Democratic Sentinel, Volume 2, Number 12, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 3 May 1878 — THE OLD INN. [ARTICLE]

THE OLD INN.

“ No, Ned, I will never give my oonHent to your marrying her. She is your inferior in every way, both by birth and social position. It shall not be said that a Feversham married bonoath him, if I can help it.” Old George Fevt rsham was a retired banker, wealthy and most aristocratically brod. In his opinion, povorty was a crime unpardonable, and the poorer class were cared for less by him than even the dogs that bayed in their kennels near Ins stables. That his one son Edward, the spoiled heir to all the banker’s wealth and hereditary estates of Feversham Place, should stoop from his exalted position to select a wife from that circle so far below him. was an idea not to be tolerated for an instant. Feversham determined to nip it in the bud, and the sooner the better. ~ Ned listened to his father’s stern tones in respectful silence; but when he had finished he said, quietly though firmly, “I am not of age, sir; therefore, in this matter, filial duty compels me to obey you. But when the year is up, if my iove loves mo, I shall make her my wife, regardless of outside opinion.” The old man’s brows gathered blackly for a moment, then he smiled. “ Young men are apt to change their tastes in so long a time as that,” said he; “ therefore lam content. But, as you have marked out your course of conduct as soon as you attain your majority, the one year that intervenes belongs to me, and I desire you to spend it in travel. You shall start as soon as the necessary arrangements can be made,” Ned bowed, tmd left the room. Miss Allonby was the daughter of the Allonby sos Wolfdeu—a queer, uncauny place, quite in keeping with its owner, a hideous huuchback, who, with his vixenish wife, was the terror of the neighborhood.

How so horrid a couple could have produced such a graceful and altogether lovable and lovely a creature as Svbel was a question often asked, and pondered over not a little by those who saw the remarkable family. Not the slightest resemblance did the girl bear to her reputed parents. She was small as a fairy and dark as a Spaniard, with big, shining, starry eyes, and long, glittering masses of ebony hair, that floated unconfined over her shoulders. It was on one of her wild rides, when mountod on her black horse, Bess, that Nod had seen hor first. She was in the act of leaping her horse over a bristling fence, when her skirt caught upon a stake, and she was thrown headlong into the ditch. Like the gallant gentleman he really was Ned rushed to the rescue, and, draggiug her from the slimy waters, was rewarded by receiving thunks from the prettiest lips he had ever seen. After this Ned managed to meet her regularly every day, and it was not long ere the young gentleman made known his growing passion, to find himself an accepted lover. As Nod was too wholesouled and high-toned a fellow to keep his attachment a secret, he acquainted his father with a knowledge of affairs, fully expectiug to receive from him a God-spoed iu his wooing. The result was anything but pleasant; but, ns it could not be helped, ho swallowed his chagrin, determined, however, at the end of the year to return and claim his bride. .So, with one last passionate parting with Sybel, Ned went away on his travels. The first six months passed draggingly, and found him, with two brother tourists, exploring the picturesque scenery of Scotland. Along its winding streams and quaintly beautiful landscapes Ned dreamed and whiled away the days that intervened between himself and the appointed time of his return. But there was something in store that he did not expect. One afternoon, in turning a sharp angle in the road, the young men came suddenly upon on old ruin, standing in bold relief upon a rock, at whose base flowed a turgid stream that emptied its waters in a deep, dark tarn in the glen below.

The building was long and low, with a slanting roof, over which two tall, narrow chimneys rose grimly upright, like sentinels keeping guard over some deserted field of carnage. The windows were short and wide, and the doors heavy and deeply set in massive frames, suggestive of strength and long-con-tinued endurance. The casings and sills upon which once had been the deep coating of dark-green paint were now faded, and the old building wore an air of gloom and desolation not often seen in these modern days. Over the entrance-way still hung a faded sign, which creaked and groaned dismally in every gust of wind, proclaiming that tho queer old structure was once known as tho ‘ ‘ Allonby Inn. ” The name aroused Ned’s curiosity. “By Jove ! I’ll make a sketch of this rookery,” oried Dahlgren, who was a kind of amateur artist, and delighted in putting on canvas the queerest of landscapes, aud all other odd bits of quaintness that came under his notice. “ This must bo that old concern our host was talking about that rumor says has a ghost. There s three of us. Suppose we explore the ‘ castle grav?’ ” continued Dahlgren, lightly. "Agreed 1” they cried. Ami, Ned turning the knob of the door, iu an instant they were in the gloomy old building, ami gazing curi ously into its privacy. The paper was peeling away from the walls, and hung in long strips that rattled myteriously ; and the dust, the gathering of years, started up in thick clouds, as the audacious feet stalked d liberately through the long-fcrsaken rooms. At the end of a carridor, up stairs, they came to a barred door. It yielded to their united efforts, and they entered a large bedroom. In one comer stood a high-] ost bedstead. A wash-stand occupied the sp|tce near the grated window; and a carpe , worn and moth-eaten, covered the floor. Dark red stains covered the sheets, yellow with age, aud the pillows were

