Democratic Sentinel, Volume 15, Number 7, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 6 March 1891 — Dr. Elfenstein's Mission [ARTICLE]

Dr. Elfenstein's Mission

H Remarkable Romance.

BY EMILY THORNTON.

CHAPTER XXVIII—-Continued. “ ‘Reginald, for Heaven’s sake, tell me khy you thus deal with me? Have I ever harmed you?’ “ ‘You have by being in my way. Set aside yonr title, estates; yes, even,’ he laughed horribly, when, after a pause, he added, ‘your future bride are mine! All mine! To-night I announce to you, all think you dead, and virtually you are so!’ “ ‘Reginald! Reginald!' I shrieked, as he disappeared from view; ‘hear me, take all, but leave me liberty and Constance!’ “A mocking laugh was my only reply. “From that hour I have seen no human face, heard no human voice! “These walls, I know, are several feet thick, built so that no sound can issue from them. Not a movement can be heard unless the panels are open, and then but faintly. ‘ So at once I knew, that to the world, what he had said was true, I was dead! “Sometimes, even yet, 1 dream that this is but an idle fancy, and once again I wake to feel my chain, to loathe my prison. “Then I seem to see my own loved Constance near mo. I call upon her, but as I stretch out my hand to find her own the vision fades, and I know that it was an illusion of the brain. Yet the memory of those fearful words ever remains: ‘Your future bride is mine, all mine!’ “Can this have become a truth? “Has my darling forgotten me; does she, too, deem me dead? “Oh, Constance! Constance! “So I start from my bed with her name upon my fevered lips; I open my arms to clasp her to my bosom. “In vain! I am alone! Horribly, truly alone! “Often have I prayed to die! “Life has become a weary burden, but my prayers are not heard. For some purpose of his own, God wishes me to live. “Even so, Father, for so it seemed good in Thy sight! “For months, with a pencil which I have found in my pocket, have I, on scraps of paper torn from books, written and placed on the plate a wild prayer for at least pens, ink, and paper to amuse my lonely hours. “Books were at hand, a wells-tored library being in my room, but I wanted writing materials —something besides this endless reading. “At last, at last, my prayer is granted, and I have a new way to give vent to my feelings. “Thank God for the privilege of writing. “Here, now, have I written the cause and manner of ray strange captivity. For no crime committed, no offense given to court or neighbor, I am yet a victim to a brother’s jealous envy of my position and my funds; 1 am a close prisoner. “One thing I have expected at his hands which as yet has not taken place; I mean starvation. “I have thought that so selfish a being as he has proved himself to be would some day demur at the confinement consequent upon attending to my wants; I was sure he would wish to travel, or visit, away from Giendenning Hall. “But 1 know his movements, I know his peculiar jerk, as he slides open the panels, and now, after eighteen years I am certain that no hand but his has opened them and given me my food. “Such food! “All cut up into mouthfuls (as they fear giving me a knife) mixed together upon one wooden plate. “Sometimes I loathe the sight of this strange jumble, but whether I eat it or not, 1 always take it, fearing if I do not return the plate, even this nightly visit will cease, this meager food be stopped. “I know now that he has married Constance. “As I prayed for pens, ink, and paper, I always concluded, ‘tell me, oh, tell me of" Con stance.’ “So with the paper came at last this cruel note: “‘I grant this one prayer. Never again dare send another line to me. If you do disobey in this, your food will stop, and you be left Ho starve. Once for all, I say, the world thinks you dead, and thinks Fitzroy your* murderer. He was tried, and as your dead body was not found, acquitted, but all think him guilty. Under this suspicion, he left the country and no one knows whither went. lam Sir Reginald Giendenning, and your constant Constance has been my wife just sixteen years. This is the last communication you will ever receive from me. Beware how you send another line upon the shelves.’ “After reading this note I must have fainted, for when I next recollected anything Mvhs lying on the floor in a pool of blobd. “In falling I had hit my head against the iron chain, and gashed open my forehead under tpj hair.

