Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 7, Number 13, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 23 September 1876 — Page 1

THE MAIL

A PAPER FOR TITK PEOPLE.

SECOND EDITION.

CHOICE AND CHA NCK I'AL'L. U. IIAVSK.

Throe maidens at a floral fair, one day, Cho«« uach a tlower from out the name lxuquet._ One chow a violet "May my life." said she,

Like this sweet flower's, b« passed in pri,vacy!"

Another—a glad Hebe--deftly chose From the rare cluster an Imperfect rose:—

"May life for me," sh« said, "through all its hoars. Be bright like thine, thou empress of the flowers!"

A third the lily chose, "I mark in thee, I'USNIOU," she whispered, "WED to purity."

The maiden sliv who fain had dwelt apart, Lived inshion's queen—though with an aching heart. She, whose warm soul and yearning hope did crave A bliss, rich, rose like,—filled an early grave! While sho who loved the Illy, hapless maid

!-r-

I'orished forlorn,—dishonored and betrayed!

The Dead Secret.

nv WII.KIK C0LMX8.

CHAITKR I.

TI1K TWEXTY-THIRD OF Al'OL'ST, 1829. Will she last out' the night, I wonder

Ixok at the clock, Joseph." "Ten minutes past twelve! She has lasted the night out. She has lived, Robert, to see ton minutes of the new dav." 'these words were spoken In the kitchen of a large country house situated on the westcoaxt of Cornwall. The speakers were two of the men-servants coinposing the establishment oi Captuin Treverton, an olll»50r in the navy, and the eldest nialo representative of an old Cornish family. Both the servants communicated with each other restrainedly, in whispers*—sitting close together, and looking round expectantly—toward tho door whenever the talk (lagged between them.

It's an awful thing," said tho elder of the men, "for us two to bo alone hero, at this dead, dark time, counting out the minutes that our mistress has left to live!"

Itobert," aaid the other, loworing his voice to a whisper that was larely audible, "You have Iwwn in service here «inct you worn a boy—did you ever hear that our mistress was a play-actress when our master married her?" 1 low came you to know that?" inquired tho elder servant, sharply.

Hush!" cried the other, rising quickly from his chair. A bo 1 rang in tho passage outside.*

Is that for one of us?" asked Joseph. "Can't you tell, by the sound, which is which of those belts yot?" exclaimed Robert contemptuously. "That bell is for Sarah Ijeeson. Go out into the passago and look."

The younger servant took a candle and obeyed. When ho opened the kitchen "door, a long row of bells met his eyo on the wall opposite. Above each of them was painted in neat black letters tho distinguishing title of the servant whom it was specially entitled to sunnnou. Tho row of letters began with Housekeeper and Hutler, and ended with Kitohenmaid and Footman's Hoy.

Looking along tho balls, Joseph easily discovered that one of them was still in motion. Above it were the words, Lady's Maid. Observing this, ho passed quickly along the passage, and knocked at large, old fashioned oak door at tho end of it. No answer being givep, lie opened the door and looked into the room. It w*s dark and empty. "Sarah is not in tho housekeeper's ,room," said Joseph, returning to his fellow servant in the kitchen.

Sho is gone to hor own room, then," rojoinod tho other. "Go up and tell her that she Is wanted by her mistress."

The bell rang again as Joseph went out (}uick!—quick!" cried Robert. "Tell her she is wanted directly. Wanted," heoonllntMHt to himself in loWer tones, •'porliaps for lb* last time."

Joseph ascended three (lights of stairs —passed halfway down a long arched gallery—and knocked at another Aid "fashioned oak door. This ttmo the sigual was answered, A low, clear, sweet voice inside the room, inquired who was waiting without? In a few hasty words Joseph told his errand. Before be had done speaking, the door was quietly nnd quickly opened, and Sarah Lesson confronted him on the threshold, with Iter candle in her hand.

