Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 5, Number 27, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 2 January 1875 — Page 2

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THE MAI It

PAPER FOR THE PEOPLE.

(Prom the Indianapolis Herald.] A CYNIC.

Rythmical stenographic report of his remarks at a camp Are in the mountain. (Colorado, 1873.)

BY J.

c.

B.

hate the world J—you think that'sstrong, Stranger fit Is, to you But hate's the word, and right or wrong,

I'm going to paok it through.

Jthasnt been very long ago, Sinoe/could, draw a check, And have it paid, for a thousand or

BO,

r, I'm through the deck,

But now, I've got my hand*, and that's Tjoutall Th6 rest, my mouey and wife, I left behind in a general brawl-

Right glad I kept my life.

Ton might not think a rough like me Had ever loved, and lost: But there you're off a point, you see

And here is what it cost!

1 was fixed up once, I wan, you bet A right good home was mine, A carnage, and horses black as Jet—

Everything nice and fine.

And lots of friends we had, you know, All smllln', and sweet-lipped, Af long as I had the cliink to show—

But when I broke, they skipped.

That's Just the truth of it, you hear me As long's vou're rich as krout, You're frlends'tl freeze In, good and free,

And then they'll Just skin out!

Ot I've been there I know *em patJust how they come and go, When Honorable this, and Colonel that,

And are on your list, for show.

As I was sayln' a home I had, A wife, and baby too, A little scruty that called me dad, tfcWith eyes or the bluest blue.

Well, In my biz I wanted mon., I had to make a raise 1 gave a mortgage whc* that was done,.

It ended my best days. X'ye suppose them money-grabs would wait A month, all on the square7— No, sir: they Just pranced it at date,

And cleaned me out right there.

Aud then that child began to cough, And died, and what was worse, My wife, in pride and shame, went off-

Leaven' mo to swear and curse.

Taln't Just the cheese to sound your notes, And tell you how yon was whirled But there I am with the d—d coyotes—

That's why I hate the world.

!*or men and women are on the make, No matter how it's done— They'll sell their souls to pull the stake,

And chip In number one.

Wynfield Hall.

BY FLORENCE TEKCY ALLEN.

SO this is James' daughter," wild a kind voice, "look up at me, my dear—I am not going to hurt you," and then I raised my eves, and, for the first time, aaw my Uncle Robert.

A tall, straight man was he with keen blue eyes, and a rosolute mouth—a proud man and a stern man evidently, but his HHiile was pleasant, and he spoke to me as gently as though I were a little chtld.

l'

I am glad to see you," he said, after a moment's steady scrutiny of my upturned fhce—"you look like your father," and then, after a little pause, "James and I never got along very well together —wo were not of the same brood, vou know, but

I always

He did not kiss me, nor even touch my hand, but I felt that his words were sincero, and that there was a quiet, understanding established between us from that moment.

Your aunt will bo down soon," he said, as I turned away, and then the door op nod, andja dark-eyed, tired-look-ing y'ting lady

entered,

Cwo children. "Good-morning,

accompanied by

Miss Silverton, said

my uncle, courtoouslv, and then, turning to mo: "A member of our family at present,

Leonora Miss Silverton, my

niece, Miss Wyntield.and these are your Cwo cousins." I noticed evon at tho first how extremely pretty she was, in spite of the tired look, and how ladylike she was with her plain Uiess and smooth hair, and then I devoted myself to making the acquaintance of my small cousins, until iuy auutjoined us.

A tall, thin lady was my Aunt Barbara—with a frosty smile and a predisposition to chilliness. Sho wore on this particular morning, a novel head-dress, consisting of a small white woolen openwork snuwl, folded corner wise, and

Sttle

inned together under her chin, and the dry kiss she gave mo actually made toe shiver.

I wai sorry not to have welcomed vou here last night," sho sold, "but you oamu so very late—I hope you will be contented hero. It is quite pleasant in tho summer, but now"—and she shuddered In stately, expressive manner. **I trust you are not addicted to earache," she continued. "I am, and have to bo very carefhl, as you see '—and then my u*cle gave her his arm and led the way t« the breakfast room.

Alter wo were all seated, I noticed, •with a little wonder as to who the absent one might be, that there was a vacant place just opposite my seal but this question rose In my mind Uncle Robert looked across at his wife.

Is Marohinout at homo he inquired, alittlo frown contracting his feir forebead and then, as sho looked up to reply, a tall young gentleman mado his appearance, and with a careless word of «xcuse for his lateness, sauntered to the vacant t*.uUr.

