Democratic Sentinel, Volume 13, Number 41, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 1 November 1889 — DO LISTEN TO REASON. [ARTICLE]

DO LISTEN TO REASON.

Smoking tranquilly in an easy-chair one evening in June, Major Hartwell was roused lrom the deep and painful reverie into which he had fallen by a stop in the hall and a knock on his parlor door. “Come!" he said, and a smile lighted up his grave, handsome face, for both step and knock were familiar to him. and if there was any man on earth whom ho held near and dear, that man was he who now entered. “I was beginning to wonder what had become of you. Arthur." stretching out a welcoming hand, which Arthur Hazard took in a warm grasp. “I have been unusually busy.” and Arthur threw himself into a chair. “I’ve been getting ready to leave town for a few weeks, and haven’t had time to even think of my friends.” “Then you’ve come to say au re coir .” “Yes; I’m off tomorrow by the early train. I wish you Vere going with me. Cyril.” “I can't leave the city now. Besides, I shouldn’t enjoy having nothing to do. I haven’t taken a vacation since I le t the a my. Where are you going?” “Jo a piece cailed Westholt, down in Buckingham County." The Major sta; ted. and a shadow crept ovc. his face—the shadow oi a past sorrow. the memory of which was very painful to him. “I am goi: g to visit Iho bis man of the plac*-—Squire Drayton," continued Arthur, carelessly. “I made his acqua ntance a few months ago by the merest accident. He wa~ pleaded to take a fancy to me. aud invited me to nis place. Some one was telling me the other day that the Squire had one of the prettiest daughters imaginable, bo you can prepare yourself for anything in the way of news wneu I come back." He paused, lau hing, aud expecting some facetious reply; but Maior Hartwell was silent. Ti e shadow had deepened on his face into a look of pain. ”t hat's the matter. Hartwell? You look as if you had seen a ghost. Are you envying me my good luck?” “.Vo: I have no desire to go to Westholt. I shall never go there again." Ah! You have been there before me, th n?” “Yes; I was once engaged to be married to 3 ois Drayton.” “You were? Excuse me. Major, if I had known that I would never have spoken as I did; but no hint ot anything of the sort had ever reached me. Are you willing to tell me about it?" "Fee; dad I not been, I would not have mentioned it at AIL It isn’t a very long story, but I think it a very unusual one. I met Lois Drayton when my regiment was stationed near Westholt. and we were engaged for a year. I know she loved m<*: I have never doubted that, though what iollowed would have led almost any man to believe her utterly wanting in anything approaching affection. We were to be marked on the 10th of October, and the wedding was to be a g and affair. All the Drayton relat.ve3 far and near were invited, ana the Squire had prepaid for bonfires, firework? and general enthusiasm. I went down to Westholt on the morning of the 9th and had no fault to find with the welcome I received from Lois. I thought I had never seen her in a happier mood, and we had a long talk ’about our future and made all sorts of plans, which I little thought were never to be realized. We spent a very happy afternoon to the great, dusky parlor, and after supper the Squire took me out for a long walk, wishing to show me some improvements he had made in drainage and parking. We left Lois in the hall, talking to an old woman who had come to get some medicine for a sick child. I remember that I looked back when l reached the vard and waved my hand lo my little girl, thinking how sweet and fair and gentle she looked as she stood listening to the description of the child’s illness! Ah. me! t did not dream tint it was our last parting—that I was ueverto see her a sin!” “- v ever to see her again'-” echoed Arthur Hazard, as his friond paused. “No; I have never seen her since that ■evening. When the Squire and I returned to the house, a couple of hours later, wo found that she had gono to administer the auedicine herself to the child, and on reaching home again had retired at once to her room, and had sent for her aunt. Mrs. Andrews, who had taken the place of a mother to her for many years. Mrs. Andrews found her prone on a rug. her left hand jgrasping it iu her agony. Gently raising her, Mrs. Andrews endeavored to learn the cause of her pale and agitated condition, but she would ex plain nothing, simply stating that a great sorrow had come over her life. She simply wished, she said, to send a message to me. It was that she absolutely refused to marry me. Y’es, on the very eve of our wedding she had •changed her mind. And she would give no reason for the change, nor -would she consent to see me. Her