Not tall, not handsome, not in her lirvt youth—shy and irresolute in man-ner-V.mpte In dress to the utmost limit* of plainness, the lady's maid, In spite of all these disadvantages, was a woman whom it was impossible to look at "without a feeling of curiosity. If not of interest. Few men, si first sight of her, could have resisted the desire to find out who she was few would have been satisfied with receiving for answer: She is Mrs. Treverton's maid few would have s» strained from the attempt to extract Home secret informatiotf for themselves jfrom her face and manner and none, mot even the most patient and practiced of observers, could have succeeded in disoo vering more than that she must have passed through the ordeal of some groat Buffering, at some former period of her life. Much in her manner, and more in her face, said plainly and sadly 1 am the wreck of southing that you might once have Ukedlgb see: a wreck that can never be replied—that must drift on through life unnoticed, unguid«d, unpitied—-drift till the fatal shore is touched, and the waves of Time have Kwallowed up these broken relic* of me forever. This was the story that was told in Sarah Leeson** face—tola, and no wore.

No two men Interpreting that story for themselves, would probably have Agreed on the nature of the suffering which this woman had undergone, ft

was bard to say, at the outset, whether the past pain that had set Its ineffaceable mark on her, had been pain of the body or pain of the mind. But whatever the nature of tho aflliction she had undergone, the traces it had loft were deeply and strikingly visible In every part of her face. Her cheeks had lost their roundness and their natural color her lips, singularly lltxible in movement and delicate in form, had faded to an unhealthy palenoes her eyes, large and black and ovdrsbadowed by unusually thick lashes, had contracted a strangely anxious, startled look, which never lelt them, and which pitoously expressed the painful acuteness of hor sensibility, the inherent timidity of her disposition So far, tho marks which sorrow or sickncss had set on her, were the marks common to most victims of mental or physical suffering. The one extraordinary personal deterioration which she bail undergone, consisted in the unnatural change that had passed over the color of her hair. It was as thick and soft, it grew a9 gracefully, as the hair of a young girl but it was gray as the hair of an old woman. It soeined to contradict. in the most startling manner, every personal assertion of youth that still "existed in her face. With all its haggardness and paleness, no one could have looked at ft and supposed for a moment that it was tho face of an elder ly woman. Wan as they might be, there was not wrinklo in hor cheeks. Her eyes, viewed apart irom their sad prevailing expression of uneasiness and timidity, still preserved that bright, clear moisture which is never seen in the eyes of tho old. The skin about her temples was as delicately smooth as the skin of a child. These and other physical signs which never mislead, showed that sho was still, as to years, in the very prime of her lifo. Sickly and sor row stricken as she was, she looked, from tho eyes downward, a woman who had barely reached thirty years of ago. From the oyos upward, the effect of her abundant gray hair, seen in connection with her face, was not simply incongruous—it was absolutely t-tartling so startling us to make It no paradox to say that she would have looked most natnral, most like herself, if her hair had boon dyed. In her case', Art would have seemed to be the truth, because Nature looked like falsehood. What shock had stricken her hair, in the very maturity of its luxuriance, with the hu'e of an unnatural old ago Was it a seious. illness, or a dreadful grief, that had tumod her gray in tho prime of her womanhood? That question had often boen agitated among her fellow-servants who were all struck by the peculiarities of her personal appeal anco, and rendered a little suspicious of liVr, as well, by an inveterate habit that she had ot talking to horsolf. Inquiro as thoy might, however, their curiosity was always baffled. Nothing more could be*discovered than that Sarah Leeson was, in tho common phrase, toueh3' on the subject of hor gray bairand her habit of talking to herself, and that Sarah Leeson's mistress had long sine© forbidden every one. from her husband downward, to rnflie hor maid's tranquility by inquisitive qnestions.