Leonora, this Marchmont Severn," said mv nnclo, aud then the new-comer, •with a'iittie complimentary speech concerning the pleasure he Wt in making ray acquaintance, took bis seat, and proceeded to tho business of breakfast.

AlVr a little! found

an

opportunity to

look at him unobserved, and I did so. Such it handwme young fellow as he was—so MIL and straight, and graceful, with his wide blue eyes, his fair, English lace with its long silken moustache, and dose cut curling hair. Marchmont Severn—4 wondered a little as to his •laco in the flunlly and then, finding (hi* course deoidedly unsatisfactory, 1 gave it up and turned my attention to my coffee- and toast.

It was a silent and uncomfortable meal —my first breakfast at Wynfield Ilall. My aunt was evidently "under the weather," as tho country folks express it —and shivered and trifled with her omelette in silence. Miss Silverton was busy with the children, aud paid no attention to anyone else, save once, when Jboking up suddenly, I detected her •lancing swiftly from young Mr. Severn myself—aud then her long lashes droopW, and alittle flush came into her feeo but alio went on instructing eight-•foar-old rtio as to theprojper manner it managing hla fork, ana did not raise her ev again. Uncle Robert was grave and taciturn—in Tact the last comer was Mao oiily one of the circle, save six-

years-old Alioe, who seemed either cheerful pr amiably and he wasimperturbnUv«od natured,addraasinynie yapiajto now to tny uncle, then to my s—ii, and then to me, in no wise discouraged By their unflattering reception.

I, for one, was heartily glad when we at last rose from the talkie and returned to the pleasant library. Mr. Severn gallantly escorting me, and Miss Silverton marshalling in the children.

HIt

is too raw for Bertie and Alioe to walk this morning," said my aunt, seating herself in a large lounging chair before the fire, "supposing you have a game of battledoor before the school noun." and Miss Silverton acquiescing, departed with her charges. Then Uncle Robert left us on plea of letter writing and finally Mr. Severn sauntered away with no exonse in particular, and I was left alone with my aunt.

How tediously the minutes dragged as she eat there with her head lying back on the crimson cover of her chair, and her eyes closed. I began to feel nervous and wretched, and devoutly Wished that I knew the whereabouts of Mise Sftlverton and the children, that I might join them in their game, when suddenly my aunt opened her eyes and sat uprignt.

You must really excuse me, my dear," she said, pinning her shawl closer around her head "but my bad health makes me miserable company. You'll find it fearfully dull here, I'm afraid By tho way—where is March?" "I have not the slightest idea," 1 auswered, and my aunt smiled indulg-

I hope that you two will be good friends, S she said, and then, with more real interest in her (ace than I had seen before: "Isn't he a fine handsome boy? I am very fond of him, you know—foolishly ao perhapB." Ana then, seeing the lookoa my face, she laughed softly.

I forgot that you don't know any thing about us," she went on, "except that my husband was your father's halfbrother. I was a widow when your uncle married me. My first husband was Colonel Marmaduke Severn, and he died in India when Marchmont was nine years old. He was a very fine man— Marchmont's father—one of the handsomest men I ever met. March is his father over again—so you can judge." And here my aunt looked at me very keetdy.

He is indeed very handsome, I answered, feeling that she expected me to speak, and then the door opened and Marchmont came in—so suddenly that I was sure he heard my last words, although he looked so entirely unconscious. .. "I am glad you have come, said Aunt Rebecca. "Leonora here, is growing lonesome and wretched. I want you to sattaae her." shall be most happy," he looked at me laughingly, "anything in the world to make

myself

I should be pleased to go, I answered "only"—and here a thought suddenly arrested me—"I have no riding habit with mo." ,.

You can take mine," said Aunt Barbara but her son indulged in a low whistle of dissent—very impolitely. ""Really, now, mother," ne said, do you want to make a guy of heit It would take three other to fill your habit."

44

thought more of him

than ho knew, and his sending yoir to me shows that he did not cherish any hard thoughts toward me at the last so, my dear, you are doubly welcome," and that was all.

Miss Silverton will lend you hers," •Me said, "just for this time—you must have one at once, for riding is the chief unusement here—I will send for it or—" «I would rather ask for it myself," gaid hastily. "Please let me." And sou escorted by my self appointed cavalier, I made my way to the schoolroom.

