Democratic Sentinel, Volume 16, Number 10, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 25 March 1892 — THE OLD TOWER. [ARTICLE]

THE OLD TOWER.

The westering sun, soemed to pause for one golden second on the edge of tho sea, and Mrs. Berrydale involuntarily put up her plump hand, dimpled in each one of its five joints, to shield her eyes from the ribbon of flame which blazed along the waves. « “Isn’t it a lovely sight,” said she. “And only to think that to-morrow we shall have to go back to those dismal city streets and begin the daily grind of workday life. Oh, I don’t know how I shall ever endure’it after these delicious two weeks by the seashore!” Mrs. Berrydale was cashier in a huge feather factory, a charming widow, who answered exactly to Byron’s idea of “fat, fair and forty.” Her companion, a tall, slim girl, with rich brown hair, large hazel eyes and bewitchingly irregular features, smiled. “We?” said she, with a slight accent of interrogation in her voioe. “Oh, I forgot!” cried Mrs. Berrydale. ■“But really, Melanie Morton, do you intend to give up ail your prospects and bury yourself alive in this oountry place?” “I’ve promised jQ&axleyl” quietly responded Molanie. “But he’s nothing on eacth but tho keeper of a lighthouse!” pleaded Mrs. Berrydale, “and only think of being shut up in that living tomb, half a mile out to sea!” “I shouldn’t mind it at all, so long as Chajfley was there, too,” demurely answered Melanie. “It will be awfully lonesome!” “With one’s husband?” “And you’ve been used to such a gay life in Madison's store!”. “It has been too gay,” said Melanie. “And every one says old Madison would marry you in a minute if you’d give him the least encouragement.” Melanie elevated her pretty little nose. “I’d as soon marry the wooden Peruvian in front of a tobacoo store,” said she. “That reminds me,” said Mrs. Berrydale, laughing. “Look here, Mel!” Iu the plump, white hand she held out two or three cigars, brown-scaled and fragrant, and a box of matches. “Speaking of tobacco stores,” said she, “I snatched these away from Captain Maryland this morning.” “What for?" “Because I think he’s smoking too much. Because I’ve told him he must stop, and yet he still keeps on,” declared the widow. “Are you Captain Maryland’s keeper?” laughingly demanded Melanie. “Well, no, not exactly, but—” “Helen!” criod Melanie, seizing both her companion’s hands and looking her resolutely in the face, “you are blushing! You are absolutely blushing!” “No, I’m not!” cried Mrs. Berrydale, looking pinker than ever. 'lt’s the reflection of that red sunset over the water. Why should I blush?” “Because you like Fred Maryland. You know you do. Helen! Helen! if only you would marry Fred, and then we need neither of us go back to the city again! We could bo so happy, Helen!” “Mel, what nonsense you ure talking! He never has asked me!” “But he would if you’d give him the slightest chnnce. And he has such a pretty co.lonial oottage, and he owns a fifth of the vessel he commands.” “A sea captain is too much in the habit of commanding,” observed Mrs. Berrydale, solemnly. “He might want to command me ! Oh, Mel, look there! We’re not half a mile away from that ruinous old tower on Pebble Point. Let’s go and see what it’s like. Come; it’s our last night here.” “But Charley told me not to go near itl” urged Melanie. Mrs. Berrydale tossed her handsome blonde head. “That’s the very reason I mean to go,” said she. “And Charley needn’tknow.” “Indeed, Helen, I’d rather not!” “Just as you please,” said Mrs. Berrydale, rising from the rock upon which she bad perched herself. “If you’ve f>t the conscience to desert me, do so. ut I’m determined to see what’s in the Inside of that old ruin.” And, unwillingly enough, Melanie followed hei friend Across the glistening sand,'fringed with ridges of still dropping seaweed, and dotted here and there with odd little convoluted shells. “It’s nothing worth visiting,” reasoned she. “I dare say it used to be an old ohurch, and theie’s nothing left of it but the tower.” “Fiddlesticks!” said Mrs. Berrydal ■. "A church indeed! But you believe everything that Charley Torrance tells you. It’s a real old Be volutionary, relic. Just see how thick the walls are! And what dear little slit-like windows! Oh, I must get into the place! Perhaps it’s a smuggler’s den.” “What nonsense, Helen! Don’t you see the door is closed and looked?”

