Rensselaer Republican, Volume 15, Number 43, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 5 July 1883 — UNDER THE MIDNIGHT MOON. [ARTICLE]

UNDER THE MIDNIGHT MOON.

BY GEORGIANA FEATHERSTONHAUGH.

Pretty Phyllis Dean tripped lightly down the narrow street, w.th her numerous corrected exercises tucked away beneath the cover of the large book which she carried under her arm. The hour had drawn close to midnight e’er she had ceased to puzzle over the queer hieroglyphics of the school children the night before, and her usuallybright eyes looked heavy on this golden morning. The wind blew the tufts of grass that thrust themselves through the gaping boards of the pavement, and the dew still glistened in the bosom of the yellow-hearted May weed, and the royal dressed thistle. “Hello, Miss Phyllis!” and handsome Bay Fletcher came briskly behind her with his gun slung across his shoulder, and his three hunters by his side; Ray Fletcher, with whom more than half the girls of the place were in love, and over whom his aristocratic mother had worried and fretted until her hair had become quite gray, lest her only and beloved son should make a misalliance. Phyllis stood still, and a few long strides brought the young man to her side. It was a strange habit of his to eatch up to Phyllis every four mornings ®ut of the five on her way to school, upon which act more than one comment bad been made, and that was perhaps why his fond mother had become more anxious of late. “Bonjour, Monsieur Fletcher, ” PhylJEs said with mocking deference. “I Erceive that you are upon slaughter nt this morning,” looking at him askance.

“Yes, I am upon slaughter bent, as you say, Miss Phillis,” Ray replied. ‘But it is only occasionally that I indulge in such a cruel pastime, while a certain person whom I know very well, sever ceases to bend her bow or aim Ser arrow, but in a less innocent way, for it is hearts that are pierced by the fatal dart.” Phyllis laughed, and crimsoned slightly, “I am sure your friend has at least method in her madness, cruel as it may be, she believes that by aiming at the heart is certain death, whereas, a shot in the leg or wing would cause only agony or a short struggle for life.” She appeared so innocent and utterly unconscious of his real meaning, that Bay Fletcher was uncertain that she had understood him. “Oh! you know who I mean, Miss Phyllis,” he said, “though your innocent surprise would compel almost any other person but myself to the contrary. But to make it plainer, my young friend, in conjunction with her own propensities, teaches the young idea how to shoot.” ’ A light of understanding seemed to break over Phyllis’ countenance. “I am quite certain that I could guess who,” she returned. “Jean Ward’s niece of the silver-mine fame, who teaches the infant class m S unday - school, and who always pronounces her J’s in French.” A look of disgust came over Ray’s ihce, and he did not attempt to argue the matter, for he knew well enough that Phyllis was in one of her contrary moods this morning, and his words would go for naught. “Will you come by this road to-night on your way home?” he asked, as they came to a point where two roads met. “Will you?” Phyllis asked, saucily, as she turned toward the little brown school-house, with its noisy children and open doors. Bay twirled the corner of his droopi»g moustache.

“I will not say; ‘no’ might bring you, wliilfe ‘yes’ would, surely keep you ■way.” - If accident happened to throw Ray Fletcher in her way—which accident was generally of Bay’s own designing— Phyllis went straight on her old, accustomed beat, though she knew that more than one pair of eyes counted the somber of times the erect figure took 3s way toward the .little school-house. ButPhylEs enjoyed his companionship, and, though she did not encourage him in hi* frequent idsits, she certainly always managed to keep him at her aide. “If Ray Fletcher marries Phyllis DPsu, it will not be for her money,” one neighbor had often said to another. “Old Amos Dean won’t have enough to tary himself with, let alone leaving his •ieee a dowry.” It was true enough. To the people among whom he lived he was known enhraaa poor cripple, who shut himself up in his low-ceilinged room of the entail frame house, never going among ■be people of the neighborhood, or altowmg his doors to be thrown open to those who were disposed to be friendly, white Phyllis, his niece spent her ■right young days in the dingy schoolhome, her only pleasure being the meeting of Ray Fletcher. Phyllis did not see Ray that evening -«• bar way home from school. He had perhaps forgotten that it was Friday,