The game of battledoor was over, and and Miss Silverton was just about to commence the lessons when we entered but on making known my errand, a five minutes' respite was allowed to the children, and the pretty governess hurried awav to bring me the garment which I wished, and I went with her as FAR AS

my room, while Marchmont departed to order the horses. ••I think it will fit you nicely," she tutfd, returning with her bunjen "we are about the same size. I am sure it is not worth mentioning," as I thanked her—and then she went back to the school room, and I proceeded to array myself for my ride.

Ten minutes later I came down the groat stairway, and as I paused a moment before the mirror, in the hau, I Ijrlanced, not unpleased with the reflectherein.

I was never a pretty girl, but I was strikingly looking, with my black hair, eloar, dark complexion, heavy brows, and groat black eyee and to-day, with my jaunty hat and trailing feather crowning my heavy braids, and the little flush of excitement in my choeks, I knew that I was looking my very hesfc*

Marchmont was waiting for me by the fire with his mother, and with a word of commendation for my speedy appearance, wo went out together.

Tho horses had been brought around —fine, spiritod animals, with a look in thfir eyos that wade me actually norv-

°^Are yon afraid said Marchmont, looking down at me sharply. "Jessie seems to be pretty lively—shall I send her back and order a quieter horse?"

Tho look in his eyas piqued me. "I am not a baby," I said. "You can do as vou choose."

Steady, then," and then was in the saddle, and with. Marchmont beside me, went slowly down the drive.

Do you liko to race?" we had ridden along in comparative silence, I with my heart in my mouth at every sudden movement of my horse—conscioiw that my cheeks were flaming and my hands trembling in spite of myself "but perhaps yon area timid horsewoman."

Perhaps so!" .. A ppirit of mischief suddenlv possessed me I, who had never ridden raster than a jog trot in my life, gave my fiery homo a sharp bl*w with my ridingwhip, and then we were off like th?

After the first moment, I fairly enjoyed the novelty—my fear left me entirely. and holding my reins flrtnly, I looked b®dt over my shoulder, niece was a sudden awful slipping sensation, a swift rush of air, and then a great shock, and after a long, long time,

'"V

1

-J,/v

pose! less ed broken."

8eeuJ"

ed, I opened my eyes to find myself lying in a muddy heap in the middle of the road, with Marchmont bending over me with a look of genuine interest and fright on his handsome face. "Drink this." he said, "are yon much huitr

It waaa small portion of brandy, and I swallowed it obediently. "I didn't tumble off," I said trying to straighten mvself up—'''I didn't Indeed." "No, that you didn't. You ride like a hunter, but the confounded saddle slipped. I'll have Briggs skinned for his carelessness. Lucks the brute didn't drag you. What is the matter with your arm?"

I had tried to raise it and found ft im­

The devil it is!" 1 oould excuse the profanity, seeing him go down on his knees heme me, is the muddy mod to examine it, and then he made a sling of my veil and tied it up.

4

The quicker we get home the better." he said, and then mounting me on his horse, he walked beside me, leading him with one hand and holding me in my eeat with his other arm oiityl we were again at Wynfield Hall. Such a fuss as they made over me. Aunt Barbara forgot her earache and hovered around Uke an afetie angel. Uncle Robert looked into the room adoaen times a day, to inquire as to my welfare, and MarcHmont waa represented by his mother as wandering around the honse all day in a grimly disconsolate state of mind, imperiously anxious to know when I intended to make my appearance.

My arm did remarkably well however, and very sopn I was able to apend my days on the wide sofii in the library, and from that time Marchmont devoted himself to my amusement. He read to me, talked to me, he sat In the music room with the door open, and. played to to me by the hour—and his fingers bad the very magic of melody—and lBaw by his mother's satisfied mce that she ap-

Eroved

useftil," and tken, going

to the window he looked out. "It has turned pleasant after all," he said, "supposing we ride to Pour Corners—or denH you ride, Miss Wynfield?"

I had never mounted a horse more than twice in my lite, but a tinge of sarcasm in his voice made me suddenly brave.

of the friendship which seemed exist between us. Of Miss Silverton I saw very little during these days, but one evening when my arm was nearly well, I was coming

DV

I do not like to leave you so," I said, and then she broke out almost fiercelv:

It Is only a love affair—that is all. I had a lover, and now he doesn't caro for me as he did, and I am wretched. Please leave me now."

Poor little girl!" moved by a sudden impulse, I kissed the trembling lips. "I see I cannot help you, but I am honestly sorry for you—I hope it will end happily after all." Ana so I left hor.

