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Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, May 15, 1879, Image 1

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VOL. 35. YORKVILLE, S. C., THURSDAY, MAY 15, 1879. ~ NO. 30.
JU Original ftorg.
Written for the Yorkville Enquirer.
RACHEL RAY'S SECRET.
CHAPTER V.
Ask me no more; the moon may draw the sea; i
The cloud may stoop from heaven, and take the
shape,
With fold to fold, of mountain or of cape;
But, O, too fond, when have I answered thee?
' Ask me no more.?Tennyson.
Rachel's disappearance annoyed and perplexed
Harry Wade. He waited long for
her to return, but finally giving up the hope
of seeing her again that evening, bade Mrs.
# Stanton a reluctant good-night That lady
was not sorry when he took his departure, for
she had found the latter part of his visit decidedly
dull.
"You look sleepy, my dear," remarked her
husband, as she pass 3d through the room
where he sat reading.
"Yes, the minister bored me, rather. What
has become of Miss Ray, I wonder ? Have
you seen her since she came in ?"
^ Mr. Stanton could give her no satisfaction
on the point, and being a good natured little
body, in her way, she went up to Rachel's
room, to ascertain if anything was the matter.
There was no light visible, however, and
though she knocked twice, she received no answer.
So she concluded that Rachel was
asleep, and went off to bed without thinking
any more about it.
Ah! could her careless vision have penetrated
the darkness and the locked door, how
thoroughly she would have been undeceived!
* Rachel was not even lying down. Seated by
an open window, with her hands tightly
clenched, her eyes turned toward the garden,
yet seeing nothing of its moving shadows, its
faint gleams of fading moonshine, and flowerbeds
dimly outlined, but rather fixed with
woful intensity upon the phantoms conjured
up by her own imagination, as they flitted
past her, the set lines and death-like pallor ot
her face telling plainly of an inward anguish
too profound to find relief in tears, she leaned
against the embrasure as motionless as carved
stone, and almost as pulseless and cold. Thus
it ever was with her, when the memories,
locked within her breast, were stirred into
t sudden life, as now, by a chance, word, an ignorant
allusion* that revived all the old keen
pain of the wounds, whose aching had been
temporarily lulled.
?- WnatTkee, what figure was it that haunted
her, returning with a perslsteirey-tfeftt-ffouhl^
not be baffled, when she tried vainly to shut
it away from her sight ? A noble bead, classio
in outline ; features rarely moulded1, in expression
at once dignified and benign; eyes
dark, deeply set, penetrating, yet mild ; a
mouth firm, but sweet, womanly tender in its
smile. This was the vision that one moment
shaped itself before her, only to give place in
the next, to one of horror, that curdled her
_ blood. The eyes no lenger soft, but glittering
with vindictive fire ; the noble and beautiful
face, distorted with maniacal rage; the
hands, whose clasp she thrilled yet to feel in
memory upon her own, murderously upraised
against her. No wonder she turned cold and
sick, as she lived over-In memory, those awful
moments, in which had been condensed the
terror and misery of a life time.
How she had loved Murrell Vivian! With
what intense, blind, fedoring trust had she
yielded herself to the ecstasy of loving him,
of knowing herself beloved! She recalled so
vividly now the hour of their first meeting.
* She, a lonely orphan in the house of a distant
relative, where he visited as a distinguished
guest, flattered and courted by its inmates,
who would fain have won him for the eldest
" * / t _ 1 1 I A L. J
aaugnter, a iasmonaDie ueauiy wuu ueemeu
her own charms irresistible, but exercised
them all in vain to fascinate him. Rachel
had entered the parlor, not knowing that any
one was there, to find him in company with
the haughty Isabel, who resented her intrusion
with a scornful look. How well she remembered
the gentleness of his smile and
tone, the graceful courtesy with which he acknowledged
the reluctantly-made introduct
tion, placing a seat for her so pointedly that,
half pleased, half confused, she felt compelled
to remain during the rest of his visit.
Then the interviews which followed, in which
by degrees she had awakened to the wonderful
knowledge of his love, as ardent as it had
been sudden; the dreamy, blissful time when
she had walked as on air, absorbed in all the
thrilling joy of this new, mysterious consciousness,
a joy so perfect as to render her indifferent
to the unconcealed sneers, the envenomed
shafts of envy, and baffled ambition,
and wounded self-esteem, to which she found
herself exposed. Not long had she been suffered
to remain in an atmosphere so unkind.
Murrell Vivian had urged upon her the necessity
of a short engagement, and having no
will to consult but his and her own, she had
yielded gladly enough to his persuasions, and
left the uncongenial home which had been hers
since her orphanage, for one beautified and
hallowed by all the tenderestsympathies which
lnvfl mnld hrinor to its shrine. And for twelve
fleeting months this home had been an Eden
^ to her. No proof of her husband's devotion
was wanting to render her happiness complete.
Responsive to her slightest wish, even
to her thoughts, which he seemed intuitively
to read, he lavished upon her such tokens of
affection as could but deepen the intensity of
her own, and knit more and closely the bond
between them. Her senior by more than fifteen
years, (she wa3 but sixteen at the time of
their marriage), he won from her the unquestioning
confidence of a child. He was her
guide, her stay, her tower of strength in which
her inexperience and weakness found a refuge,
as safe as it was dear to her soul. But
this tower was to crumble in ruins about her
/ head, invulnerable as it seemed to any shock.