and that school let out half an hour earlier. But, in spite of ’his absence, there was a figure in black, with a face wonderfully like Ray’s framed in a profusion of gray curls and the sharp eyes were regarding her attentively. Very seldom -it was that Madam Fletcher was'seen walking over the dusty road, or even upon the clean boards of the pavement. She always rode in the old-fashioned carriage, with the liveried footman perched upon the high seat. Phyllis’ eyes drooped for a moment beneath the gaze. Perhaps she had come herself to meet Ray on his way home from his hunting tour. But her color came and went, and her heart beat violently as this haughty woman placed herself directly in her way.

“I believe that I am not mistaken in thinking that this is Miss Phyllis Dean, ” she said, jn a courteous but cold voice, “and, being a stranger, I trust you will pardon me for addressing you.” Phyllis fipwed. Her agitation was too great to allow her to utter a word. “Again pardon me,” Madam Fletcher said, “but you know my son Ray?” Again Phyllis bowed, while a thousand thoughts flashed through her brain. Her face yras quite pale as she stood before this cold woman who, if anything had happened, seemed very calm. “You have met him here quite frequently, I understand,” she said as she turned and surveyed the surrounding country as if stamping it upon her memory.

“Yes,” Phyllis replied, “I have met your son here often. I met him this morning with his gun. I trust nothing has happened.” Madam Fletcher looked scornful, and smiled a little satirically. “My son is at home, and I am grieved to sav has met with a slight accident while huntShe paused. How many wild thoughts filled the girl’s brain. Had she come to ask her to go and see him. It was a queer, romantic thought, and was dashed in an instant by Madam saying: “I trust you have not thought seriously of my son’s attentions, Miss Dean.” How cold and even harsh her voice sounded to Phyllis. “I came only from a duty to yourself, and to him, dear Kay. He will go abroad when he recovers and I do not suppose he ever told you of his engagement.” Phyllis’ cheek crimsoned. “I am sorry you thought it necessary to come here to tell me this,” she said, vainly trying to control her voice. “I have never thought of your son as anything but a friend.”

Phyllis was conscious that she was not speaking the truth; for, though she had often tried to keep Raymond Fletcher’s handsome face from her mind, just so often had she found it impossible to do, and, then too, she had thought that he cared something for her.

As Phyllis walked home after her unexpected interview, with her spirits crushed and her pride deeply wounded, and the large tears glistening upon her cheeks, her quick ear caught the sound of some one singing in the distance. She knew the voice,®and hastened her footsteps. Jack Mowbray must not see her with the great tears in her eyes, neither must he suspect the anguish in her heart. But she could not keep ahead of the rapid footsteps, nor could she feign deafness to the voice calling her. She turned and tried to smile cheerily, but it was a dreary attempt at lightness, and Jack’s quick eye detected the traces of tears, and the cheerfulness did not deceive him. “What now, Phyllis ?” he asked. “Have those little Arabs been tormenting you to death, or have you been reproved by Madam Fletcher for flirting with her handsome son. I saw you talking together a few moments ago.” He laid his hand upon her arm, “You are too poor to satisfy the cravings of Madam’s mercenary soul, she is as ambitious for gold as Croesus, while her doll-faced son is as fickle— as a woman.” Jack laughed merrily as he spoke. He felt free in speaking thus plainly to, Phyllis, for had not he been her constant escort, nay, even slave, when she suddenly transferred her smiles to this Ray Fletcher, and bestowed upon himself sundry snubs, which were not easily forgotten. “You are very candid, at any rate, Jaek,” Phyllis said with dignity, “and I cannot imagine why you should think Madam and myself are not op the best of tepns?”

