Democratic Sentinel, Volume 22, Number 47, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 3 December 1898 — EVE [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

EVE

By-S.BARING-GOULD.

CHAPTER 111. On a wild and blustering evening, seventeen years after the events related in the two preceding chapters, two girls were out, in spite of the fierce wind and gathering darkness, in a little gig that accommodated only two. They drove a very sober cob, who went at his leisure, picking his way, seeing ruts in spite of the darkness. These girls were Barbara and Eve Jordan. They had been out on a visit to some neighbors who lived at a distance of five miles, and were divided from Morwell by a range of desolate moor. They had spent the day with their friends, and were returning home later than they had intended. “I do not know what father would say to our being abroad so late, and in the dark, unattended,” said Eve, “were he at home. It is well he is away.” “He would rebuke me, not you,” said Barbara. “Of course he would; you are the elder, and responsible.” “But I yielded to your persuasion.” “Yes, I like to enjoy myself when I may. It is vastly dull at Morwell. Tell me, Bab, did I look well in my figured dress ?” “Charming, darling; you always are that.” “You a» a sweet sister,” said Eve, and she put her arm round Barbara, who was driving. Mr. Jordan, their father, was tenant of the Duke of Bedford. The Jordans were the oldest tenants on the estate. They held Morwell on long lease® of nine-ty-nine years, regularly renewed when the leases lapsed. They regarded Morwell House almost as their freehold; it was bound up with all their family traditions and associations.

Suddenly the two girls heard a call, then the tramp of horses’ feet. Barbara even was for the moment startled, and drew the gig aside, off the road upon the common. A black cloud had rolled over the sickle of the moon and obscured its feeble light. In another moment dark figures of men and horses were visible, advancing at full gallop along the road. Tbe dull cob the sisters were driving plunged, backed and was filled with panic. Then the moon shone out, and a faint, ghastly light fell on the road, and they could see the black figures sweeping along. There were two horses, one some way ahead of the other, and two riders, the first with slouched hat. But what was that crouched on the crupper, clinging to the fast rider? As he swept past, Eve distinguished the imp-like form of a boy. That wholly unnerved her. She uttered a piercing shriek, and clasped her hands over her eyes. The first horse had passed, the second was abreast of the girls when that cry rang out. The horse plunged, and in a moment horse and rider crashed down, and appeared to dissolve into the ground. Some moments elapsed before Barbara recovered her surprise, then she spoke a word of encouragement to Eve, who was in an ecstasy of terror, and tried to disengage herself from her arms, and master the frightened horse sufficiently to allow her to descend. She helped her sister out of the - vehicle. “Do not be alarmed, Eve. There is nothing here supernatural to dismay you, only a pair of farmers who have been drinking, and one has tumbled off his horse.” In the meantime they could see that the first rider had reined in his horse and turned. “Jasper!” he called, “what is the matter?” No answer came. He rode back to the spot where the second horse had fallen and dismounted. “What has happened?” screamed the boy. Barbara advanced into the road. “Who are you?” asked the horseman. “Only a girl. Can I help? Is the man hurt?” “Hurt, of course. He hasn’t fallen into a feather bed, or—by good luck—into a furze brake.” Then the man went to his fallen comrade. “Give the boy the bridle, and come here, girl. Is there water near?” “None; we are at the highest point of the moor.” “Jasper!” shouted the man who was unhurt, “for heaven’s sake, wake up. You know I can’t remain here all night.” No response. “The blood is flowing from his head,” said Barbara; “it is cut. He has fallen on a stone.” “What is to be done? I cannot stay.” “Sir,” said Barbara, “of course you stay by your comrade. Do you think to leave him half dead at night to the custody of two girls, strangers, on a moor?” “You don’t understand,” answered the man; “I cannot and will not stay.” He put his hand to his head. “How far to your home?” “Half an hour.” “Good heavens! Watt! always a fool?” He turned sharply toward the lad who was seated on a stone. The boy had unslung a violin from his back, taken it from its case, had placed it under his chin, and drawn the bow across the strings. The boy swung his bow in the moonlight, and above the raging of the wind rang out the squeal of the instrument. Eve looked at him, scared. He seemed some goblin perched on the stone, trying with his magic fiddle to work a spell on all who heard its tones. The boy satisfied himself that his violin was in order, and then put it once more in its case, and cast it over his back. “How is Jasper?” he shouted; but the man gave him no answer. “Half an hour! Half an eternity to me,” growled the man. “However, one is doomed to sacrifice self for others. 1 will take him to your house and leave him there.” They went on; the violence of the gale had somewhat abated, but it produced a roar among the heather and gorse of the moor like that of the sea. Eve went before, holding the bridle. Her movements were easy, her form was graceful. She tripped lightly along with elastic step, unlike the firm tread of her sister. For some distance no one spoke. It was not easy to speak so as to be heard, without raising the voice; and now the way led toward the oaks and. beeches and pines about Morwell, and the roar among the branches was fiercer, louder than that among the bushes and furze. .“He is moving,” said Barbara. “He said something.” “Martin!” spoke the injured man. “I am at your side, Jasper.” • “I am hurt—where am I?” “I cannot tell you; heaven knows. In some waste.” “Do not leave me!” “Never, Jasper.” “You promise me?” “With all my heart.” “I must trust you, Martin—trust you.” Then he said no more, and sa*k back into half-consciousness. They issued from the lane, and were before the old gatehouse of Morwell; a light shone through the window over the entrance door. “Eve!” said Barbara, “run in and tell Jane to see that a bed be got ready at once, in the lower room.” A bedroom was on the ground floor opening out of the hall. Intf this Eve