An earthquake was to swallow up her dearest
hopes, leaving her desolate and despairing,
and bewildered by a calamity of which she
could not even guess the cause. A day had
come when, for the first time, her husband
was forced to bid her a brief adieu. Business
which he could not neglect had summoned
him from her side, and for the few days which
must elapse before his return, she would remain
at home, under the protection of tried
and faithful domestics, in whom their unbounded
confidence was deservedly placed.
They parted as tenderly as though their sep\
aration was to be marked by years, she clinging
to him with a foolish feeling that something
might occur to delay his return, some
unlooked-for misfortune happen to him during
his absence; he chiding her jestingly for
her fears, with words of fondness that made
i
! the chiding sweet. And then she saw him
' ride away, looking so noble and handsome as
he turned to wave his hand gaily in a last
adieu, and having watched him until a bend
in the road hid him from her sight, sought
her own chamber to, weep out her childish
grief unseen. How sorrowful the house was
without him ; how yearningly she looked for
his return! Three days elapsed; on the
fourth he was expected back ! Sitting alone
in a little sequestered arbor, which often made
her retreat and bis, in the warm summer afternoons,
she dreamed hopefully of the morrow,
which was to witness their re-union.
Suddenly a footstep on the garden walk
aroused her from her reverie; she looked up,
and saw him approaching! A cry of joyful
surprise rose to her lips, checked in an instant
by a .chill, of fear. Could that menaciag
countenance, that wild and angry look, that
concentrated fury of gesture and expression,
indeed be his ? The features she knew, but
oh! the whole air how changed. What followed
seemed a hideous phantasy, too horrid
to recall. She remembered threatening movements
and upbraiding, reproachful, incomprehensible
words,-and one cruel clutch upon her
slender arm that had left its imprint there for
many a day, yet not so deep as the brand ot
misery upon her soul. She knew not if he
raved, or what had wrought this dire transformation.
She only knew that he bade her
begone forever from his sight, never to return
on pain of death, from which, he added, she
might be thankful now to escape. In terror
which could find no vent in speech, nor seek
a chance for explanation, she obeyed, fleeing
in blind haste, not knowing whither her steps
should turn, only praying for death to end
her despair; but death did not come. One
consciousness filled her mind, that of the necessity
of hiding herself where he could never
find her, if, in his mad rage, he should repent
of letting her escape, and pursue her in
irrkf . onrl imtwllMl hv fwir. shfi 'rested
muu ?J 1 ? -r
not uotil she reached & refuge which she
deemed secure. But this was in a city, and
here the apprehension still assailed her that
he might find her out; and from there she
journeyed to a smaller place, remaining for a
few months only to change her abode yet
again, to the still remoter settlement where
this story finds her, and where, as she believed,
she bad at last reached an asylum
which was safe.
And here, as we have seen, she managed,
little by little, to overcome her grief. Yet
not so much to overcome it, as to thrust it
out of sight, turning herself resolutely to new
Tntereets-eed^sew cares. After all, she was
very young?she w58swt yet eighteen ; and
at that age the heart will brfnftTTffl^illiiflpd
?Ka mlinllv /trnahod avaii hv thft
liUt apt tu uu n uuitj v?uwmv\?j v??? ?...
heaviest sorrow. There was nothing here to
remind her of the past. She could bury her
blighted love, her dead hopes, away out of
sight, and have no rude hand disturb their
resting-place. So? at least, she thought, and
so for a time it proved ; but now, when something
like a feeling of security had taken
possession of her, and her mind had settled
down into a sort of enforced repose, the name
which she had trusted never to hear uttered
again, the name around which hung an association
so dreadful, was suddenly and unexpectedly
spoken in her presence, breaking
down the flood-gates so gradually and painfully
built up, so carefully guarded, and letting
the whole tide of memories rush overwhelmingly
through.
Harry Wade was all unconscious of the
mischief of which he had been the cause.
He wondered and grew restless when he found
himself baffled in several successive efforts to
see Rachel, who made various trifling pretexts,
for some time, to avoid meeting him. She
dreaded another chance allusion to the subject
upon which he had so ignorantly stumbled ;
and yet with a singular contradiction of feeling,
she longed intensely to learn something
more. When had he seen Murrell Vivian ?
Could it have been since her parting from
him ? But no, that was impossible. It must
have been in earlier days, before she had
known him. They had both been young men,
most likely, traveling abroad for pleasure beanfannn
linnn thpir HPVPrftl nrofeSSlODS.
XUi VUbVIIU^ W|/vm vuwia V?? ? w |
As well as she could judge, she thought it
probable that they were about the same age.
She wondered if he had seen or heard anything
of her husband since that time in Paris
which he had recalled with so much pleasure,
or if he had any knowledge of his whereabouts
at present. She thought so much
about this, that at last her anxiety grew into
a feverish craving to satisfy herself on the
point, and she began to cast about in her
mind for some method wehreby she might accomplish
her end without exciting his suspicions
by her questions.