Jack laughed outright, and placed his finger upon the tear-stain traces, “I believe. Phyllis, you are fibbing.” Phyllis laughed now, her old, accustomed -laugh. Somehow, Jack always put her in a’ good humor, and made her forgot her wooer. “Madam Fletcher appears to be very kind,” she said, "though the meeting was an initiatory one. She is • more considerate than the most of people, for she walked, with her own aristocratic feet, for the purpose of telling me that her son was going abroad, and seemed anxious to know if I had succumbed utterly to his charms.” Phyllis’ lip curled. Jack’s countenance fell. “Perhips I did Madam an injustice about marrying her son to money. I suppose you gave her a very satisfactory reply f’ he asked, with a sudden fear, , mingled with a faint hope; for he had detected the trace of irony in her voice. “Oh, yes, verysatis factory!” Phyllis said, opening the gate of the little cottage, while Jack walked rather slowly away, with a rather curt good-night. Phyllis leaned her head upon the gate for a moment, and then let the hot, scalding tears come freely, wondering

aft l|he, tfane if Ray Fletcher had beer cogmzanFof her mother’s intention. She turned and went into the ding} cottage, with disturbed thoughts and railing against fate for her poverty. “If I had been rich, I know Madam Fletcher would have done differently, but ” Phyllis had climbed the narrow, winding stair, and was standing before her uncle’s door, which was closed and barred against intruders. Phyllis listened for a moment for any noise within, and her ear caught the sound of the old cripple’s voice, counting, in a monotonous tone, as he had always done evei since she could remember. There was no key-hole through which she could peep, for the door was fastened upon the inside by a bolt. Phyllis left the spot. She had become accustomed to the strange whims of her Uncle Amos, and she thought nothing of this queer fancy of his for passing so many long hours in the incessant counting, for she was well aware that he-had little or nothing to count. Surely, if he possessed money or treasures, they would not be obliged to live and struggle with poverty; nor would she be obliged to spend her youth in the confined atmosphere of the smoky school-house! Yes, it was very hard to be poor; but, if.,she ever had money, both Uncle Amos and herself should live in ease and luxury, “and,” she said, straightening up her slight figure, “I ought to be thankful that I am not a poor cripple like Uncle Amos; but I know, if I keep on complaining, I will soon learn to grumble, just as he has grown to count his ‘ endless column.’” It was the last Saturday in the month, and Phyllis as equpped and ready for her shopping expedition to the neighboring city to make her little purchases with the money she had hoarded for the last sixty days. It was a small sum enough, but her wardrobe demanded certain attributes. She had turned her Sunday dress into an every-day one, and how was it possible to make that answer for both purposes? Her wounded feelings had not yet recovered from the interview with Madame Fletcher. Neither could she but feel a twinge of regret for the ficklehearted Ray, who had given her up so willingly, as the gay butterfly coquettes with some woodland flower. Phyllis’ thoughts had wandered from her Sunday dress, which she was about to purchase, as she walked through the streets of the city. Her eyes were cast upon the ground, but she raised them quickly when she felt herself . brought in sudden contact with another body. It was Jack standing before her, making a wry face, with his hand upon his heart.

“You have knocked it clean out of me this time, Phyllis.” “Oh, Jack, excuse me. I was not looking to see where I was going.” She did not feel sorry for the meeting, and she would ask him to go with her to help make her purchases. “Don’t you want to come and help me select a dress, Jack?” she asked. “Two pair of eyes better than one in choosing among a lot of bright fabrics.”

Jack looked pleased. “What is it going to be, Phyllis?” he asked. “Your wedding-dress? If so, I must decline.” Phyllis laughed. “A bridegroom is a necessary appurtenance to a weddingdress, and as lam not fortunate enough in having that future blessing, I am obliged to content myself with a plain go-to-meeting gown.” • Jack was quite contented. He liked to listen to Phyllis as she tripped along by his side, and, as her mission was only a Sunday gown, he did not feel uneasy. “I have been thinking that blue would be a good color,” she went on; “red makes me look sallow.” Jack looked dazed, and suggested green, at which Phyllis laughed outright and looked a little disgusted. “Don’t you know, Jack, that green is forsaken,” she asked, trying to appear serious. As she uttered the words a merry party passed them in an open carriage, which caused her feigned sobriety to become genuine, for a hat was lifted to them, and Phyllis had only time to perceive that it was Raymoira Fletcher greeting her as they, drove rapidly by, and the fair, frail girl by his side was no doubt the happy being of whom his mother had spoken. It was late in the afternoon before Phyllis had completed her simple shopping. Jack had promised to meet her at the station in time to take the early train home. Phyllis was dissatisfied with herself and the day in general, and, most of all, her new Sunday dress, which was green, a dark bottle-green, and she could not tell why she had bought it. She had missed one train'waiting for Jack, and now the last would not start until 9 o’clock. But he came at last when the day. had ceased to shine, and the moon hung high and full in the sky. He took Phyllis’ small parcels and stowed them away in his pockets, while the hateful green dress he tucked under his arm.

