Jasper County Democrat, Volume 3, Number 16, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 28 July 1900 — 'Twixt Life and Deatb [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

'Twixt Life and Deatb

BY FRANK BARRETT

CHAPTER I. The Lecture Haji and Literary Institute, Monkton—a long, rectangular room, Mt with six ges jets on hanging T-shaped fittings; the drab walls decorated with half a dozen maps; the coloredrepresentation in sections of a very early ateam engine; an ethnological chart; and other instructive works of art. At one end a small stage, opening fourteen feet by eight, flanked by red curtains, and furnlshed with six footlights and a drop•ceno, showing Athens, the worse for many falls; a grand piano below the proscenium by way Of orchestra. The body of the hall ranged in parallel lines with red-cushioned seats, on which are closely pressed the relatives and friends of pupils connected with Mrs. Vicary Shepherd’s High School and Academy for the daughters of gentlemen. An overflow of bashful youths line the walls right and left. Three very warm-looking gentlemen, each with a packet of programs in his hand and a white favor in his buttonhole, are endeavoring, with smiling assiduity, to find places for a crowd of late coiners. There is a general inspection of pink programs, and a buzzing is heard. Even the professors speak in hushed tones, for the general effect of the hall, despite the stage, is that of a Methodist chapel. X A lady explains to a gentleman—who seems, by some accident, to have come there without knowing why- what is toward: “I’t’s a High School, you know. Mrs. Vicary Shepherd—l’m sorry to see that she's not here; she is indisposed, I’m told —this entertainment has been got up to demonstrate the advantage of the elocution and deportment class.” "Oh, I see.” “She wrote to the great tragedian—what is his name?—on the subject. Here is his reply on the back of the program. It was he who suggested what should be acted.” “You don’t say so! And what is the play he recommends?” • " ‘She Stoops to Conquer.’ My little Milly takes the part of Diggory. She's only twelve, you know. Mrs. Vicary Shepherd assured me that, if she had only been a year or two older, she should have asked me to let her play old Marlow." “Ah, indeed! Then all the performers are—eh—young ladies?” “Oh. of course; and, naturally, Mrs. Vicary Shepherd has carefully revised the play for the use of her pupils. Ah! that is Miss Tinkleton, the music mistress. Ft’s going to begin now.” Miss Tinkleton plays an elaborate sonata of- Schumann—brilliant, but rather long. An awkward pause, in which the hurrying of feet, some giggling, and a confusion of whispering tongues are heard coming from the other side of Athens. A voice from the same remote part asks, “Are you ready now, young ladies?” to which a general reply of “No, no! not yet, not yet!” in accents of terror, creates a titter among the audience. Miss Tinkle-1 ton, with admirable presence of mind, attacks another sonatff; but before she gets to the foot of the page a bell rings, and the curtain rises in three spasmodic jerks. Applause from the parents and friends of the young ladies, who are discovered In the charactershf Mr. and Mrs. Hardcastle, facing each other, and in doubt whether they ought to begin before Miss Tinkleton has gone through her sonata. Then Miss Tinkleton stops in the middle of a bar with confusion. The play proceeds, the rigid Mr. Hardcastle and the rigid Mrs. Hardcastle exchanging their quid pro quos with the regular intonatiod of a well-learnt lesson, and the audience already assuming an air of calm repose and heslgnation, when a vociferous halloo beyond the red curtain, followed by the brisk entrance of Tony Lumpkin on the scene, fairly galvanizes the audience into life. The entrance is clearly unrehearsed, for Mrs. Hardcastle incontinently forgets her part. What does that matter? Everyone Is occupied with Tony, and he has the sense to turn the silence to effect. There he stands, a strapping, blackeyed young fellow with a red wig, standing looking audaciously at the audience as he cracks his riding whip nnd whistles through a long row of white teeth. Suddenly, as if recollecting an engagement, he says, "I’m off,” and ogosses the stage with an unseen wink to Mrs. Hardcastle, and a quickly whispered line that she is to take up. As he goes off, battling stoutly with Mrs. Hardcastle at the end of the scene, everyone in the audience consults the program. “Surely that cannot be Miss Vanessa Grahame!" is on everyone’s lips. But it is, though—Nessa herself. yho, taking advantage of Mrs. Vicnry Shepherd’s absence, has determined to play the part afkhe conceives Goldsmith intended it to be played, and, in defiance of Mrs. Vicary Shepherd's express injunction that she should not disfigure herself, has painted her pretty face —and especially her dainty nose—with ochre and rouge, and hidden her pretty, waving, chestnut hair with a red wig scut down with the costume* from Bow street. What is more, she has got hold of an unabridged copy of the play, and is determined to say every word of it. The second scene is sot. And hero, to the terror of Miss Tinkleton at the piano, Nessa introduced the song of the “Three Jolly Pigeons,” which Mrs. Vicary Shepherd had cut out, without a moment's hesitation. Moreover, she introduced a step dance in the final chorus of “Torraddle, torroddle, torrol,” as if unable to contain the exuberance of her spirits. The act finished, and Athens is once more In view. There is commotion in the auditorium. The ladles are surprised. They cannot understand how Mrs. Vicary Shepherd could allow such a performance to be given. Daportniejil and elocution were all very well In their way, and Oliver was, undoubtedly, a very excellent writer, but really such language! And how Miss Grahame, a young lady who, in a few years, would have a position In aodety with three thousand a year, how could she so forget herself? Little Milly'a tawnmi Is quite sure that her daughter would not have played the gart la that dreadful manner. It in a