Marchmont was waiting for me in the library, his handsome face bright with smiles. "Just the day for a drive," he said, "will you ge?" and I, assenting, we were soon rolling along the quiet road, in the pale fall sunshine, talking and laughing like two happy children.

Someway of late, I had not felt so much at ease with March perhaps it was because I had noticed, once or twice a coldly displeased look in Uncle Robert's eyos when March and I were together, and several times he had refused, almost sharply, to let me go with March driving or walking—making the weather or my health an excuse but to-day I forgot all this, and, enjoyed every moment of the long, delightful drive.

It was dusk when the horses' heads were turned homeward, almost night, and as we whirled along, the chill wind blew my wrappings back. March, driving with one hand, drew them together with the other, and then as though unconsciously, his arm fell carelessly on the back of the seat, then, after a moment it came closely around me.

After all it was only March—and although I felt my cheeks flame in the darkness, I said nothing, only when he drew me closer, so that my head rested on his shoulder, I tried to draw myself away, but he held mo firmly, but gently. "Cousin Nora," he said, "you arc surely not afraid of me

Afrdd of you?—why Marchmont I— why should bo?" and yet I felt my heart throb—why, I scarcely knew.

We were home, now, and as he reined the horses up sharply, he bent and kissed mo oncc, twice, thrice, and then springing out, liftod me as though I were a child, and carried me up to the door. Ten minutes later as I was passing Uncle Robert's Hermitage" he trailed me, and I went in, He was standing before the fire, looking sternor and graver than ever, and /is I came in and stood by his side he looked down at me with a half frown.

Sit down," he said "where have you Vf Driving," I answered and theii, after a little walk up and down the room, ho camc\ back to me, and looking down at me grimly, said with the mn^t discomposing abruptnessi "Has that fellow been making lore to you?"

What could I say, with Marchmont's kiss still en my Hps, what could I answer?—and,as

TERRE HAUTE SATURDAY EVENING MAIL.

the school-room door, and

hearing a stifled sob, I pushed the door open and looked in. There sat the pretty governess, her arms thrown despairingly out on the table in front of her and her head bowed down upon them in a very agony of weeping. Ono moment I hesitated, and then, moved by a sudden impulse of sympathy, I entered, closing the door securely, and went to her. "What is it?" I said, touching her head lightly. "Can I help you

She started up, and pushing her hair back with both hands, looked at me almost fiercely. "Let me alone," she said. "Don't touch me, don't come near me!" and then, seeming to collect herself, she turned away sullenly. "I get home-sick, sometimes," she said, "silly, isn't it?—and I am best alone at such times."

Home-sick?" I really pitied the poor girl, she looked so wretched and forlorn. "Haven't you any friends near here

I haven't a friend in tho wide world," she answered, "not one—except—no— not one."

Can I not help you then?" I said, noticing with a little wonder, how thin and pale she bad grown of late. "I am home-sick too, sometimes." but she stood silent, trifling with the cover on her chair, and looking at me over her shoulder.

If there is anything I can do for you," I said, at last, as I turned to go, "please let me know. I do not like te think that yon are unhappy," and as I passed her, something in the pretty face arrested my steps—a yearning frightened look in the dark eyes that puzzled me.

I hesitated, Untie Robert

spoke again: Answer me this time, please, and truthfully. Do you love him, my dear?*'

The real kindness of the tone brought the tears to my eyes, and looking in his face I was heartily thankful that I could answer honestly and earnestly, "No, I do not, Uncle Robert."

Very well, then," ho said, with a long breath (of relief I fancied). "I will tell you something I would rather sic you dead where you are sitting, than see you married to that man. Do you understand me,child His mother spoiled him when he waS a boy, and he has grown up to be what he Is—a handsome, worthless good-for-nothing, and bad at that as bad can be. I should have sent him to India long ago, had it not been for his mother she is so fond of him, and proud of him in'spite of everything. Perhaps I ought to have spoken of this before, Leonora, but I put it off, until at last, in simple justice to yourself, I felt that I must do so."

Here was the opportunity which I had waited fer so long, to tell Uncle Robert a little heart history which I hid so carefully from others and as I told him about the brave yonng feljpw across the ooean, who

was

coming home again some

A.

day not far distant, Isaw his face brighten a*d grow tender and loving as my lhther's had been in the old happy days, and when at last I stopped, he bent ana used me for the first tine,

I am glad you have Amnditinyon heart to tell me," he said "lames wrote me something of this, but I wanted to know it from Tcvnelt Thank you, my dear girl," and sol left him, feeling happier than I had during all my stay at Wynfield Hall, although the story of March's wrong doings troubled me not a little.

