Democratic Sentinel, Volume 16, Number 19, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 27 May 1892 — THE HEIRESS OF MAPLE LEAF FARM [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

THE HEIRESS OF MAPLE LEAF FARM

CHAPTER VII. inrsTKßr. The snow fell deep that night. It was the first wintry storm of the season, but the over-freighted olouds hovered low until dawn, and field, forest and farm lay clothed in a robe of spotless white when day broke. There was not a tremor in the form of Parmer John as he came down to the breakfast table, not the quiver of a muscle was visible in his sturdy face. He was even cheerful, and he spoke to the hands and to Ralph Prescott as if nothing in the world had happened to disturb the serenity of the home circle, as if the vacant ohair at his side did not exist. If the iron had pierced his soul he had cauterized the jagged wound with the pride, stubbornness and-endurance that would have made of him an excellent martyr in the days when they burned men at . the stake. He gave his orders calmly. When he apportioned Ruth’s customary work to the dairymaid there was not the token of a tremor in his volee. Anxipus-faoed Ralph Prescott approached him as he bustled to the door in his great coat. “Mr. Elliott,” he said timidly, "I want to speak to you ” “About that girl?” demanded Elliott, turning sharply. “About JRuth—yes. You know * “Stop! I forbid you ever to mention her name under this roof again. She is as dead to me as if she were buried fathoms deep in the sea. I’m sorry for you, my boy, bat you and I must try and work some comfort out of the mudidle a lying tjiief and a disobedient daughter have left us in.” Ralph Prescott looked glum and then crafty. Affairs were bad, decidedly %o. He had lost Ruth. A far more sordid thought oppressed his mind just now, however. Would he lose old Geoffrey Forsythe’s money as well? He wandered about restlessly that day, over the farm, through the village. There was no trace of Ruth. The storm might have swallowed her up, for all the clue the most persistent inquiry brought as to her whereabouts. “She’s gone with him,” muttered Prescott, sourly. “They were married, sure enough and legally enough, for the minister says so. Paul Dalton has won the prize, but if I can win the money—” He reflected over that phase of the case for many hourse. Old Geoffrey, as he understood it, had left his fortune equally divided between himself and Ruth. That of course had the tacit condition attached that they would eventually wed one, another. Now, as soon as the old recluse understood the new complications in affairs, he might make an entirely diiferent disposition of his wealth. , He was whimsical and crotchety. Getting older, he disliked to be disturbed. “Since he talked to me about that mosey I lost at gambling, that some busybody told him about, he hasn’t been so bland to me," soliloquized the anxious Prescott. “I half believe, if he did not think I was to marry Ruth, he’d change the will, and cut me off without a shilling. I only wish he’d die while the will stands in my favor! Had I better go and see him? I will. I must look sharp, or I’ll find myself in a pretty bad position. My revenge! Bah! Matters are far worse for me than before I tried to down that miscreant of a Dalton. I’ve lost everything, and he has gained everything he was after—the girl.” Ralph Preston did go to the home of the recluse. He found Geoffrey propped up in bed, and looking like a man at his last gasp. He greeted his visitor crossly, and with a searching glance that Prescott did not like. “You don’t seem to be feeling as well as usual, TJncle Geoffrey,” suggested Ralph. “No!” snapped the recluse. “Do you think anyone is worrying very much about me?” “Why “Oh, I know you all. Waiting for my shoes after I’m dead.” “Hadn't I better stay and help you till you get better?" “I’ve got help.” “What! you’ve got ” “A nurse. What are you staring at? Am I begrudged that little outlay* in my old age?” Ralph Prescott was silent, none the less amazed. For ten years the recluse had tabooed all kinds of help. The schemer caught sight of a feminine form in the next room, her somber black dress, colored spectacles, and close-fitting cap making her resemble a woman of fifty. He found that he could neither cajole nor entertain his crusty host, and he tArtlr hie 1 pqtto “I don’t like the looks of things,” he muttered. He liked it less that evening. A chum at the tavern Informed him that old Geoffrey had sent that afternoon for bis lawyer, and that later a doctor had been hastily summoned. “I’m going to have a talk with old Elliott to-night.” mused Prescott. “Km going to know if I’m to expect a fortune or nothing. I’ve been abused and deluded all around, and I’m going to get something out of the wreck in some way.” There was an alarm at Maple Leaf Farm, however, before he reached home. A messenger had come from old Geoffrey in hot haste. The invalid was dying, he said. And when Farmer John reached the lonely house in the village the old man had breathed his last. At the funeral the next day few noticed particularly the reticent, plainlooking nurse who had been with Geoffrey Forsythe in his last illness. Her presence was not questioned even when, after the funerpl, the few mourners gathered at the 'house to meet the lawyer of the recluse at his own request. Farmer John looked glum and uninterested, but Ralph Prescott’s crafty face glowed eagerly. “I simply wished to inform you of the requests of the deceased," spoke