most serious thing to have such a person in a school where her example, though, of course, contemned, might possibly influence her fellow-pupils. Meanwhile a couple of young gentlemen who have been madly in love with Nessa for the past two years, and three or four others who have seen her tonight for the first time and have not that excuse, loiter outside the hall to see her pass to the' omnibus that is waiting to take her nnd the rest' of the boarders to the school at Westham. She comes down after the small fry, with her arm linked in Miss Tinklcton’s. . The full moon is right overhead; its light glistens on her white teeth and sparkles in her dark eyes ns she laughs. She is clearly trying to make the poor governess forget her trouble, and, indeed, succeeds in raising a faint smile on her lugubrious countenance. But though she is laughing and full of fun, Nessa is not hoydenish. Those who have not seen her before to-night can hardly believe that it was she who played Tony. They expected to find her a red-faced, romping, heavy-sided tomboy; they see a pale-faced young lady, dressed with striking elegance, whose every movement is graceful. But there’s no mistaking those big, fearless eyes, and that capital set of white teeth. - - -

Mrs. Vicary Shepherd accepted only a limited number of pupils as boarders—just as many, in fact, as could be stowed away in the six rooms on the second floor of Eagle House. Among the many duties of a meek-spirited resident governess, Miss Tinkleton had each night to see the young ladies in bed before retiring to her own. She had visited five of the rooms and extinguished the light in them, when she came to the last in the corridor that night. That was Nessa’s. Miss Tinkleton passed it with a slight cough and went downstairs, Nessa having long ago emancipated herself from a rule that was only to be suffered by children. Five minutes later, the doors up the passage began to creak, and heads were cautiously thrust out; then the whiterobed young ladies, seeing the course clear, crept out', treading on their soft, bare toes, clasping the wraps thrown over their shoulders with crossed hands on their bosoms, and made their way noiselessly toward the end room on a visit to their heroine, Nessa. With infinite precaution, one turned rhe handle, while the rest clustered together for common support, and did their best to keep from tittering audibly. But they ceased to giggle altogether when the door was opened, for there before them was the most unexpected spectacle to be found in this world of surprises. Nesea, who had never before been known to cry, was seated on her bed with a handkerchief up to her eyes, and her bosom heaving with stifled sobs. Her hat and jacket lay on a chair, but she had not begun to undress. Two trunks were open, and her room, never too tidy, was littered from end to side with things taken froin-the open drawers and put down anywhere. “I can’t help it," she said, brushing the tears away impatiently and heaving her breast with a long, fluttering sigh; “and now it’s all over, I wish I hadn’t d’one it. I like Mrs. Vie and old Tinkleton. Oh, I love you all, and there's no one else in the world I care anything at all for, or anyone who cares for me. I’m glad you have come. I've been trying to think what each of you would like best for a keepsake. Now you shall choose for yourselves. I know you like that pearl set, Dolly.” She rose in her quick, impulsive way to get the trinkets, but Dolly restrained her, and clinging to her arm, made her sit down again. "You're not going away, dear,” she said. “Oh, no!” murmured the others, echoing her tone of remonstrance. "Yes, 1' am,” said Nessa; "that's why I'm such a goose. I can't bear to think of saying good-by, it has been such a jolly term, hasn’t it?” "Do you think Mrs. Vic will be so very angry?” "Of course she will. Tinkleton says I've ruined the reputation of the school.” “Oh, but you can make some excuse.” "I never did in my life,” Nessa said, bristling up. "I will tell her I am very sorry—and so I am; but that isn't making an excuse.” "Oh, she won’t let you go awny." “She cannot prevent my going, and she won't try to. I’m not a girl now; I’m a woman, and it’s time I left schtgil. I know all the professors can tell me; or at any rate all I choose to learn; and I’m unmanageable. How is Mrs. Vic to punish me when I do wrong? She can’t put me in a corner, or send me to bed. And I always nm doing wrong." The voices mingled in unanimous dissent'.

