Rensselaer Semi-Weekly Republican, Volume 20, Number 76, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 26 May 1899 — HIDDEN TERROR [ARTICLE]

HIDDEN TERROR

CHAPTER IV. Bewildered, almost petrified, the young girl remained motionless in the half gloom. She could not fly from the spot; she could only clutch *the box that she held in both hands. There was a movement in the boat house, and, despite her terror, Mabel was now conscious that there were two figures inside the rough shelter. Something terrible must be concealed, she thought, for why should her father, a county gentleman, be here when he had given out to everyone that he was going abroad? The affrighted girl could only strain eyes and ears, waiting for what might come next; and then she heard the man who was with her father speak. “I tell you what it is, Charlford,” he began, when the other interrupted him vehemently. “Are you not mad to address me by that name?” said he. “I am ‘Filton’ to you and to everybody until I take up my ordinary life again.” “Oh,” responded his companion, with a strange laugh, “ ‘Filton’ or ‘Charlford’— it doesn’t matter here—the moon and the beetles are our only listeners, so come along. Capital rendezvous this place makes—so quiet and removed from danger! Good-night, Filton. We part here, I suppose.” “Certainly; and I shall not linger, I promise you. The morning will see me miles away. I will go at once—you follow.” And without more leave-taking they separated. Mabel trembled violently and shrank back into the gloom behind the boat house when she perceived the figure of her father emerge from the shelter. A broadbrimmed hat was slouched over his face, and, creeping out from the shadow of the boat house with stealthy step, like a thief in the night, he passed into the meadow, where he skulked along in the darkest parts till he was lost to view. It was some few minutes before the bewildered girl recollected that she had lost time on her errand, and that even now it might be too late for her to re-enter her uncle’s house without demanding admission—and this she dared not do. “I must sit in the Summer house till morning; I must hide there,” she thought, distressfully. “The maids must be made to think that I went out early before breakfast, and I must go in with my hands full of flowers. Nobody will guess that I have been out all night.” But, alas! she had not yet gained the shelter of the summer house. Her heart was struck with a new pang as she heard a smothered exclamation from the man who had been with her father in the boat house, and whose form she now dimly perceived come into view. She had for the instant forgotten him in the intensity of her fear at her father’s proximity; now the nearness of this new danger overwhelmed her. Where could she hide from the man’s eyes? What could she answer if he perceived her and questioned her? To the affrighted girl be appeared to be a desperado ready to stab any listener. How frightful to imagine such a man as this her father’s friend! She had dropped down upon the grass, crouching on one side of a bush—it was the only hiding place left her. The man emerged from the boat house, and, standing with his back to Mabel, appeared to look anxiously in the direction of the flower garden. “How long will she keep me waiting?” he muttered; and he was so near to the spot where Mabel was crouching that she heard the words distinctly. She? Whom could this man be waiting for? But this Mabel cared not to know—her whole desire was to steal away. Once more within her uncle’s grounds, she could in some measure feel safe. “Ah, here she comes! Now for the proper amount of well-feigned adoration, in exchange for which I shall get help that she little dreams of. Charlford will not quite guess who our messenger is to be! Ha, ha!” As he concluded his soliloquy, he moved away, and Mabel, stiff with crouching in a constrained position, overwhelmed with an agony of terror lest she should be perceived, too blinded by fear to consider the step she was taking—nor indeed had she time —rushed into the shelter of the boat house. For there was a door at the side, of which she was well aware, and which was now open. By it access could be gained to a small room in which were a chair, a table and a cupboard. Hardly had she reached this when she recognized her mistake. Approaching footsteps and voices sounded on her ear—those of a man and a woman; and they were coming into the boat house—there, where she herself had taken shelter! Quickened by terror, she rememberd the long cupboard situated near the entrance, and, groping, fortunately took hold of the open door with her trembling hands. To step within and to pull it nearly close so as to hide herself from these intruders was the work of a moment. She was none too soon in seeking this place of refuge, for the man and the woman were fairly within the boat house now, and he was leading her to the seat dose to the cupboard. “My darling, such a moment a? this is worth a year’s common existence. Your sweet presence transfigures my life! I dream of you by night, I muse on you byday! This alone gives me courage to begir our continued separation.” “Oh, Horace,” said the woman’s voice, with fervor, “believe that my love for you equals yours for me!” Mabel almost betrayed herself—nearly cried out that she was there —for the woman who had thus expressed her devotion to this stranger was no other than her ■eldest sister Caroline, who was always «o proud and cold, who held herself aloof from her younger sisters and from Dick, and set herself up as a pattern of perfection! She to meet a stranger secretly at this hour, and in this placet Mabel longed to cry out: “Caroline, Caroline, what are you doing?’ But fear held her spellbound—the cry she attempted to utter died away on her lips-and arid* shJ d rtm!lLXi£nt° ody “Horace,” murmured Caroline, “you love me too well! Would that for your