An anxiety of a different sort was in the
mean time shaping itself in the minister's
heart. A very keen and painful anxiety, too;
albeit he was little wont to indulge in uneasy
sentiments of any sort. When he first became
aware of it, he rather wondered, and was inclined
to blame himself for being so unwise;
but he could not shake it off, nor, indeed, did
he make very 6trenuous attempts to do so.
What the nature of this anxiety was, may
be gathered from a conversation which he had
one evening with his sister, from whom, as
he had never kept a secret in his life, he
found it impossible to keep one now.
"I say, Kitty," he began, after indulging
in a silence which was for him, unusually
long, "have you any idea how people feel
when they are in love?"
Miss Kate laid down her work, and fixed
a searching look upon him. "Are you in
love, Harry ?" was her very natural counterinquiry.
"I fancy I'm beginning to detect symptoms
of the malady. Semi-wakefulness at night,
a tendency to moralize, a sort of fidgety-alloverishness,
not easy to describe, but decidedly
annoying?may these be counted as
primary indications, do you think ?"
"I suppose," said Kate, very quietly, but
with an inward tremor at the heart, "you are
falling, or have fallen, in love with Rachel
Ray."
"Bravo for feminine penetration, Kitty!
It would be utterly preposterous for me to
fancy that I could conceal anything from
you. But I did not know that I had betrayed
myself so far?do you Buppose that she
has found me out, too?-'
"That, indeed, I 6annot tell," replied his
sister. "Did jou not say that she had rather
avoided you of late ?"
"So she has. Is that an unfavorable sign,
do you think ?"
"It might be construed either way; as for
me, I dare not venture upon an opinion,"
said Kate. "I presume you can find out for
yourself."
"So I can, ray dear, and so I will. In
fact," said the minister, with rather a desperate
air, "I can't endure the suspense much
longer; it's just wearing me out. I truly believe,
Kitty, that I've lost ten pounds in the
last fortnight"
His sister heaved a gentle sigh. In the
peaceful days, when he was not in love, he had
never complained of losing flesh. Then his
spirits had always been cheerful and equable.
It seemed rather hard upon her to have him
talk in this strain, and be expected to sympathize;
especially, when she thought of her
bosom friend, Janette Malcolm. However,
she was really attached to Rachel, and this
fact was a consoling one.
"Heigh-ho," sighed Harry, alter another
profound silence, during which his sister diligently
pursued her work; and rising from
his chair he crossed over to where she sat and
kissed her. "Wish me luck, my darling,"
he said, "for I am going to make a bold venture,
and woe betide me if I fail!"
Mr. Wade was a man of action. He
marched straight from his own parlor to that
of Mrs. Stanton, resolved to know his fate at
once. Rachel came down to answer the message
sent up to her, requesting a few minutes'
conversation alone, a good deal surprised,
but never guessing for an instant the object
of his visit She looked pale and heavy-eyed,
for she bad slept little and thought much of
late, and her mind had not yet recovered
its tone. The minister took her hand. Something
in his touch, his manner, would surely
have whispered to her of his sentiments, had
not her thoughts been so entirely removed
from the possibility of such sentiments existing
in anybody's mind in relation to her.
His speech was prompt and to the purpose.
He was so very much in earnest that he never
thought of pausing to feel his way. He
scarcelv waited to lead her to a seat before
he commenced.
"Rachel," he said?and now she did start
and look up in doubtful amazement, at this
familiar utterance of her name?"it is very
likely you may be quite unprepared for what
I have come to tell you this evening. But I
found I couldn't wait any longer. I .am not
used to uncertainty of any kind, and it torments
me. Do you know that I love you
with all my heart and soul V
"Oh! Mr. Wade," cried Rachel. It was
all she could say. The shock of the announcement
nearly took away her breath. s
"I do, indeed," said ffarry, with an em-,
pliasis, which left no doubt of his sincerity.
"Tell me, Rachel, do you care for me, just a
little ? Do you think you can learn?"
^"Stop, stop," RacEel* brake iurpirtUflg-out-'
one trembling han0. A look of white terror
came now into her face. She recoiled, as if
to ward off the possibility of his touching her,
a mntomanf nhich OTniinrlfv) him Crefttlv. He
arose and stood before her, drawing his stalwart
figure up to its full height
"Have I frightened you ? I beg your pardon,"
he said, with a certain proud humility
in his tone. "I am always so abrupt, I know.
But you need not look so horrified, Rachel.
You have no cause to fear me. At least, I
have a right to expect an answer."
She dropped her face into her bands, trembling
all over. An impulse seized her to tell
him her secret, for she felt, instinctively, that
with him it would be safe. But in the next
instant, the ever-haunting dread of discovery
came back upon her with all its force, and
checked her.
"I never dreamed of your?of anybody
caring for me," she said, in a low tone. "I
cannot marry you, Mr. Wade. I cannot
marry any one. It-is utterly impossible."
She looked up again at him,' this time with
entreaty in her eyes, which were full of tears.
"Pray, pray, forget that1 you ever had such
a thought," she said.
"How can I forget it?" rejoined Harry.
He looked down at her for a moment, wonder,
curiosity at her strange manner, and
wounded feeling still struggling within him ;
then his love overpowered his pride, and
kneeling before her he took her hand between
his own and poured forth a plea so
eager, bo tender, that she was fain to listen .to
the end, since it would brook no interruption.