“Mrs. Vic say* I am. She tells me I encourage those horrid little wretches who stare at me in church and throw letters into the garden; and those professors are quite aa bad—if she only knew It, worse, f hate them. It’s an insult to make love in that cowardly way. 1 think al) men are mean and horrid, don’t you, Dolly?" "Nearly all.” Dolly admitted, with reluctance. “Of course, papa is nice, and so are brother*.” "And uncle*," suggested another. “And some cousins,” hinted a third. “Oh, they don't count,” said Nessa! “I canpot remember my papa, and I don't think that I have a single relative in al) the world!" “Not one?” “No. A stepfather I* not a relative, and," slip added, bending her pretty brows, "I’m glad of it. because I hate him with all my heart.” CHAPTER 11. “Oh, Neaea!” exclaimed a school girl chorus. “I know he is a coward, and I believe he is as wicked a man aa ever lived. Ah, If you only knew!” “Couldn't yau tell us, dear?" "Well, papa was a soldier- a general.

yon know, and ho was gfßod lu battM when I vrna quite a tiny little thing; and mamma was very joung and very pretty, and very rich, because papa left her everything. And so, when I was about •lx years old, she married again; and I believe Mr. Redmond only married for her fortune, and really did not love her at all. I know she was*unhappy; for whenever she came to see me at school, she cried over me as she held me in her arms. She did not live two year* after her marriage; my stepfather broke her heart.” . . “Oh, you don't know, dear.” “Yse, I dq. I'm sure of It. I have seen Mr. Redmond, and he looks like a man who would break a woman’s heart.” “In he very ugly?” “Oh, no! I dare say you would think him handsome; but, oh, he has those long, sleepy, treacherous eyes, and those lines down here by the mouth, don’t you know, that people get who are always trying to conceal a wicked thought with a smile.” “Oh, I hate those people who are always smiling. They get a shiny look on their faces, don’t they? Go on, dear.” “I have only seen him four or five times, but that is often enough for me and for him, too. He knows what I thiuk of him and hates me, and fears me, too, I’m certain. That is why he has kept me all this time at school—why, he would keep me here until he has no longer any legal control over me. He thinks he is safe while I am here—that in this artificial life I can learn nothing about the real world. But he is mistaken, as he shall find. Wait a moment.” Nessa went to one of the boxes and returned with an imposing document tied with pink tape. “Look at this,” she said. The girls gathered closely round her, and looked at the blue foolscap in breathless aw’e. '“This is a copy of mamma’s will. I sent to London for it. It's very short. See, mamma leaves all her estate, ‘real and personal,’ to me, her only child, Vanessa Grahame; but here,” turning the page with evident satisfaction in the crackle it made, “here is the codicil. Mamma has evidently been told that she must provide a guardian (or me during my minority, nnd make some disposition of her property in case I should die before coming of age. And here she makes James Redmond my sole guardian, with power to draw eight hundred pounds a year from' the invested capital, to provide for my education and personal requirements. ‘And further, in the event of the said Vanessa Grahame dying before the age of twenty-one'—l’m only eighteen pow, you know-all the property goes to that; horrid stepfather, the aforesaid James Redmond. Now, what do you think of that?” “Your poor mamma could not have loved him, or she would have left him somq money, wouldn’t she, dear?” said Dolly. “Of course she would; but how is it that leaving nothing to him in the will, she leaves me to his tender mercies in the codicil? Can you explain that, any of you?” ' None of them could. “I can explain it,” said Nessa, raising her voice in excitement; “this codicil is a forgery!” “Oh, Nessa!” “It is, and it’s just the sort of forgery a cunning coward would make. He had not the courage to forge a will making the whole estate his; but he had just enough to substitute his own name for one that mamma had written, and so get a nice little income for ever so many years out of the money for my schooling and clothes. He could do that without raising suspicion. What have 1' cost? Not two hundred a year; that puts him in possession *of six hundred pounds, besides the use of my house, Grahame Towers.” She drew a letter from her pocket with impressive gravity, and, opening it, read: “ ‘My dear Nessa’—what right has he to call-me his dear Nessa?—‘l have not a nominal but an actual authority to control your movements, and while that authority is mine I intend to keep you at Eagle House or some similar establishment. Yours, etc., James Redmond.' The letter is dated from my own house, Grahame Towers. It came this morning, just before we were going to the rehearsal. You can imagine my indignation!” (To be continued.)