Rensselaer Republican, Volume 15, Number 26, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 8 March 1883 — FROM OVER THE SEA. [ARTICLE]

FROM OVER THE SEA.

It is a strange story. I shall never tell it while I live—this story of mine; but perhaps, after lam gone, some who live after me will like to read it They might have thought me mad, or believed me ghm to falsehood; but when they see this paper, yellow with time, and signed by one who no longer dwells on earth, they will take the tale as I mean it. I was named Marjorie Franklin, and was born at Newport over eighty years ago. There I lived till I was seventeen. I had every advantage that a young lady of that age could have, and I was' always taught to remember that I should some day take my place at the head of an elegant establishment—that one day I should be no longer plain “miss", but “my lady,” for I was betrothed to my Engl info cousin, whom I had never seen, and who, as the eldest son of a dead peer had inherited his title as well as his estate upon coming of age. I had heard that my cousin was handsome and talented, and I had no fear that I should not be happy, although I had never seen him; and as the time approached on which his visit was to be expected, for he was "coming soon, and to Stay until we were married in this land of mine, I felt much the sort of lighthearted expectation with which I looked forward to my first party. The day of my cousin's visit drew near apace. We knew that he was to sail in the next vessel that left for New York. At that time there were ncr steamships, and the date of the arrival of a vessel was problematical.

However, he would come—l never doubted that. My wardrobe was replenished; I had robes of all the high, bright colors that became my brunette beauty; I had laces and buckles, gloves, fans and combs, chains and ribbons, kerchiefs and scarfs; and when I.had tried all these things on, and surveyed myself often in the glass, with my hair dressed in twenty different styles, I longed for my future husband’s coming chiefly that I might wear all this finery. Every day I examined the letter-bag for the letter which should tell-of the Osprey's arrival, and that of my titled cousin with her. But the vessel was delayed; the winds had been unfavorable; and though she was over-due, nothing was yet heard of her. We sat together, my mother, my father and I, in the garden one evening. The air was clear, the twilight still lingering, though the moon had risen. We spoke of the Osprey. “Many a gallant vessel has been wrecked” said my father, “Seldom have summer storms been so cruel. I shall be glad to have news that the ship that comes to us is safe.” “God grant it,” answered my mothei. “And bring my cousin Alfred safe to fend,” said I. “I am tired of waiting for * 99 nun. * , **The Osprey is safe,’ said a voice at my •Ibow. “She is in port.” I turned with a start. We all rose to our feet. A'strange young gentleman stood before us. He was as beautiful as the Apollo Belvidere, and as pale as the marble from which that statue is carved. He smiled. It was a sad smile. He bowed low, and seemed to wait for some one else to speak. “You bring news of the Osprey. Then you are ,’’ began my mothei'. “Let me call myself what you called me a moment ago,” interrupted the gentleman, turning toward me. “Let me say I am cousin Alfred." Afterward we all remembered a strange thing. Our warm and courteous greetings were all in words. There was no hand shaking, no touch of any kind. He was the son of my mother’s sister; but ■he did not kiss him, nor did he kiss her. “But how did you come? Where is your baggage?” asked my father in a little while. “I never heard wheels nor the tramp of horse. My dear nephew, how did ya i manage to oome on us so sudMy cousin laughed. It was not a gay