But her answer was the same.
"I cannot?I cannot," she faintly said.
"If you only knew, you would not ask me."
"If I only knew what f What mystery is
.? - ? i. ? i j i
mere mat you ctuiuui eipimuj usaeu ucr
lover. "Oh! Rachel, if you could look into
my heart you would not trifle with me. I
have never loved before. Never imagined
what it was to love as I love you. You have
my fate in your hands?"
"Hush?oh ! hush," cried Rachel, almost
frantic at having to listen to such words. It
seemed as if, in listening to them, she was
committing a sin. "I tell you it is impossible,"
she repeated. "If you have any pity
for me, go away now and leave me."
CHAPTER VI.
Love may come, and love may go,
And fly, like a bird, from tree to tree,
But I will love no more, no more,
Till Ellen Adair come back to me.
Tennyson.
In that hurried and unsatisfactory interview,
which Rachel resolutely brought to a
close before the minister had succeeded in
pleading his cause as he desired to do, both
parties felt that of this important matter no
complete adjustment had been made. Ra
cbel bad, it is true, declared witb an empnasis
which should have been convincing, that it
was utterly impossible for her to grant her
wooer's prayer; but Harry Wade was not a
man to give up lightly a cause which he had
at heart, and, with that cheerful self-confidence
which was natural to him, he believed
that he would have been successful if he had
had a better chance. Something of this conviction
was apparent in the tone of his goodbye
words, and in a sort of "I'm-not-to-bediscouraged"
air, which filled Rachel, as she
recalled it, with dismay. She had meant to
be explicit, but she felt that she had failed,
and that to the minister's practical mind something
more than a vague agitated assertion of
impossibility, unsustained by any apparent
reason, was necessary to give the impression
that she was sincere. He had good grounds
for supposing himself to be an object of her
regard. She had always, in their intercourse,
yielded to him a greater degree of confidence
than she had accorded to any one else, and
this he might justly take as a mark of special
favor. Besides, he had felt assured, from her
whole tone and manner, that Bhe looked upon
him as more than an ordinary friend. He
was not a conceited man; but, taking all
tbioga into consideration, he could not com*
prebend why it wins a thing impossible tha t
she should learn to love him, even though she
did not love him already. Looking at the
matter in this light, lie went away from Mrs.
Stanton's by no means down-hearted, though
rather inclined to blame himself for having
been unwise in his precipitate mode of action,'
which had no doubt startled and distressed
her.
"She is such a shy, shrinking little creature,"
he reflected; "and I am such a stupid,
blundering sort of a fellow, always pitching
into the thick of a tiling without stopping to
feel my way. Of course I frightened and
unset her: but when she comes to think calm
*" ' ' ? .
ly over the matter she will regard it differently.
She looks ill, too; something mast
have been preying' upon her nerves lately. I
hope she isn't overworked; some women are
so thoughtless, and that little butterfly, Mrs.
Stanton, may be careless in laying her own
burdens on other {[teople's shoulders. Ah, it
she would but give me the right to take care
of her, nothing should ever fatigue or worry
her again, that mji love could ward off?poor
little sensitive plant, too long buffeted by adversity's
cold blast!"
While he meditated thus, Rachel was bitterly
lamenting the unfortunate chance which
had converted a practical, reliable, trustworthy
friend into a most inconvenient and
useless lover. For with this new relation
between them, she could never again enjoy
the same pleasant and unreserved intercourse
with him as formerly, or derive from hi)
friendship the support which had made her
sad life easier to bear. It did not occur to
ber to grieve over his disappointment, for,
to tell the truth, that seemed a very small
item compared with the complication of her
own troubles. The worst part of it was,
that he did not ap pear to believe that she wan
in earnest in her refusal; and the probability,
therefore, existed that he would renew
his attempt, and oblige her to go alii over the
difficulty again. She felt like creeping away
and hiding somewhere, so as to avoid meeting
him, but Chat she could not do without
leaving Drowuieville altogether, and she
feared to run the risk of abandoning this
safe retreat At last it occurred to her,
as the easiest way of settling the matter, to
write him a let ter instead of encountering the
perplexity of another interview. And after
considerable reflection, and several fruitless
attempts at a satisfactory composition she
achieved the following:
"My dear Mr. Fade.'?You have always
been Buch a kind and generous friend to me,
that I hope you will grant the request I am
now about to make. This is that you will not
again refer ty hflt when I saw you
faStTor to the subjectof^lL-eeiweffiaSoD^
then. I beg And entreat of you to believe me,
when I say that it is entirely impossible for
me to yield to your wishes. There are obstacles
in the way of my doing so which are insuperable.
If the knowledge that I can never
be more than a friend to you?and s. most sincere
and grateful one?pains you, I am very
sorry for it, and hope you will forgive; but
pray, pray do not urp^.me to change my decision,
for this 1 cannot do. This much I may
tell you, that a great misfortune has darkened
my life, the influence of which I must always
feel, though it is not through any wrong-doing
of my own. 1 have been more easy and
quiet in mind since I came here than I ever
expected to be aga.in. All I desire is to continue
the tranquil life I now lead, and you, I
trust, will he g^od. and forbearing enough to
help me to do so.