“Would to God that I had died then and there! “I did not die; I lived, and crawled to my bed, where I lay until the rays of the sun penetrated through the one window in the ceiling. “I lived, but my head whirls, my brain j is dizzy, I fear I shall go mad! “Oh, innocent, ruined brothel * “Oh, forgetful Constance! “When shall I cease to think of these two? CHAPTER XXIX. THE JOURNAL CONTINUED. Carle Elfenstein paused when he reached these last words, and large tears of sympathy still rolled over his cheeks, as they had often done during the reading, while every one of his intent listeners was similarly affected. Conquering his emotion by an effort, he again read on: “May 24, 18 —Nearly seven years since I last wrote on these pages. Not once during that time has there been a ehange in my lot until to-night. “To-night a different hand opened the panels. “I knew instantly thf.t it was not Reginald’s. “Something, certainly, must have happened to him. “The jerk was wanting. “A soft, uncertain way of pushing them apart attracted my attention. “There was a longer pause, a seeming study of the modus operand! of the revolving shelves, and a slighter push made them turn more slowly. “Yes, I am sure a stranger has been let into the secret of my confinement, and that stranger, I think, must be a timid woman. “My God! perhaps it is Constance! “Can it be? Can she have the heart, even under compulsion, to keep me.here a prisoner? Can she know that, it is I, her former devoted lover, to whom she now offers this revolting food? “Anything but that, oh, God! Anything but that! “I cannot eat this stuff, fearing that my once loved darling deals it out to me. “But she is afraid! “I know it by her w'ant of strength, by her feeble pushes. Sometimes she can hardly whirl the shelves, so I softly creep to her assistance, and with my own hands help them around. For the world I would not alarm her by the slightest noise. “My poor Constance! “I have been thinking so much, lately, that my head constantly aches. Indeed it always aches since I cut myself so badly In falling on my chain, seven years ago. “But, as I said, I have been thinking. “I have been studying the manner in which those iron shelves are fastened, and to-day I again examined the screws. “Only screws keep them in their places, and a knife would surely aid me to unscrew them; then I could push them over, and as I know the workings of the panels, I could soon be free. “To be sure I am chained! “But a knife would also unloose this chain, sever these bonds. “A knife! A knife! God grant me a knife! “Such is now my daily wish, my cry. “A knife! A knife! “June 6, 18—Something terrible has happened to my brain. lam wild! lam undone! 1 can remember nothing! “Who am I? Where am I? “All, yes; I have it! I was a peer; I am so ho longer. “I am a poor minister of the gospel, confined here for the sake of religion. “I am, in short, Rev. Edwin C. Stiles. “How strange that I am here! I can remember nothing. “But I have a Bible, and I read and preach long sermons, and pray continually. “Yes; some day I shall, I think, be released, by God’s power, and then I shall devote myself to his cause. “I shall preach the gospel. “How strange my head feels! Sometimes I think I am going mad! “I pray that I may not be mad. “July 18.—I am preaching and praying constantly. Night and day I plead with God to send me a knife. “Will my prayers be granted? Shall I ever have a knife? Can I ever cut my way out of this weary prison, out to liberty, and preaching God’s holy word? “Heavenly Father, set me free, and my whole life shall be given to Thy work, Thy cause. “July 19.—Glory bo to God! Hallelujah! Amen! “My prayer is heard! A knife came to me with my food; sent me, I presume, by accident. It was forgotten, and now it is mine! “Accident did I say? No, no; it was sent by God in answer to my prayer. “I shall write no more. I shall instantly get to work; I' shall soon be a free man. “But these pages, written as it were, with my heart’s blood, I shall never once leave out of the reach of my hands. “I am Rev. Edwin C. Stiles, a minister of the gospel, and these lines are my diplomas, my badge of office. “Ha, ha: a knife is mine; my own! And now I shall work myself free!” Elfenstein paused and passed his hand over his forehead in deep thought. A sudden idea had seized him; it was this: Ethel Nevergail and he must have been in the corridor when this poor creature escaped! Yes; poor creature! These last lines told that he must have been insane, or nearly so, at least, when he escaped. But he had no time to think; a few more words remained to be read and his audience were eagerly waiting. These were written in pencil and the letters were crooked and feeble, as though done in great weakness. “August 18, I am sick, dying perhaps! O, joy if this should prove to De death! “I am weary, tired, worn out, but I thank God I am again myself. “Now I know I am Sir Arthur Giendenning. Lately I have been confused and thought myself a minister, tf My brain, my poor brain, was unstrong- At last lam myself. “A knife came to me and I took out the screws from the shelves, opened the parrels after pushing the shelves aside and escaped from my prison. “In the corridor I came upon a young girl and a man. “Strangers; I knew that at once. Both were strangers. Yet I feared recapture. “I rushed forward, dashed the light from them and then another frenzy seized me and my poor head nearly burst with pain. “I uttered a cry in my agony. Then another, as I rushed through the wellknown ruins. “My God! had those cries betrayed me? “Would Reginald pursue and drag me back? I vowed not. T would be wary.