That evening as I sat before the Ave in my dressing sacque, there came a timid knoek at the door, and, turning round, I saw Miss Silverton'9 free looking at me. "May I come in

V'

she queried,

and then coming swiftly across the room she stood before the fire, with her hands clasped before her, and her dark eyes looking straight into the blaoe.

What is it I asked, and then she spoke in a hard, unnatural manner that startled me.

You said once that you wanted to help me—are you of the same mind now?"

Certainly," I said, wondering at her manner andatill not looking at me, but straight into the fire, she said: "Lend me ten pounds then you needn't give it to me, your uncle owes ine that much, but I'm not paid until the quarter, and I want the money now."

Is that all?" I pat two crisp five pound notes into her hand "that is of no consequence. Is there not some' thing else?"

No," she said,"nothing I am much obliged to you," and then suddenly she was down on her knees beside me, sobbing, trembling and crying in away that fairly frightened me. are so kind to me,

MSMWynfield,""You

she cried, "when

I haven't a friend in the world. Oh, if you only knew!" Knew what?" I bent over and tried to raise the bowed head but suddenly the sobs ceased, the clenched hands fell nervelessly at her side, and the poor girl lay white and still at my feet. My first impulse was to ring for help, but a moment's thought showed me that such a course would cause a great deal of comment and questioning as to her presence in my room, and so I chafed her hands, bathed her temples with cologne and, after a weary while, the white eyelids unclosed, and, with a long, deep breath, she came back to life again. For ono moment she looked at me steadily, as if trying to collect her scattered thoughts, and then, with a sudden effort sho rose to her feet.

You are very kind,** she said, constrainedly, "and I beg yonr pardon for disturbing you.

Good-Mght,"

and so

she left me, her long, dark hair veiling her shoulders, and her face white as death.

The next morning, to my great surprise, Mis» Silverton and the children did not appear at the breakfast table.

The children have made me quite nervous wiSth their shocking manners," said my aunt, "so I have decided that they shall have their meals in the nurserv for a while." 1 fancied that her grey eyes glanced across at Maorchmont as she spoke, but he met then* with a careless smile, and she said no more.

All that long rainy day Miss Silverton was invisible. March lounged around the house, growling at the weather and everything in general. Uncle Robert wrote letter* in his "hermitage" and read the Times, and I constituted myself Aunt Barbara's companion,, and with my embroidery and a novel managed to feel utterly ennuied. "Don't tronble yourself to stay with me," said Aunt Barbara. "March is always more in need of sympathy during these wretched days than I am. Go and play billiards with him for a while."

March's eves seconded this proposition, although March himself lazily indifferent in appearance, was stretched out in a great lounging chair by the fire but I expressed myself perfectly contented whore I was,and Aunt Barbara dosed off again.

So the long day passed off. March read to me, played and sang to me but even Heine's tenderest songs oould not lure me from Aunt Barbara's side, and at last Marchmont grew sulky, and, donning his overcoat, went out into the storm. "Anything is better than tlus confounded dull hole!" he said savagely, ia response to his mother's protest, and she looked reproachfully at me but I was apparently unoonscious that my failure to oe entertaining was the cause of his departure, and wished him a "pleasant walk" with the most calmly indifferent manner possible.

March having departed, I incontinently deserted Aunt Barbara, and wandered around the house like an unquiet spirit —playing a little, singing a little, writing a little, and reading a little—until at last it was time to dress for dinner.

My toilet was speedily accomplished, for my deep mourning admitted of but little change, and then remembering that a precious letter was lying botween the loaves of a book which I had been reading, I ran down to recover it.

Aunt Barbara's chair was vacant, but leaning against the mantel before the fire, stood March—his bright hair wet with the storm, and curling in close little cnrls around hid fair forehead.

I did not see him until I was too d*ar in the room to retreat, therefore I nodded to him with a laughing inquiry as to the weather, and securing my book, turned to depart

Nora," he said, suddenly, "wait a minute—I want to ask yeu a question." "What is it?" I said, feeling my cheeks growing crimson "do not detain me, please."

Why havo you avoided me as you have to-day?" Tho woras came shert and sharp, and he watched my face keenly. "Nora"— one stop and he was beside me, his handsome lace bent down to my level—"did I offend you last night. I could not help it, because

Let me go, please"—for he had prisoned both my hands in one of his—"you are very rude let me go!" but he held theui firmly.