BY GENEVIEVE ULMER.

the lawyer. “He made a new will yesterday, destroying the old ope.” “Ah!" Ralph Prescott fluttered restively. “To your daughter, Mr. Elliott, he has left this house and ground, with the expressed wish that the nurse here, Mrs. Easton, keep It in order till she chooses to appear.” Farmer John set his lips savagely. “To you,” addressing Ralph Prescott, "he has left four receipted bills—debts you contracted at the horse races last week. ” The plotter turned white with rage and chagrin. “Maple Leaf Farm, Mr. Elliott, goes to you individually." “And what of the rest of his fortune—the stooks, bonds and money in bank?" gritted out the baffled and disappointed Prescott. “All that he has bequeathed, for some Btrange reason best known to himself, to Mr. HUiott’s former superintendent, Paul Dalton!" was the lawyer’s amazing reply. CHAPTER VIII. LIGHT! The affairs of Farmer John and his family had become a source of unremitting speculation for the gossips of Bidgeton, and the disappearance of Ruth and the strange will of Geoffrey Forsythe constituted a veritable ninedays' wonder. People were amazed. Just as a cyclone, terrible, sudden and blighting, sweeps over a smiling landscape and leaves ruin and devastation in its track, so the unexpected had come to Maple Leaf Farm, wrecking hearts, destroying the home rest, and leaving traces of bitterness, hidden only by stubborn pride and the mute endurance of a stoic. People talked, but Farmer John gave no explanation of it all; only from the farm hands could they gain the particulars, and rumor at‘last sifted the situation down to several very significant and startling facts. Paul Dalton, an ex-convlot, had robbed his generous master and had stolen away his daughter. John Elliott had indignantly evicted his former superintendent, and had disowned his child for wedding him secretly. These two, man and wife, fugitives, banished, had undoubtedly met again, and in some obscure town were eking out an existence, that could only end in dire punishment for an unfaithful steward and a disobedient child. Ralph Prescott, a baffled, disappointed Schemer, had come out at the extremely small end of the horn. Unmasked as a spendthrift, he had been left a pauper and a sullen, brooding, revengeful man; he was harbored by John Elliott out of sheer pity and sympathy for his double loss of bride and fortune. As to Farmer John himself, he accepted the gift of the farm without gratitude or interest. Life had been robbed of its sweetness, and his future seemed barren, vapid, well-nigh unendurable. The nurse of-old John Forsythe still remained at the former home of the recluse. She saw but few, and spoke to none. Her position as protector of Ruth Elliott’s interests until the latter should see fit to return and claim her legacy was sanctioned legally, and Farmer John did not care enough about it to question her right of wardenship. Only one point electrified all the village, and mystified surly Ralph Prescott —the strange will that Geoffrey Forsythe had made. '» Why had he left the bulk of his wealth to an utter stranger—what subtle influences had lnduoed him to disinherit a former favorite, to practicatly beggar his own kith and kin, for a man he had never exchanged a dozen words with, whose very existence even he might not have known up to a few days previous to his death. “There’s trickery in it,” said the gossips. “The will cannot be broken,” affirmed the lawyer, stanchly. „ “There’s mystery under It all," solllo.quized Ralph Prescott, darkly. “Why, and how did old Forsythe make that will? Where is the fortunate legatee?" Over the solution of this double problem the baffled schemer cogitated until he nearly went mad. He thirsted for revenge. He coveted Dalton’s good fortune. He longed to humiliate Ruth. From a sneaking, cowardly schemer, Ralph Prescott was fast emerging into a dangerous plotter. A comfortable home was guaranteed him at Maple Leaf Farm as long as he wished to remain there, but that did not suit him.. He wanted money for his gambling exploits, and Farmer John efisted. He visited the tavern early and late. Seeking solace for his disappointments in the Wine cup, he became a silent, sullen devotee at the festal board, drowning his care! in inebriety, and ready to quarrel with the flfst man who even gave him a pleasant word. At the end of the week he was no nearer guessing the rights of the matter of the singular will than before. One night, however, there came a development that interested him, staggered him, aroused him out of his apathy with a shock, and set in vivid action all the scheming elements of his of his evil nature. A great crony of his was a young fellow named Evans, a clerk in the village post^fice. He came to the tavern to drink with his friend, and upon this especial evening he made the casual remark: “I say, Prescott! that nurse, Mrs. Easton, up at old Forsythe’s house, is getting to be more of a mystery than ever.” “Is she?” growled Prescott, wearily. “Yes. She comes and goes with that black veil of hers drawn down, like some specter. To-day, though, she mailed a letter at the postofflee that I saw.” “Did she?” "For a fact; and say, Prescott, who do you think it was directed to?” “Well, who?" “Guess?” “Oh, don’t bother me What do I care about it?” “You will when I tell you that the letter was directed to your esteemed friend, Paul Dalton. ” Prescott looked up, a startled, evil, lurid glow in his wicked eyes. “What!" he ejaculated. « “Yes, Paul Dalton.” Ralph Prescott sat looking into nothingness, but his breath came fast, and his eyes emitted scintilations of hatred and revenge. “What was the address?” he asked. "I only saw the name. I was going to fish out the letter later, but forgot it.”

