shakespeare, though he filled my pipe and pressed hard upon me a cup of Burgundy. "'Twill give thee heart, Harry," he said, "and surely now thy wounds be so far healed .'twill not Inflame them, and, in any case, why should good spirit inflame wounds? Smoke hard as thou canst, poor Harry, If thou wilt not drink, for I have something to tell thee, and there is that about our good tobacco of Virginia now we have res- Paraon Downs unfolda his evil newt cued It, betwixt you and me, from royal freebooters which is soothing to the nerves and tending to allay evil anticipations." Then, as I lay puffing away some thing feebly at my pipe, still with en joyment, he unfolded his evil news to me. It seemed hat my brother had commissioned him so to do. 44 'Tis a shame, Harry," he said, "and I will assure thee that all that could be done hath been, and if now there were less on guard and a place where thou couldst hide with safety the fleet est horse in the colony is outside, If thou wert strong enough to sit him. And so thou escaped I would care not if never I saw him again, though I paid a pretty penny for him and love him better than ever I loved any woman, since he springs to order and stands Avithout hitching and with never a word of nagging in my ears to make me pay penance for the service. What a man with a good horse and good wino and good tobacco wanteth a wife for passeth my understanding, but I know thou art young and the maid is a fair one. y Faith, and sha was in such sore affliction this morning be cause of thee, Harry, as might well console any man. Had she been Ba con's wldoAv she had not wedded again, but gone Avidow to her death. "Thou shouldst have seen her, lad, when I ventured to strive to comfort her with the reflection that her suffer ing in thy behalf was not so grievous as was Bacon's wife's for his death, for thou art to haAre thy life, my poor Har ry, aiul uo great hurt, though it may be somewhat Avearisome if the sun be hot. But Mistress Mary CaA-endish flew out at me in such wise, though she hath known all along to what fate thou wert probably destined, and said such harsh things of poor Madam Bacon that I was minded to retreat. t :i. i t i , n t,lvu; i" i"J urutuer John, but unless I be more greatly mis- taken, she loAeth thee. And noAV, my poor Harry, wouldst know what they will do to thee tomorrow?" I nodded my head, "They will even set thee in the stocks, Harry, at the New field, before all the people at the sports," said Parson Downs. t tnl,v thlr.k that If Pnr,ftn rnwn had informed me that I was to be put j to tne rack or lo(?e my he&d Jt woud not have so cut me to the heart. Sonic- j thing there was about a gentleman of England being set in the stocks which detracted not only from the dignity of the punishment, but that of the offense. I would not have believed ey would have done that to me, and can hardly believe it now. Such, a punishment had never entered into my imagination, I being a gentleman born and bred and my crime being a grave one, whereas the stocks were commonly regarded for the common folk who had committed petty offenses, such as swearing or Sabbath breaking. I could not for some time realize it, and lay staring at Parson Downs, while he tried to force the Burgundj- upon me and started in alarm at my paleness. "Why, confound it, Harry," he cried. "I tell thee, lad, do not look so. Hadst thou killed Rob Waller instead of wounding him it would have been thy life instead of thy pride thou hadst forfeited." "I wish to God I had!" I burst out, yet dully.fer-stilj I only half realized it all i "Nay. Harry." declared the parson, "thy life Is of more moment than thy pride, and es to that, what will it hurt thee to sit In the stocks an hour or so for such a cause? 'Twill be forgot in a week's time. I pray thee, have some Iturguudy. narry; 'twill put some life into thee." "Twill never be forgot by me." said I. and Indeed it never has been, and I know not why it seemed then and seems now of a finer sting uf bitterness than K,v transportation for theft Presently I, growing fully alive to the state of the lUHtters. wt ought up my self Into such n fA-er of wrntli arid re-monuum-e that it was a wcmlrr that my Avouiuls diI not open. I swore tl at submit to a an Indignity I would not: that all the authorities In th colony should not force me to sit In the stocks; that I would have my life ( firsti aud j Jooki about wildly for my own sword or pistols, and seeing them not besought the parson for his. He strove in vain to comfort me. I was weakened by my wounds and there was, I suppose, something of fever still lingering in my veins for all th bleed ing, and for a space I Avas like a mad man at the thought of the Ignominy to which they would put me. I besought that the lieutenant governor should Iks ? summoned and Ik? petitioned to make mv offense a capita one. I strove to j from orm.