“That is my little seciet. I will puzzle you with it for a while," he said. “At present confess that you do not know whether I dropped from the sky or came floating through the air.' I felt too anxious to see my cousin, my betrothed wife, to wait—to be brought in the regular fashion.” He had made a little pause before he said “to be brought.” He made another after it, and I saw him shudder. “Are you cold, cousin?” I asked. “AU but my heart,” he answered. “And you must be weary,” said my mother, “and hungry, too. I will have supper prepared at once. Meanwhile come in doors. My dear, we may like to sit outside here, but perhaps our guest may not" “Certainly, certainly,” responded my father. He stepped forward as he spoke, and pushed open the long windows that open, ed from the drawing room to the veranda. ‘•Come in,” he said. “Come indoors nephew.” At that moment my mother called him She needed the keys of the wine cellar, and his aid in the choice of the wines,and he left us. “Come in, cousin Alfred,” said L “Cousin Marjorie,” he answered, “do not ask me indoors. The evening is too beautiful Will you not walk with me this onoe under the moon? You are not afraid of me, are you Marjorie. I laughed a little. “Why should I fear you?” I asked. “You are no stranger. I have always heard of you. I will walk with you gladly.” I walked beside him. I looked down. He looked at me. We passed from the garden and turned toward the beach, and came at last to the ruins of the old building over which there had been so much talk lately. Then we called it the old mill. “They say it is centuries old,” said L “And so many lives have run their course and ended in the tomb,while these stones still remain," he said sadly. “Man dies, and these insensate things outlast him. Yet, while he lives, what a glorious thing to be a man!” He paused. His eyes glittered in his beautiful white face. “Think of it, beautiful Marjorie,” he said. “Think of me, your cousin Alfred —young, strong as a giant, rich, powerful, and with you for his bride. You,yon bright young thing, think of a man like that with all before him, and suddenly all is gone, and death leads him he knows not whither." His glance, his voice, his words frightened me. “Cousin Albert, are you ill,” I asked. ‘Terhaps we had better go home.” “You shall go home,” answered my cousin. “You sweet, young, living thing, I see fear in your eye. You tremble. Give me one moment more. It is so sweet here on earth under the moon—with* you and love. And you have all life before you; give me one moment more.” “My beautiful cousin is certainly deranged,” I said to myself. “I have not yet saluted you, Marjorie,” he said. “May I not kiss your hand, I your betrothed husband?"' Oh, his sad voice! I let him take my fingers in his own, and he bent and pressed his lips to them. As he did so I felt no touch of human flesh and blood, but through all my frame thrilled strange electric flashes, I could not speak or stir, but as I stood, turned, as it seemed, to stone, I saw the beautiful form before me fade away. It did not move from the spot where it stood, but even as I regarded it I saw it change into a white vapor and slowly melt into the air. ******* I knew no more for hours. Then I was aware that they had borne me into the house and restored me to myself, and I lay on the great chintz-covered sofa trembling with the memory of what had passed. Out in the darkness, beyond the windows, the servants went to and fro with lanterns, searching vainly for the man who had come and gone so strangely-r----for none believed my story. „ But now there was heard the clatter of a nurse’s hoofs, a man alighted at the gate, asked for my father, and was shown into our presence. , A seafaring man,' tall and bronzed, wearing a look that spoke of no good tidings. He took a seat offered him, and addressed my father. “Sir, I am the second mate of the Osprey, and I come to you with evil tidings. I regret to bring them, but I have no choice." “Proceed, sir,” said my father. “The Osprey has met with some disaster?” “No, sir,’’replied the sailor. “The Os prey is in port, unharmed by all the evil weather she has encountered on her voyage; but when she sailed she had on board a passenger, a young nobleman who was crossing the ocean, it is said, to visit his affianced bride. The name recorded on our books is—Alfred, Lord Hardinge.” My father bowed his head. “My wife’s nephew,” he said, “and betrothed to my daughter.”

“Sir,” continued the sailor, “when we reached port that nobleman was no longer with us. I must tell the tale. He was drowned in mid-ocean, swept overboard *by a great wave. We warned him of his danger, but he would not remain below.” “How long ago did thia happen? ’ asked my father in a feint voice. “A month ago,” replied the second mate of the Osprey. Then he drew from his bosom a minaturs set in diamonds. “This,” he said, “had been placed in Captain’s care. It was to be presented to his bride, Lord Alfred’s own portrait I sprang from the couch and eaught it from him, and I saw the face that had faded into the air in the moonlight beside the old mill. And I knew it was the spirit of my cousin that had come to me. But we said nothing to the honest sailor. He was well entertained, and went his way again. And we three kept our secret well As for me, that ghostly kiss left by my dead betrothed upon my fingers was the only one that ever touched them.