stiff and hard, and with that same reddish color. Ned shuddered. “Blood!” said Frank Ormsby, who was studying for the medical profession, and, therefore, wae qualified to speak. An inner door suggested more mystery; which, upon entering, proved to be a bedroom similar to the one they had just left. But there were no stains on the bedding; and, finding nothing, Ned followed his companions down the stairs, who now clamored for an investigation of the underground regions. “ There must be something in the cellar; I’d take my oath to it,” Frank said, emphatically. Bo the great trap-door was lifted; but the intense darkness hid whatever was there, and they agreed to go back to their host’s, and return the next day with torches and everything that they fancied they would need. “I dinna ken what ye maun find, my gude lads ; but there’s na nion in these parts that wad gae there,” said the host. “ Why so ?” asked Ned. The good Scot shook his head. “ The dead walk there, and wi’ their screeches in the wee sma’ hours drove the gude mon, old Hugh Allonby, awa’ ayant the borders o’ his ain land. I mysel’ hne heard the screeches o’ the returned spirits, as they shrieked and groaned with awfu’ cries at ‘Allonby Inn. ’ Fifteen years ago old Hugh heard muckle cursing and hammering on doors ; an’, nearly dead wi’ fear, the man fled ayont Scotland into England. Since then naebody has lived there, in that uncanny place, and now the goblins hold high carnival in the old ruin.” But the more they heard, the stronger became their resolution to explore its reputed mysteries ; and so, early the next morning provided with torches, crowbars, and a pickax, the three young men returned to the haunted house. Ned lifted tho trap-door and swung the lantern down into the darkness below. The light flickered brightly up, revealing, with a ghost-like radiance, a flight of narrow iron steps. Ormsby took the crowbar, and was first to descend. A damp, musty odor filled the walled room. The lantern flared np suddenly with a steady, bright glare, and the faces of the three adventurers looked oorpse-like in their pallor. Ned shook off the fear that had come on him, and walked slowly over the hard floor. A pile of earth was heaped up in one corner; and near the iron stairs he stepped upon something that grated with a harsh, crunching sound under his feet, and a gust of fine, peculiarsmolliog dust filled the air. He seized the lantern, and brought its *rays to bear upon the spot. A shudder ran through his frame at what he beheld. There, on the damp floor, lay the glistening bones of a skeleton; its fleshless hands still grasped a leathern substance, and the skull seemed to smile mockingly at him as he bent over it. An iron lamp, rusty with age, stood near the remains ; and the glitter of a diamond sparkled upon one of the bony Angers. Ormsby stooped and raised the skeleton, but the bones snapped apart and fell with a dull rattle to the floor. The leathern substance it had clutched so tightly proved to be a pocket companion. Ned opened it, and a shower of coins ran out like a golden stream. Inside it was a portrait.