The Information set every orafty instinct in Presoott’s nature agog. I£ suggested much. Why was this mysterious, unknown Mrs. Easton corresponding with a man whose address even the lawyer did not know. Was she the head and center of some plot that had induced old Geoffrey Forsythe in his dying moments to change his will in favor of the outcast of Maple Leaf Farm? “I’ve struck a cluei" muttered Prescott convincedly, as he left the tavern alone. “I’ve wanted to find out where Ruth has gone to, where Walton is. That woman knows. She knows, too, every detail of the will business, I’ll venture. She is the one to watch. What a dolt I have beent I’ll find out something about all this entangling mystery now, or know the reason why. Straight to the vicinity of the former home* of old Geoffrey Forsythe the schemer betook himself. He was too familiar with its gloomy surroundings not to be able readily to gain a point of vantage to lnspeot the house unseen. The grim-looking, closely shuttered domicile promised little to reward his quest, until he came around to some bushes upon which faced a wing of the old structure. Two rooms here were used as a sit-ting-room and kind of library, and the window shades of the latter apartment were not yet lowered, and a table-lamp illuminated its somber furnlshment At a little stand sat the nurse, Mrs. Easton. She was writing, and several closely written sheets of a letter lay beside her. As though tired of her task or uncertain how to proceed with the epistle, however, as Prescott peered, she arose, and with a gesture of weariness, proceeded to the adjoining apartment, closing the door after her. To the shuttered window of this room Prescott hied himself briskly. A chink through the rotted wooden slats offered a full view of the apartment. He saw the woman approach a mirror. She removed her glasses, manipulated her hair and olose-flttlng cap, and then, turning, she lay down on a lounge as if to rest. Her faoe was turned now so that Ralph Presoott saw it plainly. As he did so, a cry of utter incredulity, comprehension and bewilderment escaped his lips. For a startling transition had taken plaoe. Mrs. Easton, the nurse, was Mrs. Easton no longer! All that pertained to that mysterious personage had disappeared with the removal of the spectacles, the coil pf white hair and closely fitting widow’s cap. Instead, a fresh young face, a little oarewom, a little anxious, but dear as a rosebud, and bewitching as that of an houri, looked forth from a mass of golden ringlets. “Marvel of marvels!” gasped the astounded schemer, a great light shining in upon his mind with the force of electric radiance —“it is she!” fTO BB CONTINUED. 1