“You are more than perfect, my precious loVe!” he interrupted, with well-as-sumed warmth. “Listen! The time will come when I can go to your father.” “Are you sure, Horace?” she said, anxiously. “For sometimes I think your hopes may be deceived, and that it would be better to speak to my father now. One must suffer where one really loves. He will refuse his consent, I know; but after I am one and twenty I shall be free to take a decided step for myself.” “Why should you suffer a year’s persecution from your father, my own love? Even you have no expectation that he would consent to our marriage. I know him only through your description; he has never set eyes on me, nor have I on him. But it is plain that, unless I could go to him with my hands full of gold, he would never agree that you should be mine.” “Horace,” said Caroline, earnestly, “if you and I are to be parted until you can go to my father with your hands full of gold, we must look forward to a long separation.” “Not so, my darling—the gold will be mine!” he responded, caressing her. “That thought alone supports me, for, my own love, I have sad news for you to-night. I have to go abroad for a few weeks. Will you undertake something for me?” “Abroad, Horace?” she faltered. "And I shall not see you so many weeks?” “My angel, I will fly back to you! Shall I not count the moments till I hold your dear hands once more in mine?” She answered him through her tears, while he, murmuring words of fondest affection, besought her not to make their parting more keen than he could bear. Then Caroline recovered herself, declared that she would show him an example of courage and asked what he wished her to do for him. “It is this, my darling,” he said, caressingly. “Take this little package which I leave with you with my name written on it, will you, and, if necessary, go up to London on purpose to leave it for me at its destination? Were it not that I shall be abroad, I would not beg this favor from you.” “Is that all?” said Caroline. “Why, Horace, I thought it was some impracticable thing you had to ask of me, and it is only that I should take this package to London! Why, of course I will do so! I would do anything for you. Here, at my uncle’s, it will be easy for me to make an excuse that I want to go up to tbwn for a day—indeed, I should go without saying a word to him.” “Thank you, dear. You have saved me a world of anxiety by your kind promise. When we meet again I will explain all about it to you, but to-night I can think of nothing but this unexpected separation.” It seemed a long time to Mabel before her sister bade her lover adieu—so long that the girl wondered how she would manage to re-enter the house. But Caroline was in no haste to be gone; she lingered by her lover’s side, and it was long after midnight before Caroline and her companion quitted the boat house. In a kind of frenzy Mabel fled toward the sunken fence, stood once more in the garden, and crept across the lawn toward the front entrance. Through all her agitation she had grasped securely the box containing the flies. With one hand she held this, with the other tried to open the hallway. But it was shut and fastened! The girl’s heart sank lower. How had Caroline managed to get in? Had she entered by some window? Poor Mab went around softly to the side of the house, eagerly scanning the casements. But none was open—all the shutters were up, and Mabel was alone —outside!