Sho stood for an instant speechless, on that momentous morning of tho twentvthird of August, before the servant who summoned her to her mistress's deathbed the light of the candle llaring brightly over her large startled, black oyes, and tho luxuriant, unnatural,gray hair above them. She stood a moment silent—her hand trembling whilo she held the candlostick, so that tho extinguisher Iving loose in it rattled incessantly— then thanked the servant for calling her. The trouble and fear in her voice, as she spoke, seemed to add to its accustomed sweetness the agitation of her manner took nothing away from its habitual gentleness, its delicate, winning, feminine restraint. Joseph, who, like the other servants, secretly distrusted and disliked her lor differing from the ordinary pattern (within his experience) of professed ladies' maids, was, on this particular occasion, so sub dued by her manner and her tone as she thanked him that be offered to carry her candle for her to the door of her mistress's bed chamber. She shook her bead and thanked him again, then passed before him quickly on her way out of the gallery.

The room in which Mrs. Treverton lay dying was on the floor boncatb. Sarah hesYtatad twice before she knocked at tho door. It was opened by Captain Treverton. 1 he instant sho saw her mnster she started back from him. If she had dreaded a blow, she could hardly have drawn away more suddenly, or with an expression of greater alarm. There was nothing in Captain Treverton's fa«c to warrant tho suspicion of ill-treatment, or oven of harsh words. His countenance was kind, hearty, and open and the tears were still trickling down it, which |e had shed by his wile's bedside. ,"Oo in," he said, turning away his race. "She does not wish the uuree to Attend she only wishes for you. Call me. If the doctor—" His voice faltered, and be hurried away without attempting to flniah the sentence.

Sarah Leeson, instead of entering her mistress's mom, stood looking after her master attentively, as long as ne was In sight, with her pale cheeks turned it a deathly whiteness, with an eager, doubting, questioning terror in her eyes. When he had disappeared round the corner of the gallery, she listened for a moment oqtslde the door of the sick room-whispered affrightedly to herself,

Can she have told him?" then opened the door, with a visible effort to recover her self control and, aflef lingering snspicfoualy oi the threshold for a moment, went in.

Mrs. Treverton's bed chamber was a large, lofty room, situated in the wentern front of the bouse, and consequently overlooking the sea view. The nightlight burning oy the bedside displayed rather than dispelled the darkness, in the corners of toe room. The bed was of the old fashioned pattern, with heavy hangings and thick curtains drawn all round it. Of the other objects in the chamber, only thorn of the largest and moat solid kind were prominent enough to be tolerably visible in the dim light. The oabinets, the wardrobe, the rail length looking glass, the high hacked arm chair, these, with the great shapeless balk of the bed itself, towered up heavily and gloomily Into view. Other object* were all merged together in the general obscurity. Through the open

Vol. 7.—No. 13. TERRE HAUTE, IND., SATURDAY EVENING, SEPTEMBER 23, 1876. Price Five Cents*

window—opened to admit the fresh air of the new morning after the sultriness of the August night—there poured monotonously into the room, the dull, still, distant roaring of the surf on the sandy coast. All outer noises were hnshed at that first dark hour of tbe new day. Inside the room, the one audible sound was the slow, toilsome breathing of tho dying woman, raising itself in its mortal frailness, awfully and distinctly, even through the far thunder broatblng bosom of the everlasting sea.

Mistress," said Sarah Leeson. standing close to tho curtains, but not undrawing them. "My master has left the room, and has sont mo here in his place." "Light!—glvo me rtiore light." The feebleness of mortal sickness w$a in hor voico but the accent of tho speaker sounded resolute oven yot—doubly resolute by contrast with the hesitation of the tones in which Sarah had spoken. The strong nature of tho mistress and tho weak nature of tho maid came out, even in that short interchange of words, spoken through the curtain of a death bed.

Sarah lit two candlcs with a wavorlng hand—placed them hesitatingly on a table by the bedside—waited for a moment, looking all round her with a kind of suspicious timidity—then undrew the curtains.