father and aunt reasoned and argued with her in vain. She simply wept and maintained her mysterious silence. And the end of it all was that I loit Westholt the next day, together with my best man and the half-dozen bridesmaids. The affair created a great deal of gossip., but no one has ever been able to get to the bottom of it.” “Perhaps Miss Drayton heard something against you,” suggested Hazard. “No; that question was asked her, and she insisted that she had not,” “And you do not think her merely fickle’” “I know her too well to think that.” ■"And there was no other lover?” “No. She had other suitors, of course, but I was the only one for whom she had •expressed any regard.” "And she has never given any explanation of her singular action?” “Never. I see her father occasionally, aud he has repeatedly assured me that she maintains her mysterious silence. They never mention my name to her now. She requested them not to do so.” 1 “I wish, for your sake, I could get at the root of the matter, Major. Suppose I try. I -will have a good opuo tunity. you see.” "You can try, of course. Thank you for your interest. But there is no reason to *%tiink you will succeed. No; I must bear

my sorrow as best I can. I must not hope, j for hope would end only in despair.” In the train ttte next day, on the way to ! Westholt, Arthur Hazard remembered the j story he had heard, and he felt a great j curiosity to see the heroine of so peculiar a j tale. Squire Drayton was the richest landed proprietor in the large and fertile county in which Westholt was situated. His house was a handsome, rambling building, surrounded by trees, and overlooking beautiful gardens, rich pastures, and welt-tilled fields. His family consisted of his daugher Lois, a widowed sister, and a nephew, the son of his only t rother. Arthur liked Lois at once. She was a refined-looking girl of about twenty-five years of age. with large,'soft brown eyes, an olive complexion, an abundance of chestnut hair, and a lithe and graceful figure; but she was shy and reserved, and talked little, even to her father. Arthur rather prided himself upon his ability to read character. He thought he understood that of Lois, and the fact that she had been able to keep secret for three years her reasons for refusing to marry the man she loved puzzled him very much. “She does not look like a woman 1 who could keep a secret," he thought. "I should say that she eould be frightened into almost anything. She has a weak mouth, and is credulous and timid.” This opinion was strengthened as he became more acquainted with her, and he felt a greater desire than over to penetrate the mystery which sun ounded her broken engagement. “Perhaps Henry Drayton can help me,” he thought. And, with this object in view, he cultivated that young man’s acquaintance. But the Squire's nepliew proved of a surly, unsociable nature, and showed no disposition to meet Arthur’s advances even half way. Arthur at length concluded to let him severely alone, and turned his attention to Mrs. Andrews, who was a kind, motherly woman, fond of talking, and of a genial, confiding nature. She ha t takon a great fancy to Arthur, and he found it easy to draw from her all that she knew or surmised concerning her niece's love affair. But aim could tell him very little, and It was substantially the same as he had heard from the Major. "Is her cousin in love with her?” asked Arihur, with a start of surprise. “Yes; he has been in love with her for years, and has asked her half a dozen times to marry him. He was keenly disappointed when she became engaged to Major Hartwell, but bore it much better than I had expected. His wedding-gift to her was as handsome as anything she received, and he could ill afford such a present, for his income is very small, and he is partially dependent on my brother. I think he is still bent on winning her, and probably thinks she will consent to marry him at last from sheer weariness at his peislstence. But I think tnat scarcely possible.” The day following that on which he had had this conversation with Mr 3. Andrews. Arthur was walking through a field with the Squire, who was explaining his method of fertilization, when all at once they were startled by a loud "Good-morning, Squire,” uttered in a clear, feminino voice. They turned, and saw a young woman standing on a low stile which separated the field from a tiny orchard, in the middle of which was a small cottage, overgrown with tines. “Good-morning. Piose," said the Squire, coldly, and then continued his conversation with Arthur. The young woman appeared a little piqued at being thus .summarily disposed of. and tossed her lieaif pettishly, her bold black eyes fixed on Arthur, whose young, athletic figure evidently took