"Hoping that this will convince you of my
sincerity, I remain, dear Mr. Wade, ever sincerely
yours, Rachel Ray."
Rachel made one great mistake in the composition
of this epistle. She neglected to say
plainly, "I do not, and never can, return your
love." The person to whom it was addressed,
quickly perceived the omission, and derived
therefrom too flattering a conclusion. He
did not doubt that this great misfortune fo
which the writer referred, was some family
disgrace, which she fancied cast a stain upon
her own name, though herself guiltless of error
; some offence against law or society, per
haps even a cloud upon her birth. But what
did he care for such, obstacles as these? If
he married her, his name and his protection
would shield her from obloquj, and merge
her past existence into his. He had no fussy
relations to cavil at the unsuitability of the
match, nobody's aristocratic proclivities to
offend but his sister Kate's. And hers, truth
to tell, were far weaker than he had always
imagined his own to he. Notwithstanding
Rachel's earnest entreaty, he resolved to satisfy
himself thoroughly in his conclusions.
He was too eager to be generous, too anxious
to obtain the boon he coveted, to accept her
statement without, at least, one more trial.
He presented himself again at Mrs. Stanton's,
and Rachel, pale with dismay, was
forced to see h:im, since she felt it incumbent
upon her to destroy whatever expectations ho
might still entertain. His heart almost smote
him for .coming, when he saw her nervous,
frightened face, and felt how cold was the
hand that, for tin instant, lay in his clasp.
"Rachel, I know you think me wilfully regardless
of your request," he commenced,
gently, "but it seems to me that there is some
misunderstanding here, which may be cleared
up, and I felt that I must make the effort,
even at the risk of your displeasure."
"I do not wi3h there to be any misunderstanding,
Mr. Wade," she replied. "I meant
to tell you as explicitly as I could, that I
could not grant your request."
"Yes, you were very explicit in telling me
that But you hinted, for the second time,
at some mysterious reason in the background,
some secret cause for your refusal; and you
owe it to me?I won't say to explain it, for
of course you aie not bound to do that unless
you choose?but at least tell me whether
this cause might not, by any action or determination
of my own, be annulled ?"
"It can never be annulled," said Rachel.
"No wish or effort of yours could possibly
remove it, or in any way affect its existence."
"Perhaps you only think so, Rachel. Might
I not be a better judge than you ?"
"I could not explain it to you, Mr. Wade;
it is a secret which I must?which I am
forced to keep," said Rachel speaking, hurriedly,
but with more firmness in her tone
than before.
"Tell me one thing?you see I am very
persistent, but then I have so much at stake!
If this cause were removed, could you then
grant my prayer? Would you still find it impossible
to love me?"
"I could not love you?or any one, Mr.
Wade. Love or marriage now is utterly out
of the question for me."
"Love or marriage now?but not at some
future time?"
"Now or at any time," said Rachel, emphatically.
She hesitated a moment, then
with a great effort added, "My heart is no
longer my own to give away."
The minister started, and looked keenly at
her. Was she telling him the truth, or was
she only using this means as a last expedient
4o free herself from his importunity.
"You love another, then?" he asked.
"I do," she answered, faintly.
"Are you engaged ?"
"I don't think you have any right to question
me in this manner," said Rachel
"No, I have no right But, Rachel, I
can't help it I want you so much that I feel
as though I owe it to myself to leave no stone
unturned to get what I want And I beg
you just to tell me whether you are really
bound by any tie which cannot be broken, or
whether, having perhaps cherished some fan
cy which after a time may pass away, there
is not some hope that a day may yet come
when your fancy would turn toward me f"
"No, that day could never come. I am
bound by a tie which cannot be broken," she
rejoined, "and a tie which I would not wish
or strive to break."
Harry Wade started up and walked about
the room. He was both pained and angered,
and his usually tranquil nature was ruffled by
her refusal almost beyond endurance. He
bad never really wished for anything in his
life which he had not obtained, and he could
not be reconciled to a fate which denied him
the most important wish of his whole life
now.
"You said in your letter," he exclaimed
presently, stopping before her, and speaking
with a sort of passionate remonstrance in his
tone, "that you only desired to continue in
your present mode of life. That does not
look as though you contemplated forming
any new tie. Or did you wish me to believe
one thing then, and another thing now ?"
"Isaid only what was true," replied Rachel.
"I do not tell you now that I contemplate
forming any new tie. On the contrary, it
is impossible that I should do so. I only
want to be at peace. I only want to be left
to myself, and not driven to the wall in this
way?you .are not kind, you are not generous,
to press me so," she continued, leproachm
11 "T. _ . /* 1^ ?i? t _1
iuuy. "it 10 doc my iauii 11 you nave coosen
to give your love where it cannot be returned."
"No, it is not your fault?and I dare say I
am an unreasonable man. But Rachel, it is
difficult to be reasonable when one loves,"
said Harry Wade, impetuously. A metamorphosis
had come over the man; this one
strong feeling had taken such forcible possession
of him that his wonted good sense and
clear discernment were clouded by it, and
Ibe-Unjustifiableness ?f his own behavior was
not for thTmotoeflt^epparent to him. And
somehow, notwithstandingairB^-ftsSortioeSr
he could not rid himself of the fancy that this
strong obstacle of which she had spoken
existed less in reality than in her imagination,
and that by resolution and perseverance it
might be swept away. If she loved some one
else. or had reallv formed a tie which she
could not break, what would haVe been
more simple than for her to tell hirki so at
first?