The diseaso of which Mrs. Troverton was dying was one of the most terrible of all the maladies that afflict humanity —one to which*woipen are especially Nubject—aud one which undermines life, without, in most cases, showing any remarkable traces of its corroding progress inihe face. No uninstruetcd person, looking at Mrs. Treverton when hor attendant undrew the bed curtain, could possibly have imagined that she was past ail rescue, tlmt mortal skill could offer to her. The slight marks of illness in her face, the inevitable changes in the grace and roundness of its outline, were rendered hardly noticeable by the marvelous preservation of her complexion in all the light, tho delicacy, the brilliancy of its first girlisn beauty. There lay her l'aco on the pillow—tenderly framed in by tho rich lace of her cap, sottly crowned by her shining brown hair—to all outward appearance, the face of a beautiful woman recovering from a slight illness, or reposing after unusual fatigue. Evon Sarah Leeson, who had watched hor all through her malady, could hardly believe, as she looked at her mistress now, that the Gates of Life had closed behind her, and that the beckoning hand of Death was signing to her already from the Gates ol the Grave.

Some dogs'-eared books in paper covers lay on tho counterpance of the bed. As soon as the curtain was drawn aside, Mrs. Treverton ordered her attendant by a gesture to remove them. They were Plays, underscored in certain places by ink 1 nesj and marked with marginal annotations referring to entrances, exits, and places on tne stage. The servants, talking down stairs of their mistress's occupation before her marriage, had not been misled by false reports. Their master, after he had passed the prime of life, had, in very truth, taken his wifo from the obscure stage of a country theatre, when little more than two years had elapsed since her first appearance in pnblic. The dog's-eared old plays had been once her treasured dramatic library she had always retained a fondness for thom from old associations and during tbo latter part of her iilness, they had remained on. her bed for days and days together.

Having put awaj' tho-plavs, Sarah went back to her mistress: and with more of dread and bewilderment in her faoe than grief, opened her lips to speak. Mrs. Treverton held up her hand, as a sign that she had another order to give.

Bolt the door," she said, in the same enfeebled voice, but with the same accent of resolution which had so strikingly marked her first request to have more light in tho room. "Bolt the door. Lettio one in, till I give you leave."

No one repeated "Sarah, faintly. Not tbe doctor? Not even my master?" A"4

r'

Not the doctor. Not evon your master," said Mrs. Treverton, and pointed to tbe door. Tho hand was weak but oven In that momontary action of it, there was no mistaking tho gesture of command.

Sarah bolted tho door, returned irresolutely to the bedsido, fixed her large, eager, startled oyes inquiringly on her mistress's face, and, suddenly beuding ovor her, said, in a whisper:

Havo you told my master?" "No," was tho answer. "I sent for him, to tell him—I tried hard to speak the words—it shook me to my very soul Sarah, only to think how 1 should best break it to him—I am so fond of him! I lovo him so dearly 1 But I should have spoken in spite of that, if be bad not talked of the child, Sarah 1 he did nothing but talk of tbe child—and that silenced me."

Sarah, with a forgetfulnpas of her station which might have appeared extraordinary even in tbe eyes of the most lenient of mistresses, flung herself back in a chair when the drat word of Mrs. Treverton'a reply was uttered, clasped her trembling hands over her nee, and groaned to nerself. "Ob, what will happen! what will happen now!"

Mrs. Treverton's eyes had softened and moistened when she spoke of her huabsnd. She Isy silent for a few minutes the working of some strong emotion In her being Expressed by her qniok, hard, labored breathing, and by the painful contraction of her eyebrows. Ere long, she turned her head uneasily toward tne chair in which her attendant was sitting, and spoke again—this time, in a voice which bad sunk to whisper.

Look lor my medicine," said ahe. "I want it.M Sarah started up, and with the quick Instinct of obedience brushed awsy tbe tears that were rolling test over her cheeks.

Tbe doctor," she said. "Let me call the dootor." "No! Tbe medicine—look fbr the medicine."

Which bottle? Tbe opiate, or—" No. Not tbe opiste. The other." Barah took a bottle from the table, and looking attentively at the written direction on tbe label, said that it was not yet time to take that medicine again.

Give me tbe bottle." Oh, pray don't ask me. Pray wait.

The doctor said it was as bad as dram drinking, if you took too mucb." Mrs. Treverton's glear, deop gray eyos began to flash tbe rosy flush deepened on her oheeks the commanding band was raised again by an effort, from tbo oounterpane on which it lay.