Onlv a minute,*' he pleaded, but I was tairly beside myself with anger. You ahall let me go!" I cried, struggling with all my might. "IIow dare you ?w but he langhed softly.

Yott have a deuce of a temper," he ««id admiringly. "I like to see a woman with a spirit like yours. I remember that first ride of oure—do you? 1 believe I fell in love with you then." "And I—hate youl" I was wearied with struggling now, and welcomed the sound of approaching footsteps in the ball with a little sob of thankfulness. "Some one Is coming—let me go!" and then my bands were freed, but before I could escape he bent and clasped me tightly in his strong arms. fove you—you charming little vixen—haven't you seen it all along? Of course I haven't any business to do anything of the kind, but I'm if I can help it' I love you, I lo\e you!" and with his kisses burning on lip, cheek and brow, I fled, my eyes blinded by hot, angry tears, up through the great hall and into my room.

There was a cloud on Aunt Barbara's fnce at dinner, and she maintained an ominous silence, which was depressing

but March was in the gayest spirits and I, though 1 was inwwrdly determined to go to uncle Robert with my aterr, was outwardly as compoeed and amiable as ever.

Ones or twice 1 felt Mvdrti eyas fiwtenedupofe^me, Ml mat hlagaae indifferently, and went on with my dinner with cool unooncern. Once or twice he rallied his mother on her apparent severity, but finding her in no mood to enioy even his pleasantry, desisted after a nttle, and devoted biamelf to the disposal of his dinner. "ririshtosee yon a few moments," said Aunt Barbara to Uncle Robert ao we rose from the table and then as we entered the library she touched the boil* "Miss Silverton," Bhesaid to the servant who answered the call, fend then with awful solemnity, she seated herself in her Ihvorite chair.

March looked askant at me, and moved toward the door, but his mother interposed* "Pray remain, my son,and yon} also, Neva, my business with Miss Silverton will take but a moment, and I prater to bapv yon both here."

A moment later Miss Silverton canoe in, a little frightened look in her dark eyes* butt looking prettier than ever with the feint color casting and going in her cheeks® "Miar Silverton," said my aunt imv pressivsly, "'I hare sent for you to contradict some reports which have come to me—I hear that yon are oarrying on what appears to be a very deep flirtation with some unknown man. That you meet hinvalvery late and nnasasonable hours in the garden, and that, in foot your deportment is not what we are entitled to expect fessn a person in your situation."

A wave of- orintsen surged over the pretty face, ana then Uod away, leaving her deadly pale. One slender hand grasped a high ohaic back as though to steady herself but her dark eyes met my aunt's bravely "Doyou deny-thisP* said my aunt, have you nothing-to say

No," she answered, clearly and distinctly. "I do net deny it." Then," said Aunt Barbara, in a cold, measured tone, "of course your connection with this nmtly will ceasee at once, and you must go. foannoi countenance such proceedings^ and I wonder that you are shamelese enough to acknowledge having been so-—wesse than imprudent."

Uncle Robert badinot spoken once, but his keen eyes we» fastened on the girl's face March stood by the window utterly indifferent and unconcerned, swinging the tassel of the curtain backward and forward and humming softly a snatch of one of H3alner» songs. "Of course," Aunt Barbara said again, you must go, and at once," and then suddenly my uncle interposed.

Let the young lady speak," he said, and then turning to Miss Silverton, he laid his hand on her shoulder. "Do not be afraid," he said, "I think I can truat your face enough to promise-to be your friend. Have you nothing to say against being turned away in disgrace likethis?" and then the slight form stood erect, the bowed head was thrown proudly back, and the flashing eyes met my aunt's

de^IDhave

"ili

rpHE

nothing to say,'' she said.

"Nothing—ask Atm—your sen—my husband, madame. whose secret I have kept so long. Ask nim if it is fitting that his wile should be turned away like this," and then as March, with black frown on his face, and a devilish smile on his lips, came sullenly forward, the poor girl turned white and faint.

I never meant to tell, March," she said, "but she tried me so sorely,forgive me. I was going away—I never meant to betray you—I wish I had died first!"