her laucy. But she did not speak again, and the Squire soon moved away from the vicinity of the stile. "I hear that Rose Ellis is back again,” said Mis. Andrews, at the dinner-table. "Y6s, I saw her this morning,” said the Squire. “I hoped when she went awav that we were rid of her for ever"—and Mrs. Andrews sighed. “Her grandmother told me that she had excellent wages and was getting along well. I wonder what has induced her to return.” “Pure deviltry, of course,” said the Squire. ' She’ll have the whole neighborhood by the ea sin a week’s time. Rose isn’t happy unless sho is the central figure of a perpetual broil.” “She is a very handsome girl,” said Ar-i thur, “but of a very coarse style.” "Her beauty Ims been her bane.” said Mrs. Andrews. "Her grandmother used to be housekeeper here a groat many years ago, but lately she has lived in a little cottage the Squire gave her. about a mile away. Rose has almost broken the poor old woman’s heart; she has an idea that her beauty will pave her way into a higher sphere than that in which she was born, and in some way she manages to make the acquaintance of nearly every gentleman who comes into the neighborhood. Then a fuss of some kind is always sure to follow." “I believe she would stoop to anything to gain her end,” said the squire. “She is unscrupulous to Iho last degiee, and utterly without delicacy or refinement. I beg you to avoid her. Hazard, or you may have a noose about your neck before you know it. She is extremely artful, and her beauty and audacity make her dangerous." Neither Lois nor Henry made any remark on the subject; but, glancing at the latter, Arthur saw that his face was scarlet, and that his hands shook as he took a cup of coffee a seivant handed him. “Evidently he has had some experiences of the wiles of the fuir Rose,” thought Arthur, and felt very sorry for him. But. a little later, pity was changed to a very different emotion. The Squire’s household retired early, as is customary in the country, and at ten, o’clock that night Arthur was on his way to his room. As he was about to enter it. he saw a scrap of paper folded like a note lying just outside his door. He picked it up. and, opening it, road as follows: “Meet nie to-night at the big oak tree near tho pasture-gate. I will be there at eleven, and you must not fail to come. I must and will see you.” Arthur could scarcely believe that the note was intonded for himself, and yet his curiosity was excited, and at eleven o’clock, feeling restless and unable to sleep, lie concluded to investigate the vicinity of that old oak tree if only to kill time. As he neared tho oak tree he Heard voices raised in angry dispute. He crept closer, and could distinguish the forms of a man and a woman standing lacing each other. The woman was speaking now, and Arthur paused. “I tell you once for all that I won’t wait any longer,” she was saying, in a fierce, sullen tone. “I’ve waited long enough. I’ve come back to make you keep your promise, and you can’t put me off again with excuses. If you don’t look out you’ll get yourself into trouble.” “Hush! you can’t be too careful what you say.” and Arthur, to his amazement, recognized the low. cautious voice as that of his host’s nephew. ’ I tell you it will come all right if you only have a little patience. Every one says she can't live long, and when I have a little money to bless myself with you'll see that I won’t, lorget you. If you’il only keep quiot I’ll nave matters settled in six months’ time.” “That’s just what yju said last year, and the year before, and the year before that. While I’m having a ‘little patience’ you'll bo getting married to Lois Drayton. Oh. I’ve things told mil There's them who

watches out for me. No. you'll merry me now and we'll wait together for your comsin’s money.” ”1 tell you it would be meduesa for me to take such a step, i ose, do listen to reason. I wouldn't come in for a cent if you were my wile. Wait a while, aud do make up your mind to go away for a few months.” “No. vou can’t throw no more dust In my eyes. If you'd been honest and meant what pou said, you wouldn't have put me off so long. And if I had known you as well three years ago as I do now. I wouldn't have taken any part in chesting your cousin. I’d have let her marry her gentleman.” “Hush, hush. Rose, for Heaven's sake! It would ruin us both if you should be overheard." “Who’s to overhear me? I rat s er guess there ain’t many folks hereabouts out o' their beds at this hour.” "still, you can’t be too careful Come, let’s walk towai d the cottage; we can talk as we go along.” They moved away, and Arthur heard no more. But ho had heard enough to fill him with the keenest suspicion and distrust. Was it possible that ut last he had stumbled