-h n.i vii, thought of finding a weapon and com mitting some crime so grave that the stK-ks would le out of the question as a punishment for it was in my fevered brain. "As well go to a branch of a locust tree blown by the May wind with honey for all seeking noses as to Chichely." said Parson Downs. "And as for the burgesses, they are afraid of their own necks, and some of us there be would rather have thee sit in stocks than lose thy life, for we hold thy life dear, Harry, and some punishment it must be for thee, for thou didst shoot a king's officer, though with a poor aim, Harry." Then I said again, with my heart like a drum in my ears, that I wished It had been better, though naught I had against Robert Waller, and as I learned afterward he had striven all he dared for my release, but the militia, being under some suspicion themselves, had to act with caution in those days. Presently, while the parson was yet with me, my brother John came in, and verily, for the first time, I realized that we were of one blood. Down on hia knees beside me he went. "Oh, Harry," he cried, "I have done all that I could for thee, and vengeance I will have of some for this, and they shall suffer for it, that I promise thee. To fix such a penalty as this upon one of our blood!" "John," I whispered, grasping his hand hard, "I pray thee"-- ' But he guessed my meaning. " "Nay, Harry," he cried, "better this, for if I went back to our mother and told her that thou wert dead, after her long slight of thee and the long wrong we have all done thee, it would be a sorer fate for her than the stocks for thee." But I pleaded with him by the com mon blood In our vefhs to save me from this ignominy, and my fever Increased, and he knew not how to quiet me. Then in came Catherine Cavendish, and what 6he said had some weight with me. "For shame!" she said, standing over me, with her face as white as death, but with resolution In her eyes. "For shame, Harry Wingfield! Full easy it is to be brave on the battlefield, but it takes a hero to quail not when his van ity be assailed. Have not as good men aa thou, and better, sat in the stocks? And think you that it will make any difference to us, except as we suffer with you? And 'tis harder for my poor sister than for thee, but she makes no complaint, nor sheds a tear, but goes about with her face like the dead and such a look in her eyes as never I saw there before. And she told me to say to thee that she could not come today, but that she would make amends and that thou hadst no cause to overworry, and I know not what she meant, but this much I do know, a brave man is a brave man whether it be the scaffold or the stocks, and and thou hast got ten thyself fiito a fever, Harry." With that she bade my brother John get some cold -water from the jailer, and she bathed my head and arranged my bandages with that same skill which she had showed at the time when I was bruised by the mad horse, and my brother looked on as If only half pleased, yet full of pity. And Catherine, as she bathed my head, told j me how Major Beverly and Sir Hum- and Dick Barry was In the prison not Catherine interrupts an interview far from me, and Nick and Ralph Drake were in hiding, but my Lord Estes was scot free on account of his relationship to Governor Culpeper, and had .been to Drake Hill, but Mary would not see him. . And she said, furthermore, that her grandmother did not know that I was to be set in the stocks, and they dared not tell her, as she was grown so feeble since the riot at one time Inveighing against me for my disloyalty -and say ing that I should never have 4Kfry, though I was cleared of my dfigraee and no more a convict, and another time weeping like a child ojT her poor Harry, who had alreadauffered so mucn ana was now in jpnson. (To ntinued.) Use artiflci tor li&nt and heat. 10-tf Phone or writs a card to the PaHa dium of the little piece of news your neighbor told you and get your name in the news "tla" conUsi for thia week Beys w