Hush, my child." It waa my uncle's voice, and his arm supported her as she sank trembling to the floor. "Do not kneel to him—you have done no wrong." And then my aunt rose to her feet, and with her shaking hands stietcbed out toward her son, and an awful gray pallor settling down on her face, cried out like one in mortal pain, "Marchmont yon dare not say that this is true —oh, my son! tell me that it isall false!" but Marchmont, looking askant at me' answered never a word. "Marchmont," said Uncle Robert, speak J" And then, with his wary eyes fastened on the girl's face, ho obeyed.

It is all," he said, "she ia my wife. I fell In lovo with her pretty face, and so— like a fool—I married her, never thinking how soon the romance-of the thing would wear oft There is no use in making such a row, mother what's done can't be undone—and there's nothing left for me but to go to the devil as quick as possible." He mowed towards the door as he spoke, never heeding his mother's cry.

March,,r she said, "where are you going—not out into this storm?" but his handsome face never turned toward her, only as he crossed the threshold, he looked back on us for one brief instant, and then be was gone.

A few minutes later we hoard a clatter of hoots through the storm, and then, aa they died away in the distance, Aunt Barbara fell heavily forward. In an instant her husband was beside her and had raised her in bisarms but the gray pallor of her face had changed to a deathly whiteness, the rich lace around her throat was stained and streaked with crimson, and the proud heart bad ceased beating forever.

Marchmont Severn I nover saw again, but we often heard of his wild, reckless life in London. Only once did we hear directly from him. and that was when, a lew months alter his departure, a little fair-haired baby came to his young wife: then Uncle Robert wrote to him, and in reply camo a few hastilywritten characteristic lines:

I am in a deuce ot a fix as to money myself aud so, can't do the Correct thing by Em and the boy therefore I must do the incorrect thing, and leave them entirely to your tender mercies.

Very respectfully, MARCHMONTSSVERN.

And that was all. And so Emily became one of my uncle's family—her sweet face and gentle ways endearing her to us all, aud when at last I went away, she becamo my uncle's chief stay and dependence. "My daughter*" he called her always, "My dear daughter Emily/'

Of her husband she never spoke but one day when little Wynfield was in his third year, there came a message to her from over the sea:

Marchmont Severn was shot in New Orleans on the 23th by a noted gambler, one of his intimate friends, in a quarrel ever a gaming table, and died an hour afterwards."

So at last, in a foreign land, away from all who bad ever cared for him. shot down like a dog. by "his fHend," in a low gambling hell, Marchmont Severn's

OUll/UU «»"l

erring life was ended.

Get Both fchromos.

Any person wishing to secure at once both of our new premium CUromos can de so by subscribing for The Mail two years in advance, paying us therefor, or we will send the paper for one year and both Chromos mounted for tha sum of 93, or we will send The Mall ono year and both pictures handsomely framed in walnut and gilt for

Saturday Evening

MAIL,:

FOR THE YEAR

1874-5.

ArfODEL WEEKLY FOR THE HOME.

I

abhr, be discontinued at expiration paid for. Enoourapsd fcy U» extraordinary

Two Beaatiihl Chronos

Represents a bright faced boy, coming front the orchard, bountifully laden with tho rcdr. ripe fTuit. The other, entitled

"Lily of the Field"

Is a beautiful little girl, with ene of the sweetest of feoes, gathering lilies in the field. Oneisa wood seene, the other has an open meadow in the back ground.. Th*y 4^. are of striking beauty.

BILL OF PRICKS.

The Mail one year and choioe of Chromo 18 00 The Mall one year and Beth Chromes mounted^. 8 00 The Mail one year and Both Chromos

FRAMED 5 00

THE SATURDAY EVENING MAIL is an Indepeadent Weekly Newspaper, elegantly printed on eight pages of book paper, and aims to be, in every sense, a Family Paper. With this aim in view, nothing will appear in its columns that cannot be read aloud in the most refined fireside circle. t! 'Inv.isAy

CLUBBING WITH OTHER PERIODICALS. We are enabled to offer extraordinary inducements in the way of dubbing with oth­

er

periodicals. We will furnish THE SATURDAY EVENING MAIL, PRICE 52.00 PER YEAR, and either of the above Chmmos with aay of the periodicals enumerated below at greatly reduced rates. These periodicals will be sent direct from the offices of publication. Here is the list:

Mall and Chremo„....„..... 6 0^ &7&

Boyf and Girti* Weekly, price 52.50, the Mai! tail and Chromo.