on a clew to the mystery that had baffled him ever since his arrival at Westholt? "She must have told Lois some big yarn against the Major,” thought Arthur. But then he remembered that Lois had declared positively that she had heard nothing against the character of her betrothed. He lay awake until daylight, cogitating over the matter, and when at last he fell asleep it was with the determination to unravel the mystery at any cost. After breakfast he drew Lois aside, and asked if he could see her alone in the library. She answered in the affirmative, looking a little surprised at so strange a request, and led the way to the room at once. Arthur closed the door and motioned to her to take a seat on the sofa. She did so. and he sat down by ner side, a little puzzled how best to begin his task. The light fell full on her face. He could see every change in its expression, which was exactly what he desired. “Miss Lois.” Arthur began, “I have not told you, I tnink. that the best friend I have on earth is Cyril Hartwell.” Every particle of color forsook her face, a nervous trembling seized her, and she put out her hand imploringlv toward him. "Do not speak of him.” she said, in a low, sbakon voice. "I—l cannot—bear it; and —and it is useless. What I said three years ago I mu*t say now." “But I have something to tell you—something you must hear.” said Arthur. “It can make no difference In—in anything," she said, still iu the same low, hesitating voice. “I must insist, however, that you listen to what I have to tell you, Miss' Drayton. I assure you th< t you will not regret having done so. I did not know until just before I came down here what it was that had so saddened Cyril Hartwell’s life. I have known him only a little more than two years, and he is not one to carrv his heart on his sleeve. But he told me the story of his acquaintance with vou the night before I le t. town; but he coul l not tell me why it was that you lefusod to mar y him the very day before tho one set for the wedding." “I have never told anv one that. I never shall. It is useless to ask mo to do so. I would die sooner." “Will you not let me t 11 him?" asked Aitbur. “Will you not let me explain to him that it was through the machinations of ai artful woman that he was robbed of his bride, and that vou were cruelly choatod? Miss Lo ! s, did you not know enough of the character of Rose Ellis to m ake you doubt ” Lois started up. her eyes glittering, a deathly pallor on her lovely face. “Rose! Was It Rose?" she cried. “I never knew that—l never even suspected it. Mr. Hazard, how did you discover this? For heaven’s suke, tell me! Do not keep me in suspense!” She s ink back, trembling, on Ihe sofa, her delicate hands clasped in piteous appeal. For a moment Arthur was silent. He scarcely knew how to proceed. “Did you never suspect, then, that your cousin Henry was attached to this girl, and that it wus through bis influence that you were made so wretched?” he asked at length. “Henry attached to Rose!” said Lois, slowly. “Why, Henry ” Sho paused, blushing painfully. “Henry has repeatedly assured you of his attachment to yourself, you would say,” suggested Arihur. “Y’es. He has long desired to marry ire. even before my engagement to—to—Major Hartwell.” “And yet, threo years ago, he promised to marry Hose Ellis. Sns has returned home now, determined to make him fulfill that promise. Ho has put her off from time to time with the excuse that he was poor, a«d has told her that at your death he would inherit your money, and could then marry her. He tells her that you cannot live long, but that if he married her now you would not leave him a penny, and that she must therefore have patience." Lois’ pale cheeks had flushed. The o was an angry sparkle in the soft, dark eyes raised to Arthur’s lace. "How have you learned all this, Mr. Hazard?” she asked. “Will you not tell me first how Rose Ellis managed to deceive you?” "If I only dared!” murmurod the poor girl, sighing. “I have kept silent so long that now ” "For your own sake—for Cyril’s!” Sue did not speak for a moment. Her face was hidden in her hands, and a nervous tiemor shook her from head to foot* “It must Uave been lrom some powerful motive that you have kept silent so long,” said Arthur, looking at her pityingly. “It was for his sake, for his alone,” she burst out, almost wildly. “I did not think of myself at all. But, oh, I could not have his blood upon my hands. Mr. Hazard, you will think me foolish, even worse than that, I fear; but I was always a coward and easily frightened. The evening before I was to be married, I went with old Mrs. Hinds to see a sick child, to whom I was much attached. It was uusic before I started for home, and I took a path through the wood, which