Take tbe oork out of the bottle," she said, "and give it to me. I want strength. No matter whether I die in an hour's time, or a week's. Give me the bottle."

Not the bottle," said Sarah, giving it up, novortholess, under the influence of her mlstross's look. "There are two doses loft, Wait, pray wait till I got a glass."

She turnod again toward tbo table. At tho samo instant Mrs. Treverton raised the bottle to her lips, drained it of its contents, and flung it from her on the bed. "She hm killed herself!" cried Sarah, running in terror to the door. "Stop!" said tho voico from the bod, more resolute than over, already.

Stop! Come back and prop me up higher on the pillows." .Sarah put her band on tho bolt. Como back, reiterated Mrs. Troverton While th^re is life in. me, I will be obeyed. Come back." The color began to deepen perceptibly all ovor her faco, and the light to grow brighter in her widely-opened ej'os.

Sarah camo back in 1, witli shaking hands, added ono moro to the many pillows which supported tho dying woman's head and shoulders. Whilo this was being done, the bedclothes became rt little discomposed Mrs. Treverton shudderingly drew thom up to their former position, close around her neck.

Did you unbolt the door sho asked. "No." I forbid you to go near ita^ain. Got my writing case, aud the pen and ink, from tho cabinet near the window."

Sarah went to tho cabinet and opened it then stopped, us if some sudden suspicion had crossed her mind, and asked what tho writing materials wore wanted for.

Bring them, and you will see." .V The writing-case with a sheet of note paper on it, was placed upon Mrs. Trevertons knees the pen wis Hipped into tho ink, and given to her sho paused, closed her eyes for a miuute, and sighed heavily then began to write, saying to her waiting-maid, as tho peu touched the pupei1, Look."

Sarah peered anxiously ovor her shoulder, and saw tho pen slowly and feebly form these thxpe words: To my Husband. '•Oh, no! no! For God's sake don't write it!" she cried, catching at her mistress's hand—but suddenly letting it go again the moment Mrs. Troverton looked at her.

The pen went on and more slowly, innre leebly, formed words enough to till a line—then stopped. The letters of tbo last syllable were all blotted together. "Don't!" reiterated Sarah, dropping on her knees at the bedside. Don't write it to him if you can't tell it to him. Let me go on bearing what I have borne so long already. Let the sqpret die with you and die with me, and bo never known to this world—never, never, never!!"

The secret must be told," answered Mrs. Treverton. "My husband ought to know it, and must know it. I tried to tell him, and my courage failed me. I can not trust you to tell him, after I am gone. It must be written. Take you the pen my sight is failing, my touch is dull. Take the pen and write what I tell^ou."

Sarah, instead of obeying, hid bcr face in the bed cover and wept bitterly. You have been with me ever sinco marriage," Mrs. Treverton went on.

You have been my friend more than my servant. Do you refuse my last request? You do! Fool! look up and listen to me. On your peril refuse to take the pen. Write, or I shall not rest in my grave. Write, or as true as there is a heaven above us, I will come to you from the other world!"

Sarah started to hor feet with a faint' scream. You make my flesh creep!" sho whisporod, fixing her eyes on her mistress's face with a staro of superstitious horror. At the same instant, the overdose of stimulating medicine began to affect Mrs. Treverton's brain. She rolled her head restlessly from side to side of the pillow—repeated vacantly a fow lines from ono of the old play books which had boen removed from hor bed— and suddenly held out the pen to the servant, with a theatrical wave of the hand, and a glance npward at an iinagv Inary gallery of spectators. "Write!" she cried with a hollow, awful mimicry of her old stage voice.

Write!" and tho weak hand was waved again with a forlorn, feeble imitation of the old stage gesture.