■"Closed, yes; bul I don’t believe it’s looked. Anytiow, I mean to try. Come.” Melanie hung hack. “Don’t, Helen!” she argued. “It’s growing dusk and the wind has turned cold." She shivered slightly as she spoke. "I’m sure there’s a storm blow ing up.” But Mrs. Berrydale was in one of her merriest, most willful moods. She caught Melanie’s hand and dragged her into the shadow of the solid-looking old tower. “Perhaps to meet your fate!” said she, rolling her R’s in true elocutionary fashion. “It may be the ghost of Captain Kidd, or it may be a smuggler, or it may be Captain Fred Maryland.” She pushed the creaking door open and entered, still dragging Melanie at her heels. “A liquor storage, I think,” said, straining her syes into the semi-dark-ness. “A lot of little barrels, laid on their sides! Now—l—do —wonder— what—they—are? Ah!” with a sudden inspiration, “wasn’t it luoky I stole Fred’s matches away?” She drew the box of matches from her pocket with a quick motion which was habitual to her. In the same instant the dark doorway was again darkened—this time by a tall, masculine figure. “Captain Maryland!” Mrs. Berrydale stood transfixed with amazement, the" box in one hand, the upraised match, ready to strike against it, in the other. Captain Maryland snatched both from her and thrust them deep into his pooket. “Now goi” said he, in deep, stern accents. Mrs. Berrydale flushed to tho very roots of her curly, gold-brown bangs. “I won’t!” she oried. “You forgot, Captain Maryland, that you are not on your own quarter deck! And anyhow,” with a tone of defiant mischief in her voice, "I’ve got one match left in the bottom of my pooket.” She was fumbling for it, when the tall sea captain suddenly caught her up in his arms as if she had been an oversized wax doll, and, striding through the narrow doorway, carried her some dozen yards or so across the glistening beach, before he put her down. “How aare you?” cried the widow, involuntarily putting up her hand to Straighten out her rumpled tresses. “I never, never will forgive you!” “But Helen—” “Nor will I ever speak to you again!” “Mrs. Berrydale—”

But before he could get the words out, the pretty widow had once more seized Melanie’s wrist, and the two were vanishing into the gray folds of the twilight. Neither of them spoke until they had reached the quiet, apple-tree shaded lane which led to the furmhouse where they had been boarding for a few weeks. Then, as they paused to regain breath, Melanie looked at her companion in surprise. “Helen,” she exclaimed, “you are crying!” “I—l can’t help it!” sobbed Mrs. Ber“He looked at me so! He spoke so sternly!” '“Helen, you love him!” “No. I don’t!” cried Mrs. Berrydale, stamping her foot. “I hate him!” And then she sat down amonsr the daises and sweetfern and cried harder than ever, until tho first sprinklings of a coming shower compelled her to accompany Melanie into the house. “I’ve got the match in my pocket still,” she said, whon she was bathing her eyes before tea. “I—l don’t care now whether Captain Maryland smokes or not.” Just as they sat down to the table, a flash of blue lightning outblazed the humble kerosene lamp upon the table—a crash of thunder shook the walls. Mrs. Borrydale gave a little shriek. She was nervous in thunderstorms. “I dow hope tho powder magazine won’t be struck,” said the farmer’s wife, coming in with a plato of hot waffles. “Cap'n Maryland, he’s jest had it filled full his last v’yage, an’ tho company ain’t goin’ to send for it till next week.” “The what?” said Mrs. Berrydale. “The powder magazine,” explained the farmer}* wife. “Don’t ye know?— That ’ar old stun’ buildin’ out on Pebble Beach. ’Toin’t possible ye ain't noticed it?” Mrs. Berrydale and Melanie Morton looked at each other. Both had grown very pale, but the good farmer’s wife observed nothing. “1 guess it’s safe ’nough,” said she, us another peal soundod further off. “The storm’s goin’ off east, thank goodness!” In half an hour the rain was ov.’r, and the moon was shining brightly. Melunie, who sat at the window, gave a little start. “I think—there comes Charley Torrauce,” said she, “up the garden walk!” “And I’m almost sure,” whispered Mrs. Berrydale, “Captain Maryland is with him.” Melanie ran out to meet her lover. Mrs Berrydale sat still in the parlor until Captain Maryland entered. Thep sLe rose, and looked up into his face with pleading eyes. He held out the fragrant brown cigars and the little match-box which had so nearly precipitated them oil into eternity. “Here they are, Helen,” he said. “I give them back to' ! you. You didn't know, did you, that you were standing in a powder magazine when I took them from you so abruptly?” “I didn’t know then, Captain Maryland,” said Mrs. Berrydale, in a low voice. “I kuow it now. And it was your promptness and decision that saved my life—all our lives.” “You will forgive me then?” he pleaded. “Oh, Captain Maryland!” “And you will speak to me again?” Mrs. Berrydale’s head dimmed. “You are cruel!” she whispered. “Cruel ! 1? And to you? Oh, Helen—oh, my darling!” When Mrs. Berrydale went back to Now York, it was to buy her wedding gown. The feather factory had to look out for a new cashier; She and Melanie were to be lifelong neighbo s after all. “And he has promised me two things,” said the bride-eleot. “One is to leave off smoking; the other is never again to transport any cargo so dangerous as gunpowder.” “Men never do keep the mad promises they make before marriago,” said Melanie, laughing. “I intend to see to that myself,” said Mrs. Berrydale, composedly. —[Saturday