ivas snorter than going around by the road. All at once a heavy cloak was thrown over my head, and 1 was forced to my knees. Then the cloak was torn aside, and looking up I saw a woman standing over me. Her face wus concealed by a hideous black mask, and I did not recognize her voice. She told me that she loved Cyril, and had sworn to kill him sooner than see any other woman than herself become his wife. She said that if I dared marry him she would shoot him through the heart within an hour alter tho ceremony. She swore this, calling on heaven to witness her vow. and so solemn was her manner that I did not doubt lor an instant that she would carry out her threat it I fulfilled my engagement to Cyril. I had heard frequently of just such desperate deeds committed by jealous and revengeful women. On my knees I promised her that I would give Cyril up, and would refuse any explanation of the act. She told me that if I married him his blood would be upon my head. This was my reason for breaking my engagement, and I dared not see Cyril for soar he would wring my secret, from me. and then persuaue me there was no danger, and insist on running the risk. My love for Cyril gave mb courage to shield him from danger at no matter what cost to myself. If I married him it whs at the risk of his life. I could not thus put, It in jeopardy!” “How cruelly you have suffered!" said

Arthur. And then he told her of the conversation he had overheard the night before. "Your cousin's motive in preventing your marriage is very plain.” he said, in conclusion. "He hoped to win you for himself. while he led Rose to believe that it was simply that he might come into possession of your money in case you died unmarried." “1 would not have believed Henry so base, so cruell” said Lois "Suppose we send for Rose and ask her a few plain questions?” suggested Arthur. “Do just what you think right,” said Lois; *1 do not fear her now." A servant was dispatched to the cottage at once, -and soon leturued accompanied by Rose, who had not imagined for a moment the real reason why ner presence was desii ed. She had thought Mrs. Andrews wanted to send some special message to her grandmother which could not be intrusted to a servant, and wheu she was ushered into the library and saw the Squire, Mrs. Andrews, Lois and Arthur Hazard in council, she was throughly frightened for once in her bo.ld, reckless life. At first she denied flatly having played any such part as that ascribed to her; but when she saw that the story was known in all its details, she broke down and confessed. She had been induced, sho said, by Henry to intercept Lois in the wood, and to frighten her as she had done; for Henry was poor and needed his cousin’s money, which would, of course, come to him at her death if she died unmarried. "And he promised to make me his wife inside of six months; but he put it off, saying he was too pobr. I’m sorry now that I ever lent my hand to deceiving Miss Lois, Squire. It was too bad to cheat her for nothing.” "You ought, to be sorry,” said the Squire, sternly. “No punishment would be too severe for you. At present, however, I cannot determine whatstepstoteke. You may go, and I hope never to see your face again!” Rose quailed under the looks leveled upon her, and shrunk from the room, unaDle to make any reply. The Squire theh sent for his nephew, and a stormy interview ensued. Henry Drayton had no excuse to offer for his treachery save his love for Lois, and this his uncle refused to accept. “Go," he said. “You are the son of my only brother, and I loved him well, but I hope heaven will spare me the pain of ever hearing your name again.” An hour later Henry Drayton had left his uncle’s house for over, and a few days later sailed for Australia, accompanied by Rose Ellis, the guilty partner of his villainy. Arthur Hazard was eager to inform Major Hartwell of the happy turn affairs had taken, and rode into Westholt at once to dispatch a telegram to him. “Come at once.” he said. “I have fathomed the mystery, and your presence is earnestly desired.” At noon the next day the Major was at, Westholt,where Arthur met him with a carriage, and gave him a full and complete history of all that had occurred. The Major listened in silence, too deeply moved to speak, as he realized all that Lois had suffered for his sake. “She is in the parlor waiting for you,” said Aithur, ns they drove up the broad carriage road. The Major entered the house with hurried, anxious tread, put his hand on the knob of the pa l lor door, hesitated a moment as it smuggling lor self-control, and then pushed it opeu. There was a cry. “Cyril! oh. Cyril! Cyril!” “Lois! Oh, my poor darling! my poor little girl!” Then the door closed, and Arthur heard no more.