Closing ber fingers mechanically on the pen tnat was thrust between them, Sarah with eyes still expressing the superstitious terror which hor rnlstross'B words had aroused, waited for the next command, Some minutes elapsed before Mrs. Treverton spoke again. She still retained her senses sufflcently to be vsgtieiy conscious of the effect which the medicine was producing on her, and to be desiousof combating its further progress before it suoceeded In utterly confusing her ideas. She asked first for the smelling bottle, next for some Ean do Cologne. This last, poured on to her handkerchief, and applied to her forehead, teemed to provo anccesefol In partially clearing ber faculties again. Her eyes recovered their steady look of and, when she

rwordintelligence

addreassd ber maid, reiterating Write,M she wss able to enforce the direction by beginlng immediately to dictate in quiet, deliberate, determined tones. Sarah's team fell feat her Hps murmered fragments of sentences in which entrestriee, expressions of fear were all strangely mingled together but abe wrote on submissively, in wavering lines, nntil she bsd nearly filled two sides of tbe note paper. Then Mrs. Treverton psused,'looked the writing over, and, taking tbe pen. signed her name at tbe end of it. With this effort, her powers of resistance to tbe exciting effect of the medicine, seemed to Ml her again. Tbe deep flush began to tinge her cheeks ones more, and she spoke hurriedly and unsteadily when she handed the pen back to hsr maid. "Sign!"she cried, besting her hand feebly on the bed-clothing. "Sign Sarah Lesson, witness. No!—write socom-

Eare

lice. Take your share of it I won't It shifted on me. Sign, I Insist on it Sign as I tell you."

Sarah obeyed and Mrs. Treverton, taking the paper from her, pointed to it solemnly, with a return of the same sad stage gesture which had escaped her a liitlo while back.

You will give this to your master," she said, "when I am dead and you will answer any question he puts to you as truly as if j-ou were before tbe judg-ment-seat."

Clasping her hands fast together Sarah regarded her mistress, for tho first time, with steady tones.

If I only knew that I was fit to die," she said, "0h, how gladly I would cbango places with you!"

Promise me that vou will give the paper to,your master," repeated Mrs. Troverton. "Promise—no! I won't trust your promise I'll have your oath. Get tbo Bible—tho Bible the clergyman used when be was here this morning. Get It, or I shall not rout in my grave. Get it, or I will come lo you from tbe other world!"

The mistress laughed, as sho reiterated that threat. Tho maid shuddered as she obeyed tho command which it was desiumed to impress on her. "Yes, yos—the Bible the clergyman used," continued Mrs. Treverton, vacantly, after tho book had been produced. "The clergyman—a good, weak man—I frightened him,Sarah, He said, 'Are you at peace with all tbe world?' and I said, 'All but one.'„ You know who." "Tho Captain's brother. Oh, don't dio at enmity with any body. Don't dio at enmity even with him," pleaded Sarah. "Tho clergyman told mo that," said Mrs. Treverton, hor eyes beginning now to wander childishly round the room, ber tones growing suddenly lower and more confused. You must forgive him,' tho clergyman said. And I said, 'No. I forgive ail the world, but not my husband's brother.' The clergyman got up from tho bedside, frightened, Sarab. He talked about praying for me, and coming back. Will he come back

Yes, yes," answored Sarab. "He is a good man—ho will come back—and oh! tell him that you forgive the Captain's brother! Those vile words ho spoke of you, when you were married, will come home to him some day. Forgive hi in—forgive him before you die

Saying these words, she attempted to remove tho Bible softy out of her mistress'ssight. The action attracted Mrs. Trcverto.vs attention, and roused her sinking faculties into observation ot present things.

Stop!" sho cried, with agleam of tho •old resolution flashing once more over tho dying dimness of her eyes. She caught at Sarah's hand with a great effort, placed it on tho Bible, and held it there. Her other band wandered a little over tho bed-clothes, until it encountered the written paper addressed to her husband. Her fingers closed on it and a sigh of relief escaped her lips. "Ah she~said, "I know what I wanted tho Bible for now. I'm dying with all my senses about me, Sarah you can't deceive mo even vet." She stopped again, smiled a little, whispered to herself rapidly, "Wait, wait, wait!" then added aloud, with the old stage voico ai-:d old stage gesture again: "No! I won't trust your promise. I'll have your oath. Kneel down. These are my last words in this word—disobey them if you dare!"