However, he could not stay there forever
and argue the point. When a considerable
time had elapsed, and fretful cries and a peevish
voice calling for "Miss Ray" were heard,
much to Rachel's relief, he took his departure,
still without admitting that he accepted
her decision as final. Full of his grievance,
he hastened home to his counsellor and sympathizer,
Kate, and poured into her ear the
story of his disappointment. What a blessing
it was to have one as wise and patient as
herself to listen to him! She soothed him,
argued with him, and finally persuaded him
that he was not as deeply wronged as he imagined
himself to be. But in her heart she
wished that Rachel was a thousand miles
away, or that her brother had never been appointed
minister of Drowsieville. For thirty-three
years he had led a calm, unruffled
life, devoted to his church and to the joys of
home, unvexed by anxiety or care; and now
here was all this coil, just because he had
been absurd enough to fell in love with a girl
who could not appreciate, and who was,
therefore, (according to Kitty's feminine logic)
unworthy of the boon.
"If it had only been Ilanie," she could not
forbear saying, with a gentle sigh, "I am sure
it would have been different."
"Very likely it would," rejoined the minister.
"But, begging your pardon, Kate, I
would not have that estimable young woman,
if she were to ask me."
Two days later, in walking out, he met
Mrs. Stanton, who stopped him with a counte
nance full of perplexity and alarm.
"Oh! Mr. Wade," she cried, putting her
lemon-colored gloves on his arm, "I was just
coming to your house. Can you give me any
tidings of Miss Ray ?"
"Tidings!" said the minister, surprised.
"Isn't she with you still?"
"Why, haven't you heard of her disappearance?"
"Good heavens!" exclaimed Harry Wade,
turning pale. "Do you really mean that she
has gone away ?"
"Gone away?gone somewhere, how or
when nobody knows. She was at tea with us
1 5 _ it '1 X 1
yesterday evening, ana since men nas not ueeu
seen. She went to bed, as I supposed, but
this morning I find that her room has not been
occupied, and no trace of her can be anywhere
discovered. Can any accident have happened
to her, do you think ?"
Her listener could not answer her. He felt
stunned. A dozen vague possibilities floated
through his brain. Could Rachel have fled,
thus secretly, to escape from his importunity,
and avoid the chance of his following her ?
He scarcely thought she would have fallen
upon so rash an expedient Mrs. Stanton's
suggestion thrilled him with fear, but that,
too, did not seem likely. A river, broad and
deep, bounded Drowsieville at its western
limits, on the side most remote from Mrs.
Stanton*8 residence, but it was far from probable
that Rachel would have walked out in
that direction, at so late an hour, or that, if
she had done so, her walk would have had a
fatal result?and how could an accident of
any other sort have befallen her without the
fact becoming known at once ?
"Let us go to your house," he said, in an
agitated voice. "Perhaps I can help you
search?we might find some clue?"
"Yes, pray come," cried Mrs. Stftntqp,
He rushed along at a that made It difficult
for the little My to keep up with him;
hut she m&nngec} it somehow, panting out a
score of not very wise suggestions as she trotted
breathlessly at his side, to which he.never
listened. They reached the comfortable, prosperous-looking
residence, which did not present
the air of having any tragedy connected
with it in the remotest degree. He was shown
into Rachel's room. There was everthing
just as she had left it; a table with books and
a bit of unfinished crochet work, a vase of
flowers on the mantelpiece, a glove thrown
carelessly on the bureau; in the closets,
in the bureau drawers, her different articles
of -clothing regained, neatly arrranged
in their usttal order,: Only one drawer was
half open, as if hurriedly left after something
had been taken out, and \her bonnet and
cloak were gone.
"I paid her her last quarter's salary yesterday,"
said Mrs. Stanton, "and it's my belief-"
: ' * "
"Stop!" cried the minister, interrupting
her, as he made a sudden dart at something
white under the table, it was a twisted paper,
and had probably been brushed accidentally
off upon the floor. Mrs. Stanton's
name was scrawled outside, but Harry Wade
tore it open. It was a little note, almost illegibly
written, and bore only this scrap of
information :
"When ycu receive this I shall be gone. I
muet go. Something has happened which
makes it impossible for me to remain here
any longer. I dare not stay. Thanks for
your many kindnesses, and love to dear little
Madge. Qood-byel In great haste yours,
R. R."
"Mr. Wade," solemnly said Mrs. Stanton,
when she, too, had perused the note, "it's my
belief that Rachel Ray must be insane."
The minister thought Mrs. Stanton little
better than a fool; but even a fool speaks
wisely now and then. He wondered, as he
walked sadly enough away, whether there
might not be truth in her last words.
And time went on, and Drowsieville saw
Rachel Ray no more. No tidings came of
her, though one anxious heart watched and
waited long; but that heart remained constant
to its -first absorbing love, which no
counsel or persuasion could induce it to lay
M1UV*
[to be continued.]
^HisffUattcous gUaliwg.
JUDGE BOGAN.
his manners at the bab and on the
bench.