1 .3 MONTHLIES. Arthur't Home Magasine, price 52.50, The Mail and Chromo $4 00 l^eteraon'* Magaxine, price S2/W, The

Mali and Chromo 8 60 American Agriculturist, price 51.50, The Mall and Chromo «....E1. 8 00 Demorat't Monthly, price 18,00, 1 year,

The Mall and Chrwroo„ 4 25 Uodeift Lady'* Book, price 53.00, The Mall and Chromo «... 4 60 Utile Corporal, price *1.60, The Mail aad

Chromo 3 6S Scrifmer's AtonMlp, price 54.00,The Mall and Chromo...... 5 20 AUanXcMmthto, price 54.00, The Mail and Chromo

Chromo

a*

-v

*r--r.-*sr

TERMS:

One (with chrooio) IB Six inanthflt(without' chromsjL...^ II Three saontas, (without chrom») 50 ct'

Mall and- odtao Subscription* will, invarief tiXe

Stllf

:.:§s|ji

t-

S«CO6RS

SRV

which has attended the publication of THE (SATURDAY EVENING MAIL, tit*pabiiah'er has perfected- aorangements by which it will henceforth* fee one of the most popular papers in the West s4*h-'. '--.v _____ '-i tfQ&Oiit/ ^"THfeHOICE OF mu ?AA.-

mh

Presented to each yearly subscriber, firem and alter this date. HMSJbeautiful plotases just fTean the hands of the French ehreaie &-*•• artists, are faithfcd copies of oil patntin^hy the artist W. H. Bake* of Brooklyn. filgU, entitled ..v

WW. f.H

"Cherry Time"

hi'

For one dollar etra (S3.00 in all,) we will send The Mail one year and both chremos mounted ready lor framing. These pictures IS* are catalogued and sold in the art stores at FOUR DOLLARS EACH. 4 •*-?*.' •.

"FRAMES. ..•* ...A..

We have made arrangements with an fcXtensive manufactory of frames by which we ,, can furnish for One Dollar a frame usually sold for $1.50 and $1.75. These frames are of the best polished walnut and gilt. Hereltthe

M*

SEMI-WEEKLY. ,,

4

Semi-Weekly New York Tribune, price $100, The Mail and Chromo. W 60

It WEEKLY PAPERS, Indianapolis Journal, price 52.00, The Mail andChremo.... 83 60 IncUanmpoli* SenUneti price 92.00, The

Mail and Chromo.— 8 60 jV. Y. Tribune, price 52.00, The Mail aad Chromo 8 60' Toledo Blade, price 52X9, The Mail and

Chromo 8 6» If. Y. Bun, The Mail and Chremo S 00 Prairie farmer, price 52.00, The Mail and Chromo 8(56 Weetern Rural, price 82.50, The Mail and

Chromo 8 60 Chicago Advance, price 58.00, The Mall and Chromo 4 60 Chicago Interior, price 52.50, The Mall and Chromo 4 00 Chicago Inter-Ocean, price 51.50, The

Mail and Chromo 8 26 Appbtion't Journal, price 54.00, The Mail and Chrome 6 2& Rural New Yorker, price 83.09, The Mall and Chromo 4 26 Hearth and Home, price 53^0, The Mall and Chromo 4 60 Methodist, price 91M, The Mall and

Chromo 8 60 Harpcr't Weekly, price 94.00, The Mail and Chromo. S 60' Harper'« Bazar, price 54.00, The Mall and Chromo 6 60 Frank Leslie* Illustrated Newtpaper, price 54.00, The Mali and Chromo 6 OA Imliea Chimney Corner, price 54.00, The

6

Old and New, price 54U», The Mail and Chromo. 5 00 Overland Monthly, price 5t00, The Mail and Ciiromo...~»...».~~~--.' Harper'* Magazine, price H.00,The Mall and Chromo Gardener's Monthly, price t2M,The Mail and Chromo* Young IWkt Mural, The Mall and mo-.....-The Nurtery, prieeflJO, The Mail and

5 00

660

8

2 75

800

81. Nicholas, price 13.00, The Mail and

Chromo....„ 4 40 All the premium* offered by the above pub 11 cations amlnelmted in this dabbing arrangement.

CLUBBING WITH COUNTY PAPERS. We have made arrangements to Airnlsh THB MAIL, with Chromo, and any one of the Newspapers in the neighborhood of Tcrre Haute all lor fiLOO.

$

JUST LOOK AT IT!

The Mail, priee 00 Your County paper, priee W The Chremo,

4

Total WW

AU these—(58.00—for 58.00.

Address F. S. WMTFALL, Publisher Saturday Evening Sffall, TBRREHAUTE, IN»