Sarah dropped on her knees by the bod. The breeze outside, strengthed just then with the slow advance of tho morning, parted the window curtain a little, and waftod a breath of its sweet fragrance joyously into tbe sick room. The heavy-beating hum of the distant surf came in at the same time, and poured out its unresting music in louder tones. Then the window-curtains fell too again heavily, the wavering flame of tho candle grow stoady once moic, and tho awful sileuce in the room sank deeper than over.

Swear," said Mrs. Treverton. Her voice failed her when she had pronounced that one word. She struggled a little, recovered the powor of utterance and went on, "Swear that you will not destroy this paper after I am dead."

Even while sho pronounced those solemn words—even at that last strnggie for lifo and strength—the ineradicable theatrical instinct showed, with a fearful in appropriateness, how firmly it bad kept its place in her mind. Sarah folt tho cold hand that was still 'aid on hers lifted tor a moment—saw it waving gracefully toward her—felt it descend again, and clasp her own band with a trembling, impatient pressure. At that final appeal, she answsred faintly.

I swear it." Swear that you will not take thispa-

Eouse,afterwith

er away you, if you leave the I am dead." Again Sarah paused before she answered—again tbe trembling pressure made itself felt on her band, but more weakly this time—and again tbe words dropped afTrightedly from her lips, "1 swear it."

Swear," Mrs. Treverton began for the third time. Her voice failed her once more and now, she struggled vainly to regain tbe command over it. Sarah looked up, and saw signs of convulsion beginnlng,to disfigure the beautiful face —saw the fingers of tbe white, delicate hand getting crooked as they reached over toward tbe tableon which tbe medicine bottles were pi seed.

Yon drank it sll I" abe cried, starting to her feet, as shs oomprehendea tbe meaning of that Mature. "Mistress, dear mistress! you drank It all—there Is nothing but tbe opiate left. Let me go —let me go and call—"

A look from Mrs. Treverton stopped her before she could utter another word. The lips of the dying women were moving rapidly. Sarah put ber ear close to them. At first shs beard nothing but panting, quick drawn breaths—then a few broken words mingled confusedly with them:

I haven't done—you must sweat*— close cloee, close ootne close—a third thing—your master—swear to give it—"

Tbe last words died away very softiy. Tbe lips that had been forming them so labor*usly parted on a sodden, and elosed again no more. Sarah sprang to tbe door and opened it, and called into tbe passage for help—then ran back the bedside, caught up the sheet of note, paper on which she had written from her mistress's dictation, and hid it in her bosom. The last look of Mrs. Treverton's eyes fastened sternly snd reproachfully on her as ahe did thla. and kept their expression, unchanged, through the wotpentary distortion of the rest of

the features, for one breathless moment. That moment passed, and, with the next tbe shadow that goes before the presence of death stole up, and shnt ont the light of life, in one qniet instsnt, from all tbe face.

Tbe doctor followed by tbe nurse and ono of tho servants, entered the room and, hurrying to tbe bedside, saw at a glanoe that tbe time for his attendance had passed away forever. He spoke first to the servant who had followed him.

Go to your master," he said, "and beg him to wait in his own room until I I can come and speak to him."

Sarah still stood—without moving, or I speaking, or noticing any one—by the bedside. "The nurse approaching to draw the curtains together, started at the sight of her faoe, and turned to the doctor.

I think this person had better leave the room, sir?"said the nurse, with some appearanoe of contempt in her tones and looks. "She seems unreasonably shocked and terrified by what has happened."

Quite right," said the doctor. "It is best thatshe shonld withdraw. Let me recommend you to leave us for a little while," he added, touching Sarah on tbe arm.

She shrank back suspiciously, raised one of her hands to tho place where the letter lay hidden in her bosom, and pressed it there firmly, while she held out the other hand tor a candle.