led the way with a light, and the patient was laid on a bed hastily made ready for his reception. Martin was left alone in the room with Eve and the man called Jasper. Martin moved, so that the light fell over her; and he stood contemplating her with wonder and admiration. “How lovely you are!” said Martin. A rich blush overspread her cheek and throat, aud tinged her little ears. Her eyes fell. His look was bold. Then, almost unconscious of what he was doing, as an act of homage, Martin removed his slouched hat, and for the first time Eve saw what he was like, when she timidly raised her eyes. With surprise she saw a young face. He had dark hair, a pale skin, very large, soft dark eyes, velvety, inclosed within dark lashes. Eve could hardly withdraw her wondering eyes from him. Such a face she had never seen, never even dreamed of as possible. “Beauty!” he said, “who would have dreamed to have stumbled on the likes of you on the moor?” Suddenly he put his hand to her throat. She had a delicate blue riband about it. He put his finger between the riband and her throat, and pulled. “You are strangling me!” exclaimed Eve, shrinking away, alarmed. “I care not,” he replied, “this I will have.” He wrenched at and broke the riband, and then drew it from her neck. As he did so a gold ring fell on the floor. He stooped, picked it up, and put it on his little finger. “Give it me back! Let me have it! You must not take it!” Eve \vas greatly agitated and alarmed. “I may not part with it. It was my mother’s.” Then, with the same daring insolence with which he had taken the ring, he caught the girl to him and kissed her.

CHAPTER IV. Eve drew herself away with a cry of anger and alarm, and with sparkling eyes and flushed cheeks. At this moment her sister returned with Jane, and immediately Martin reassumed his hat with broad brim. Eve stood back behind the door, with hands on her bosom to control its furious beating, and with head depressed to'conceal the heightened color. Barbara and the maid stooped over the unconscious man, and while Martin held a light, they dressed and bandaged his head. “Will you be so good zs to undress him,” said Barbara, “and put him My sister will assist me in the kitchen.” “Yes, go,” said Martin, “but return speedily, as I cannot stay many minutes.” Then he returned to Jasper, removed his clothes, somewhat ungently, with hasty hands. When his waistcoat was off, Martin felt in the. inner breast pocket, and drevV from it a pocketbook. He opened it, and transferred the contents to his own purse, then replaced the book and proceeded with the undressing. When Jasper was divested of his clothes and laid at his ease in the bed, his head propped on pillows, Martin went to the door and called the girls. He was greatly agitated, Barbara observed it. His lower lip trembled. Eve hung back in the kitchen; she could not return. Martin said in eager tones, “I have done for him all I can, now I am in haste to be off.” “But,” remonstrated Barbara, “he is your brother.” “My brother!” laughed Martin. “He. is no relation of mine. He is naught to me and I am naught to him. I do not even know the fellow’s name.” “Why,” said Barbara, “this is very strange. You call him Jasper, and he named you Martin.” “Ah!” said the man hesitatingly, “we are chance travelers, riding along the same road. He asked my name and gave me his.” He went out. Barbara told the maid to stay by the sick man, and went after Martin. She thought that in all probability the boy had arrived driving the gig. Martin stood irresolute in the doorway. The horse that had borne the injured man had been brought into the courtyard, and hitched up at the hall door. She saw him shrink back into the shadow of the entrance as something appeared in the moonlight outside the gatehouse, indistinctly seen, moving strangely. Then both saw that the lame horse that had been deserted on the moor had followed, limping and slowly, as it was in pain, after the other horse. Barbara went at once to the poor beast, saying, “I will put you in a stall,” but in another moment she returned with a bundle in her hand. “What have you there?” asked Martin, who was mounting his horse, pointing with his whip to what she carried. “I found this strapped to the saddle.” “Give it to me.” “It does not belong to you. It belongs to the other—to Jasper.” “Let me look through the bundle; per haps by that means we may discover his name.” “I will examine it when you are gone. I will not detain you; ride on for the doctor.”

“I insist on having that bundle,” said Martin. “Give it me, or I will strike you.” He raised his whip. “Only a coward would strike a woman. I will not give you the bundle. It is not yours. As you said, this man Jasper is naught to you, nor you to him.” “I will have it,” he said with a curse, and stooped from the saddle to wrench it from her hands. Barbara was too quick for him; she stepped back into the doorway and slammed the door upon him, and bolted it. He uttered an ugly oath, then turned and rode through the courtyard. “After all,” he said, “what does it matter? We were fools not to be rid of it before.” As he passed out of the gatehouse he saw Eve in the moonlight, approaching timidly. “You must give me back my ring!” she pleaded; “you have no right to keep it.” “Must I. Beauty? Where is the compulsion? Come! What will you give me for it? Another kiss?” Then from close by burst a peal of impish laughter, and the boy bounded out of the shadow of a yew tree into the moonlight. “Halloo, Martin, always hanging over a pretty face, defined by it when you should be galloping. I’ve upset the gig and broken it; give me my place again on the crupper.” He ran, leaped, and in an instant was behind Martin. The horse bounded away, and Eve heard the clatter of the hoofs as it galloped up the lane to the moor. (To be continued.)

After Prussia defeated Austria In whathas been called the “seven weeks’ war,” she demanded 20,000,000 thalers, or about $15,000,000, besides securing territorial accessions. States which aided Austria were similarly assessed. There are no persons more solicitous about the preservation of rank than those who have no rank at all.—Shen stone.