I would utter no more cries, even II i died in suppressing them. “The night air revived me. “Blessed air. 1 had not felt its cheering influence, drawn a fresh mouthful of outside air, in twenty-five years. “I opened my mouth, 1 expanded my chest, 1 drank it all in. “What cared I for the storm, the howling wind, the falling rain. “It was delight, it was rapture! I was free! I was free! “I knew not where to go, but sped away, away, and rested not, until I was hidden in the cave in Demon’s wood. “There I slept and rested. There I quieted my overwrought nerves, and thanked God for the blessed knife that He, and He alone, had sent me. “Morning came, and again I tried to think. “My brain seemed heavy, and I could scarcely remember my own name. “But it came to me after a while. Rev. Edwin G. Stiles, a minister of the gospel. But how could I preach in these threadbare clothes? I must get suitable garments. 1 had money; 1 always had had money. . I had it in my pocketbook when cast into prison. My persecutors did not rob me. “So 1 took the cars and went to Liverpool, where I bought a suit of clerical clothes, and books and papers, to sell for Christ. “I also bougtit a little wallet, in which to lock up these pages. Something tells me 1 must never part with these papers. “Yes; 1 have them safe. Now, lying here, the wallet is safe in my hands. “I returned to the village then, and must have waudered around, selling my books, as Rev. Edwin C. Stiles. “But now lam sane. My senses have returned. 1 am Sir Arthur Giendenning, and I am dying! “I know I must have been insane, or partly so, for the last few weeks; but, thank God. my mind is clear, perfectly clear to-night. “It came back to me in such a strange, unlooked-for way! “It came back, and I found inyseif standing at the foot of Reginald’s bed, in my own old room, at Giendenning Hall. “I stood there, I say. gazing into his eyes, and he seemed very ill. “Horrible! How he glared when he saw me silently looking down at him! “He half raised himself, as if to push me off, and shrieked out: “‘Great God! Mercy! Mercy!’” then fell back senseless upon his pillow. “I could endure no more. “Horrified at finding myself in his presence, and fearing another imprisonment, I turned and lied. “Fled! Yes, fled! Fled from my own room, my own house, my own brother, back to tliis cave, where I immediately was taken ill, and could scarcely move for days. “I had food to last for a week or more, and’ I crawled out, once in a while, for water. “But now food has gone. lam too weak to drag myself to the spring. I thirst. I am burning with fever. I think I shall die! “But if I do, what of it? “God knows best. “But supposing I do not die. What then? “Shall I make myseh known, and so expose my brother, and reclaim the title and estate he has wrested from me? “Never! Never! “He is my brother, child of the same parents, and—the husband of my lost love! “Poor Constance! She shall never be made sad by acts of mine. She shall not shed a tear over the loss of wealth, title, or reputation, if I can help it. “But, blessed be the name of the Lord, I shall never sigh for my lost home, for I am going to a rich inheritance above; ‘A house not made with hands eternal in the heavens.’ “I know by my waning breath, my fading sight, that this is death! “Farewell earth! I shall write no more; but with my latest sigh, 1 thank God that I die a free man.” [to be continued. |