You had better rest for a little in your own room," said tbe doctor, giving ner a candle. "Stop, though," he continued, after a monent's reflection. "I am going to break the sad news to your master, and I may find that he is anxions to hear any last words that Mrs. Treverton may have spoken in your presence. Perhaps you liad better come with me, and wait wbile I go into Captain Treverton's room."

No! no! oh nst now—not now, for Heaven'ssako!" Speaking those words in low, quick, pleading tones, and drawing back affrightedly during their utterance to the door,' Sarah disappeared, without waiting a moment to be spoken to again.

A strango woman!" said the doctor, addressing the nurse. '"Follow hor, ana see where she goes to, in case she is wtmted, and we are obliged to send for her. I will wait hero until you oome back."

When the nurse returned she had nothing to report, but that sho bud followed Sarah Leeson to her own bedroom—had seen her enter it—had listened outside, and had heard her lock tbo door.

A strange woman repeated tho doc tor. "One of the silent, secret sort." "One of the wrong sort," said the mlrse. "She is always talking to herself, and that is a bad sign in mv opinion. I don't liko the looks of her. I distrusted her, sir. the very first day I entered the house." -*-•—v.

7_

t"

CHAPTER II.

THE mDINO OF THE SKCItKT. The instant Sarab Leeson bad turned tbe key of her bed-rooni door, she took the sheet of note-paper from its pla of concealment in her bosom—shuddering when she drew it out, as if the mere contact of it hurt her—placed it open on her little dressing-table, and fixed ber eyes eagerly on the lines which tbo noto contained. At first they swam and mingled together before her. Sho pressed her hands over her eyos for a few minutea, and then looked at the writing again..

The characters were clear now—.vividly clear, and as she fancied, unnaturally large and near to view. There was the address: "To my Husband there the first blotfod line beneath, in ber dead mistress's handwriting the lines that followed, traced by her own pen, with the signates at the end—Mrs. Treverton's first—and then her own. Tho whole amounted to but very few sentences, written on one perishable fragment of paper, which the flame of a candle wonld have consumed in a moment. Yet there she sat reading, reading, reading, over and over again[ never touching the note except when it was absolutely necessary to turn over tbo first pag never moving, never speaking, never raising her eyes from the paper. As a condemned prisoner might read his death-warrant, so did Sarah Leeson now read tbe few lines which she and her mistress bad written together not half an hour since.

Tho socrot of the paralyzing effect of .that writing on her mind lay not only in itself, but it .the circumstances which had attended tbe act of its production. Tbe oath which had been proposed by Mrs. Treverton under no more serious influence than tbo laat caprice of disordered faculties, stimulated by oonfused remembrances of stage worda and stage situations, bad been aooepted by Sarah Leeson as tbe most sactei and inviolable engagement to which she could bind herself. The tbrest of enforcing obedience to ber last commands from beyond tbe grave, which tbe mistress had uttered in mocking experiment on the superstitions fesrs of tbe credulous maid, now hnng darkly over the weak mind of Sarah ass judgment wbicb might descend on her, visibly and inexorably at any moment of ber future life. When sho roused herself at last, and pushed away the paper and rose to ber loet, she stood quite still for sil instant before abe ventured to look behind ber. When she did look, it was with an effort and a start, with a searching distrust of tbe empty dimness in tbe remoter comers of the room. ller old habit of talking to herself began to resnme its influence, as she now walked rapidly backward and forward, sometimes along the room and sometimes across it. She repeated incessantly such broken phrases ss these: "How can I give him the letter? Such good mistress so kind to us all. Why did she die, and leave it ail to me 1 can't bear it all alone it's too much for me." While reiterating these sentences, she vacantly occupied herself in putting things about tbe room In order, which were set iu perfect order si ready. All her looks, sll ber actions betrayed the vain struggle of a weak mind to sustain itself under the weight of a heavy responsibility. She arranged and rearranged tne cbeap china ornaments on her chimney-piece a dojwn times over, pot ber pifi-cushion first on the lookfnglass ana then on tbe table in front of t, changed tbe position of the little porcelain dish snd tray on her wash-hand-{Omtuiued on Second Fage,\