CHAPTER V. Only twenty-four hours before, how Mabel would have trembled to find herself in feuch a position—would have trembled at the thought that she was barred and bolted out, while all the household slept. But since the previous night she had suffered so much that she was almost calm at the prospect of passing the night in the summer house. “I suppose I can bear that, after what I have just gone through!” said Mab to herself. “Oh, Dick, Dick, if you could but know what I am suffering now!” The next moment she uttered a faint cry, impossible to repress, for, apparently asleep, before her on the grass lay a man. But he was not asleep, for he moved, and, springing to his feet, confronted her. “Well, I never!” he cried, in the accents of a countryman. “Who be you, a-flittin* about here at this time o’ night? Why, ’tie well-nigh two o’clock in the mornin’! Come—tell us your name! You’re one o’ the gals as lives in service up at the house, I reckon?” And as Mabel, too terrified to answer, would have rushed back, he prevented her by stepping before her. Without pausing to think, and without speaking, she dashed aside, since the path behind was barred, and succeeded in throwing open a small green gate which led into the road. A panic had seized her. Overmastered by her terror, she ran she knew not whither. The countryman pursued, and soon came up with the startled girl, and ill might it have fared with her if it had not chanced that a passer-by, accompanied by a magnificent dog, was at that instant walking along by the green gate. The sight of a terrified young lady pursued by a rough-looking man arrested his steps at once. “Oh, save me—save me!” ’cried Mabel, driven to extremity, and panting in the wildest terror. “Be under no fear,” said the stranger; “my dog would deal with two such men.” Then turning to the man, who would fain have slunk away—“ How do you dare to follow the lady, ybu coward!” “No offense, sir—my lord!” stammered the fellow, shaking in every limb. “I just asked the young lady what she was a* doin’ in the garden at this time o’ the morain*, an’ she run off like mad! She’d no call to fear me. I shouldn’t ha’ laid a finger on her.” "Be silent, sir, and quit this place, unless you wish to be punished for trespassing! You have no business here, and you know it!” “I ask your pardon, an’ the young lady’s, too, my lord,” said the man, humI was tired, an’ had to be early at work a ‘ .> .. ■ ■ ■ <. ' ■■

lay down on the grass; an’ that’s the long an’ short of it, my lord.” “Well, be off now, and be quick about it!” returned the gentleman who had so opportunely come to Mabel’s assistance. “My dog hardly seems to think you are here for any good—he never growls in that way when he trusts a man. And now, pray, tell me what I can do for you,” said Lion’s master, turning gravely and deferentially to Mabel, who all this time had been leaning half fainting against the little green gate, quite unable to utter a .word or even to move from the excess of her agitation. “I—l live here!” gasped Mabel, in direst confusion and trouble. “Y'ou live here/’ echoed the gentleman—“here, at Mr. John Charlford’s? But he has no daughters—he is not married.” “I am one of his nieces,” stammered Mabel, more troubled than ever;.“and he would never forgive me if he knew, if he should ever discover that I was here at this time of night.” "Indeed, I am very sorry,” rejoined the gentleman still more gravely. “Will you pardon me, Miss Charlford, for begging you to ask yourself whether it is right for you to place yourself in such danger as you were in just now—whether it is right for you to do what you are so well aware your uncle must gravely object to?’ “I—l did nothing wrong—nothing!” exclaimed Mabel, suddenly bursting into agonizing sobs after the long strain that she had undergone. t Then, vainly attempting to explain as much as she dared, she stood before this grave, gentlemanly stranger battling with her tears until the power of speech should come back. Already she experienced a feeling of regret that she should seem .regardless of right-doing in his eyes, and a great dasire to clear herself in his estimation took instant possession of her. “It was for Dick’s sake,” sobbed Mabel —“for my brother’s! See” —thrusting into view the box to secure which she had undergone so much —“this is the reason why I came out. Uncle John would never have forgiven Dick if he found out that he had been fishing with his flies; but Dick took them; and then, poor boy, he forgot, and, left them down by the pool, not knowing that -he would have to sleep' as well as dine at Lord Bilstone’s, and that my uncle would stay at home. So just before he started he begged me to run down to the pool and get the box which he had forgotten, and I promised. HoW could Dick foresee that I should not be able to go till after I had said good-night to my uncle, and how could I imagine that the house door would be locked before I could get back? And I dared not ring, so I.resolved to stay all night in the summer house; then nobody would know anything about it if I walked in quietly before breakfast, with my hands full of flowers.” “I beg your pardon for my suspicions just now,” said Lord Wynmore, his grave manner becoming cordial. “I—l imagined —I feared that there was something more serious to occasion you to be out at this hour. Pardon mo for wronging you, even in thought.” “Dick will tell you how it was,” murmured Mabel, blushing, for she was quick to divine that he had mentally charged her with being there to meet a lover. “I shall not need to ask you,- brother Dick or anyone else; I believe you,” responded Lord Wynmore. Mabel dried her tears and looked up. In the midst of her sadness and trouble this assurance gave her a strange pleasure. She was wholly unconscious of how fair she looked in his eyes as she stood by the roadside beneath the faint moonlight, her beauty heightened by the emotion so plainly visible. "Thank you for believing me, Lord Wynmore,” she said, softly. “Oh, I am so much indebted to you for saving me from that dreadful man! Good-night. I will tell my brother how kind you have been.”