When J as. Bogan was a practicing lawyer
in Georgia he weighed about three hundred
pounds. He was a short man, and had no
coupling-pole betwixt his head and his shoulders.
His back was as broad as a cellar door.
Of course he was a good-natured man, but
sometimes was very sarcastic in the use of
language before a jury. One day he had a
in * justice's court, in one of the upper
counties oTOeorgiar-acd-^here was a little
lawyer on the other side named~NWiggius.
Wiggins weighed about ninety poundfi>^nd
had a voice as fine as the ? string on a fiddle.
;i
Well, the judge was rollicking along in a
good-natured way to the jury, and made
some allusions that insulted Wiggins' dignity.
Whereupon Wiggins hopped up and hit the
judge a lick on the baok.
The judge looked round a little, and says
tlA?
"What you 'bout Wiggins?what you
'bout ?"
"I'm a fitin'!" says Wiggins.
"Sit down and behave yonraeif," said the
judge, and his eyes twinkled merrily as he
continued his rhapsody of random remarks.
Pretty soon he offended Wiggins again, who,
rising forward, tumultously popped him
three or four times more, making aa much impression
as if he had hit the side of a house.
"What you 'bout, Wiggins? What von
trying to do ?" said the judge, as he winked
at the jury,
"I tell you, sir, I'm a fitin'!" screamed
Wiggins, and.he popped him again.
The judge reached his arm back, and gently
"squashed" Wiggins down in his chair,
saying:
"Sit down, Wiggins, and be quiet, or 111
take you by the nape of the neck, and seat of
the breeches and throw yon up so high the
bine-birds will build in your jacket-pocket
before you come down. Be still, I say!" .
Wiggins "beed still," but he studied the
code of honor for a few days, and then went
back to his tailor's trade.
When the judge was elevated to the bench
he didn't give the juries very much latitude
in making up a verdict. If the verdicts
ii. L! l_, _1 .J J
uiuii b HUib iiiiii, ue vimrgcu cui uvci n^aiu
and sent 'em back. One day Colonel Foster
was defendin1 a fellow who was sued on a
promissory note, and wound up an eloquent
speech with:
"These are the grand principles of the law,
gentlemen, which control this case. They
are as old as England, as solid as the Blue
Ridge, and have come down to us untarnished
by the tide of time or the wreck of bloated
empires, and so will his Honor charge
you."
The judge was leaning forward, his eyes
sparkling and his mouth twitching at the corners.
Hardly waiting for the Colonel to sit
down, he said :
"His Honor won't charge you any such
thing, gentlemen; for those eternal principles
my Brother Foster has elucidated have,
no more to do with the case than the Koran
of Mahomet This defendant admits that he
signed this note, and if you believe him, then
all these dilatory, nugatory, purgatory pleas
that he has ripped up, tripped up, dug up,
stumped up and trumped up, won't avail
him. What do you say to that, Brother
Foster, eh ?"
"Nothing, sir; only that I am obliged to
differ with the court," said the Colonel.
"Yes, sir, you can differ; you have the
right to differ; but where the court and the
counsel differ, the court prevails, and that's
the law of this case, gentlemen. Retire and
make up your verdict"
Governments Last about Five Hundred
Years.?The following is an extract
from a sermon of the Rev. David SwiDg, of
Chicago: *
As nations do not rise in a day they cannot
be everthrown. There are some singular
records in history. It seems that a great nation
cannot turn on its axis more than once
in 400 or 500 years. Some of the old States
lying outside the bounds show great uniformity
in making the time of radical changes in
| dynasty. Egypt was under shepherd kings
about 500 years. Her golden age, when she
j flourished in art, spread over 300 years. The
Hebrew republic ran from Moses to King
David?500 years; and then came the empire
to enter upon 500 or 600 years of success.
The glory of Greek liberty covered about
500 years. Rome enjoyed all the splendor
of a republic for the same strange period?
482 years. Thus between Cincinpatus, the
farmer President, and the overthrow of the
republic by Caesar and Anthony, there intervened
the tpagical $ve centuries. Spain and
France and Germany, formed Out of new
countries wh?ch followed the breaking up
of the western empire, are no* living well
and happy in the 400th year of their separate
lives. These statements are sufficiently truthful
at least to assure us that those'great stars
which we call "nations" can neither be placed
in the sky in a day nor in a day be blotted
from the galaxy. Behold through what tarmoils
France has come! The atheist and
communist assailed her. Napoleon drained
her of men and money by wan of ambition.
Other revolutions came. Then came the
usurpation of Napoleon, then the German
war with a defeat and a fine of $1,000,000,000;
and yet to-day France comes out of
those commotions a wise and powerful republic.
THE NEW POSTAL LAW.
The new law relating to the classification
of mail matter and rates Qf postage thereon,
it%*A oAkiif An fkn taf intfwnf Tkfl
tfuul iiibv 6u?v/?. vu buv m? ,iiihwwi?,w? ?**w
following is a summary of its leading provisions,
which will be of interest to the business
public:
All mailable matter is divided into four
classes, viz.: First, written matter; second,
periodical publications bailed by publishers
or news-agents; third miscellaneous printedmatter;
fourth, merchandise. Heretofore
"merchandise" was included in the third
class.