“Eh I what in the deuce—” He gazed at the portrait earnestly. It was a round, sparkling face, with dancing eyes and glossy waves of purplish-black hair. The mouth was small, and a saucy smile, half sorrowful, half sad, lingered on the crimson lips. “ Sybel, for all the world !” cried he, in astonishment. Touching a spring at the back of tlio case, a lock of dark hair fell out, and a yellow slip of paper, on which were written the words, “ Sybel, wife of Leonard Ashmore, Bart., Ashmorelands, England.” There were a package of letters and a broken seal ring, and, lastly, an unfinished diary. “Let us go back, gentlemen,” said Ned. “ I feel that a wise Providence has placed it in our power to unravel a dark crime. Lot us return to the outer day and read this diary, which, perhaps, will give us the clew to this horrible mystery.” They returned to the inn, and, in the stillness of their private parlor, Ormsby opened the leaves of the moldy journal. The first part was merely jottings of incidents occurring in the travels of a gentleman, and sketches of places visited and people seen ; then there was a blank, after wbioh came the startling words, “ Walled up alive 1” “I, Leonard Ashmore, Baronet, of Ashmorelands, England, being of sound mind, and knowing that 1 am for ever buried from the outside world, and feeling that in a few brief hours I shall cease to be, write herein the particulars of a hideous orime, having faith that some time this record will come to light, and the perpetrators be punished. Be it known that I, Leonard Ashmore, Baronet, and Lord John Willoughby, of Willoughby Hall, England, came to our death at the hands of Hugh Allonby, keeper of the • Allonby Inn,’ Scotland. We were returning from a short trip taken for the benefit of my health, and that of my little daughter Sybel, who accompanied us. We stopped on the 10th day of June, 18—, at Allonby’s for the night, and occupied adjoining rooms. I was tired and weak, and retired early. Willoughby declared he distrusted our host; but I smiled at the idea. Lord John carried a leather bag filled with guineas, and the innkeeper accidentally entered his room as Willoughby placed it under his pillow. Allonby begged pardon, and Willoughby got into bed, after fastening the door. About 2 o’clock, I heard a heartrending moan. I tried to rise, but for a moment oould not do so. Again that groan, and, dragging myself to the door, I beheld Allonby carrying my murdered friend down the stairs. The blood was running freely from a stab in the breast, and his night-shirt was crimson with gore. With a sort of horrible fascination I crept on after the innkeeper. He went down—down— down into the dungeon, and I—l followed him on. I saw them dig a grave in one corner of this horrible room, and then, wi«h his wife’s help, he threw the body into it. Then they both went to work, and the dirt fell with a dull, heavy thud into the grave. Finally it waa done, and a long mound of fresh earth lay heaped in the corner. When it was done, I sank back in the shadow of the iron steps and groaned, faint with horror. The guilty couple glanced hastily around, but did not see me, and they ran up the steps, and I heard the door close with a heavy jar. Now, I have exhausted my feeble strength in attempting to open the great door. I have screamed until the sound of my voice has become a terror. The pangs of thirst and hunger warn me that if help does not arrive shortly I shall beoome like that still, inanimate thing beneath yonder heap of earth. I fear for the fate of my child, and by the light of the fast-dying lamp I beseech and pray you to whom this MS. may fall that you leave no stone unturned to learn her fate, and bring to justice Hugh Allonby and his wife, whom I here solemnly charge with the murder of Lord John Willoughby, of Willoughby Hall. Here, in my living tomb, by the grave of that murdered friend, I bid the world a last farewell.” The journal dropped from Ormsby’s hand, and he sprung excitedly to his feet. “ We must act, gentlemen, and that immediately, I shall offer a reward for Allonby s arrest, and send telegrams to Ashmorelands and Willoughby Hall.” “Bo still I” said Ned, putting his hands to his head. “ Here is Hugh Al-. lonby’s address; have him brought to justice as soon as possible. The Baroaet’s daughter ig Jiving 'vyitfe them as

their own child; so it will not be difficult to find her. In the meantime, the widow of the murdered Lord must be apprised. lam positive that Lady Ashmore did not survive the disappearance of her husband a year. I remember the hne and ory made at the time.” Lady Willoughby arrived on the fifth day, and with a few friends went down into that gloomy dungeon where so long a time the murdered body of her husband had slept that last sleep. Two handsome coffins contained all that was left of those so dear to the living. The day that Sybel was reinstated in the house of her fathers saw the innkeeper and his guilty wife hanging on the gallows. Retribution, though late, had come to them at last. v ****** A year later, and the old church bells rang ont a merry wedding peal, and down its wide, old aisles filed a wedding party. Standing where the broad beams of the son shone on them through the stained-glass panes, and where from the altar the sublime perfume of rare flowers that carpeted their wav filled the air with fragrance, the white-haired priest bound them together, and Sybel, daughter of the Baronet of Ashmorelands, became the wife of the banker’s heir.