“You do not imagine, Miss Charlford,” returned he, “that 1 shall leave you here unprotected till dawn? Permit me to constitute myself your guardian for the remainder of the darkness. Then you may rest in perfect safety in the summer house. Here, Lion” —calling softly to the dog—“go with this friend.” The animal immediately rose, looked fixedly at Mabel, and stood ready to obey. ‘ “He will lie at your feet, Miss Charlford,” continued Lord Wynmore; “and bold indeed would be the man who would venture to molest you. I wjll walk about here within call, so you may feel secure.” Poor child —for, despite her queenly height and her sixteen years, she was almost a child—she was worn out by her emotions and by the lateness of the hour! Very glad was she to sink upon the rustic seat, the feeling of security from possible harm contributing to bring repose; and soon, with the huge dog lying across the entrance to the arbor, Mabel’s eyelids closed, and she slept. And through the night Lord Wynmore paced up and down outside the little gate, treading softly on the grass which bordered the road lest he should awaken her who, he trusted, slumbered within the arbor. “She is hardly grown up. What a beauty she will be; and as yet she is as unconscious as a child!” he mused. “Who would have thought that her unde was such a martinet? Why, she has a mortal .dread of him.” Wild dreams came to Mabel as she lay on the bench within the arbor. She dreamed that she continually encountered her father in different disguises. At one time she was at the seaside—gone thither to visit Netta and Isabel, who were buying seaweed of a tall, dark man on the beach. The man was barefooted and wore a broad-brimmed hat; and, though she dared not glance at him a second time, she knew him to be her father. Drawing her sisters away, she ran home with them, hoping to hide from him, when, 10, her father sat on the doorstep in the guise of a soldier! Caroline, too, mingled with her dreams; she thoughtithat her eldest sister had gone to London to do that stranger’s bidding without telling any of them, and that she did not come back. Then, in her slumber. Lord Wynmore came to her, saying, “I have found your sister;” and a smile broke over her face at the thought; but the smile brought with it awakening. She opened her eyes, and perceived Lord Wynmore himself smiling at her. Day had fully dawned—it was five o’clock in the morning. “I ventured to come for a moment to say farewell,” he said. “If I stay longer, it may lead to awkward surmises. So Lion and I must steal off. Ask your brother to come and see me, Miss Charlford, and tell him I have capital fishing in the river. Good-by! I trust that you are a little rested.” Treading lightly, on the grass, devoutly I at vi• * • • « _ _ - I reached the how whidTrte had leftU

many hours before. At a turn h» the upstairs corridor she met a housemaid, who started at sight of one of the young ladles up and dressed at that hour. “Why, you are early, miss,” she cried, looking at the flowers that Mabel carried. “It is such a lovely morning! not been far!” stammered the frightened girt Then at last she reached her own room, where she took off her evening attire and began to arrange her toilet. Now, she could try to think what she must do, also what she must say to Caroline. Before, it had been impossible; her whole world had been overturned since yesterday. She sat down in an easy chair by her open window, wondering if she might venture to say that she did not feel well enough to go down to breakfast. < But that would never da She must keep up the semblance of being her usual self; otherwise, if she stayed in her room, she would lose the chance of seeing Dick. The gong sounded loudly at that instant, and Mabel, fearful of being late, steadied her trembling limbs and went downstairs. (To be continued.)