It was 11 o’clock when the train stopped at the little station to allow the few whose destination it was to alight. “Don’t lose my beautiful green dress, Jack,” Phyllis said, as they walked along, “for I have spent all my money upon it. J ack’s heart gave several loud thumps. “Did you say green, Phyllis?” he asked. ”Yes, Jack, a dark bottle-green, just as the grass looks on a cold spring day.” “But,” said Jack, “I thought it was going to be blue. Say, Phyllis, dra you buy that green dress because I said green, and yon thought I liked it?” They were standing upon the rustic

bridge luring into where long bars.of alternate light2nd shadow crept across its bosom. “Well, Jack, to tell you the truth, you were the only one who seemed interested, and so—so I bought green, fhough it is forsaken.” In an instant Jack’s arm was about the slight figure. “Did you really try to please me, Phyllis?” he asked. Phyllis’ head sank. “Oh, Jack! I would do anything on earth to please you. You are the only person who cares whether I live or die to-morrow. ”

Jack placed his hand beneath her chin and raised her face to his own. “Will you marry me, Phyllis?” he asked, hurriedly, with the almost dead hope springing into new life. “But, Jack, we are both so poor, and then you would have Uncle Apos, too.” Jack laughed, “We may be rich some day, and then we can laugh at our poverty.” Phyllis closed her eyes. “If you will have me, Jack—only poor Phyllis—l will marry you.” She stretched out her hand and took the parcel from him, and threw it over the railing of the bridge. “It is green, Jack, and I am not forsaken now.” The low, brown cottage was very dark when they reached the gate, and the accustomed light shining through Amos Dean’s closed slats was not visible, but, instead, the shutters were thrown open wide, and the moonlight streamed full upon the small panes of the window. Phyllis looked for a moment at the window, and the feeling of wonder gave place to a strange sense of alarm. She took Jack’s hand. “Come,” she said, “I cannot go up there alone.” Jack Mowbray obediently allowed* the soft hand to lead him into the dark hall and up the-narrow,* winding stairs. Phyllis rapped upon the thin panel o f her uncle’s door, but there was no response, only the.echo that seemed to reverberate through the dim hall. J ack pressed the weight of his strong frame against the door, which yielded with a crash as the time-seasoned wood gave way beneath his weight. Phyllis uttered a cry. The full-moon shene directly down through the shutterless window, revealing plainly to her gight Amos Dean sitting bolt upright in his chair, before a small table which was drawn close up to the window. She approached him, but he made no movement; she called him by name, but his lips uttered no response; and, by the light that seemed to penetrate every corner of the room, Phyllis sawthat her uncle was dead. She touched the hand that rested upon the table, and as she did so she caught the light of numerous sparkling stones lying upon the dark wood of the table. “Jack,” she said in a whisper, “What does it mean—what are they?” Jack bent down and looked long and attentively at the scintillating rays which flashed in the broad light of the moon. He stood up, and looked at Phyllis as he grasped the back of the dead man’s chair.” They are diamonds, Phyllis.” It was all he could say as he turned away, and held out his hand to the trembling girl. But Phyllis burst into tears and leanfed against the table. She dared not say the words that came. to her lips, but they rang in her ears until her Brain reeled. Her Uncle Amos had been .a miser. Yes, Amos Dean had lived a life of struggle and poverty that he might hoard his great wealth, and night by night gaze at it and. gloat over its increasing value. Half a million of money invested in diamonds, whose combined brilliancy- would have the eyes and fionfused the brain of their beholder. In the excitement that followed Phyllis forgot the Sunday gown floating upon the river, and her poverty that had so long held hp its threatening finger.— Chicago Ledger.