There is no change in the rates of postage
on letters or postal cards, but the postmastergeneral
is authorized to furnish fbr public
use a "double postal card" that may be forwarded
and returned to the writer if not delivered,
said cards to be sold at two cents
apiece. These cards have not yet been issued
by the department
On second-class matter the rate of postage
will be uniform at two cents per pound,
and at this rate sample copies may be sent
from an office of publication, or from a news
agency to actual subscribers or other news
agents. The rates of delivery of secondclass
matter at a letter carrier office are unchanged,
bat publishers are required to send
to the office matter for delivery by carrier*
separate from that for delivery through the
boxes of the office.
Third-class matter embraces books, transient
newspapers and .periodicals, circulars
and other printed matter not second-class,
proof sheets, corrected proof sheets and manuscript
accompanying the same. The rate of
Doetave is one cent for each two ounces.
Fourth-claw matter embraces all mailable
matter not ineladed in the other three classes,
rate of postage one cent an ounce or fraction
thereof The maximom weight la four pounds,
but a single bodk weighing more is mailable.
A simple dedication or inscription may be
written upon the cover or blank leaves of any
book, or of any printed matter of the third
class. The date and name of the sender of
a circular, as well as the name of the person
addressed,-may be written therein.
No mail matter npon which postage is due,
can'be -delivered until special stamps, to be
famished to postmasters by the department,
are affixed and cancelled, equal in value to
the amount of postage due The penalty
prescribed for failing to affix the stamps isa
fine of $50.
- 7?? :
A Worthy Mister Mason.?A few days
ago we mentioned that the schooner Clara
Merrick, bound for this port, had* been lost off
Hatteras, and the captain and. crew of fbnr
nteB-featlbeen rescued by Captain Joseph Qas*
kill, of the schooner"Matwiouua, The act;
under the circumstances, being a most heroic
one, we publish the full particulars, which we
take from the Newborn Daily Nut 8heli: ;j!
"The Mary Louisa was coming in from New
York, and when a few miles from the wreck,
the men were discovered in the rigging,
making signals of distress. The matter was
called to the attention of Captain Gaskill,
when he went forward and closely observed
the signals made by the wrecked men, after
which he ordered the boat to be lowered and
stated that he intended to save them if possible.
The wind was blowing bard and the
seas running very high at the time, and one
of the men asked: "Will yon try to reach
those men under such circumstances as these ?"
The captain replied, "I will go to them or lose
my life in the attempt i see the Masonic
signal of distress displayed. Who will volunteer
to go with me Y' Two of the hands at
once volunteered, when the three brave men
stepped into the yawl and shoved off (torn the
vessel. As we have before stated, their noble
efforts were crowned with success. They
reached the wrecked men, took them from
their perilous position, and braving the foaming
waves, returned in safety to the Mary
Louisa. By this act Captain Gaskill saved a
brother Mason, the captain of the Clara Mar*
risk, from a watery grave. After the Clara
MqrrieJt struck on toe shoals, the captain drove
her from the beach, but the vessel sank before
she reached the beach, in seven fathoms of
water. The five men had. been dinging to
the rigging at the masthead about six hours
when Captain Gaskill rescued them."?Wilmington
Sun.
Neatness in Farming.?Nothing gives
evidence of thrift and enterprise in farming
better than keeping everything in order.
There are times when even the most painstaking
men are compelled to let things go
somewhat at loose ends, but upon the first occasion
of spare time, and due diligenoe thereafter,
the wonted appearanoe of things about
the premises returns. At the cost of * little
time and labor when required, the appearanoe
of an untidy farm may be so improved as to
add considerably to its value, ana the price
obtained in the event of its sale. The contrast
between neat and slovenly kept farms
represents more in a pecuniary point of view,
very often, than is generally supposed. Take
a farm which, by its appearance, shows dear
culture; from which *tumpe and bushes have
been removed, the buildings kept in repair,
the fences and gates in order, the rubbish
kept from the roadside and feooe corners, the
tools housed when not in use, and the stock
exhibiting evidence of good care and attention,
and in the event of its purchase it will
bring relatively much more than one equally
fertile, but kept in a slovenly way. Weedy
fields, tumble-down fences, gates with broken
binges,< buildings ont of repair, implements
scattered about the farm where they were used
last, rubbish everywhere, and inferior looking
stock, take from a farm naturally fertile a
good round sum in the event of a sale.? Western
Rural. '
I; ^
The Barber's Pole.?Every part of the
t ? e 1 I V # 1 l
Daroers pole lormeriy naa especial signincance.
The gilt knob at the top was once a
brass basin, with a notch in the aide used to
fit under the chin to facilitate the lathering
and washing of the customers. The barbers
were formerly surgeons; at least all the venesection
was performed by them. The pole
represents the staff held by persons who were
bled in the arm; and the two spiral ribbons
Cted around it were originally actual banw
a?one for cording or binding the' arm to
cause the fiow of blood, and the other for
dressing the punotnre afterward. The whole
was significant of the barber's twin occupations?shaving
and bloodletting.
9* The following testimonial of a certain
patent medicine speaks for itself: "Dear Sir:
Two months ago my wife could scarcely speak.
She has taken two bottles of your "Life Renewer,"
and now she can't speak at all.
Please send me two more bottles. T wouldn't
be without it."?Narritiowi Herald.

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