Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 7, Number 29, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 13 January 1877 — Page 2

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TH EIMAIL

PAPICR I-OR rut: PEOPLE.

TErtKtf HAUTE, JAX. 13, 1877.

MY FALUK HA III.

XKA

Whos*was I he hair I call my own 0:i whose fair waves the sun lias thrown __ {is buani ot" goldeu lip

"Was

"Was shf a mulil-'ii pile and cold Taru'd from the c:ay and charnel mold in the depths of a silent night

she a peasant, young and fair, To whom tills wo .1th or yold hi own liatr Proved clothing, warmth and food?

I know

sue wept a« a cruel bund

ja tiered her treasures by Mriuui, In uurelenting in «K1.strand \k*a»shea matron of stately grace, Whoso dark brown eyes and tinted tace

Preferred an auburn tone Was she a saint, with dove-like eyes, Who tound her path to Paradise

Through convent gates ot stone?

As 1 lie organ br-ath its plaintive air, And scissors «1-ainert in her aoideu hair Wa-* full atonement given? Did the pi'l-stly touch and thesister scowl Hush the yearnings of her soul,_

Or draw It nearer heaven?

In facing, solitude, and prayer, DiKM-she iru think her work lies there, Oris -h* rwked with doubt? WH! -di" «oiiii to

IIVJ

some still, cold night,

And wake so in vud atl'right, To—pull my hilrplnsont?

The Dead Secret.

BY TVILKIK COLLINS.

|Thi- Intensely int*re-*tIn?s-?rialwascom--tie..' tin 1'he Mail of

Nor

Sop

«mb !r '.M -V ol

7 V.i ?. Bins nu libera of the paper can be procure atth'i ofllce, altho new- stands,

.'hay wi:i bes-jut by mail on tneree±ipt fltfo cants for ev:i «»i»v desired

CHAP TEIt XXV. 'I'HK STORY OK THE PAST.

The afternoon wore away, and the eveninc vin and still there were no si^ti^ of Unci© Joseph's return. Towards s^von o'clock, Rosamond \v.is su'iiinoned by tho nurso, who reported that tue child was awako and fretful. After ithinir and quieting him, sXe took him

baek

JO.MU

Th" elock oil the nmntel-pieco chimed the I all-hour past seven. The carriage in the street were following one another more and more rapidl}*, tilled with peoin full dress, on their way to dinner, or on their w-iy to tiie opera. The hawkers were shouting proclamations of -ws in the neighboring square, with the ^eeond editions of the evening papers under tinirarms. People who hid been serving behind the counter all day wmv -t.indii-'g

jit

the shop floors to get a

bre tli of tre.,': air. Working men wer trooping homeward, t!-w singly now i-M^itiier in weary,. shambling group-, idlers, who had'oo Jieout after dioo r, wor lig uing ei'gars at corners of streets, and looking about them, uncertain wh eh way they should turn their steps next. It was justlhat transitional period of the evening at which the street-life of the dav is ai'mo^t over, ami the s'reet life of the tiifcht has not quits begun—just the tinjo, also, at win ih rtoaiv.nond, after vai-nfy trying to tind relief fiom the weariness of waiting by looking out-cf the window, was bee i'iiing tnorean«l more deeply absorbed in h-r own anxious thoughts, when her attention was abruptly recalled to events in the little world, ^bout her by th* opening of the room door. She looked up immediately from tho child lying asleep on hor lap, and saw that Uncle Joseph had returned at last.

The old man came in silently, with the form of declaration Which he bad taken '.'»V

with him by Mr. Frank

land's desire, open in his hand. As he approich 'd nearer to the \y.indow, Rosamond notimi that his face looked as it it had grown strangely older during the few hours of his absence, lie came close up to h«r, and stj.ll not saying a \v l, laid his trembling forefinger low down on the open pa^r. and held it before her so that she could look at the

Ecr

laee thus indicated without rising from chair. His alienee and the change in his fac» stride her with a 'Auddtfn dread which ma*le her hesitate before she spoke to liin. "Have you told her all?" she asked, after a moment's delay, putting th question in l"»w, vWispcring tones and not heeding the piper.

This answer* that I have," he said still pointing to the declaration. "See!

here is tho name, sinned in the place that was left for it—signed by her own hand."

Rosamond glanced at the paper. Th-re indeed was the signature, "S Jalt^ph 'and underneath it were add*d, in faintly traced Hues of parerithQ^ls, thffeexplanatory words:

Formerly, Sarah Loeson Why don't von speak T" exclaimed Rosamond, looking at him in growing alarm. Why don't you tell us how ahe bore it?"

Ah! don't ask me, don a«k me h? a iswered, shrinking back from her hand* a* ahe tried in her cngnrnets to lav It on his arm. "I forgot nothing. Isaid tho word* asyort taught me to say the«i I went the roundabout way to th© t*« wiih mv tongiw hut my face tooV tb« short cut, and got to the end first. I ray, of your goodness to nie, ask nothing abut it lie aatisfied. if you please. with knowing that she is better, and qnieter, and happier now. The ia oveV. and p«»t, aud the goo4 is all to eome. If I tell you how she lookml, If tfll you wb*t she said, if I tell you ill thnit happened when tirnt sh* knew the trsth.the flight will catch me round the heart again, and all the sobbing and crying th*t I have awaliowed down will ?.-^1 rise once wore and choke roe. I must keep my head clear, and my eyes dry— or. how shall I say to yoa all the things that I hare premised Sarah, as I love my own soul and hers, to tell, befor.- I lav myself down to rest to-night?" He stopped, took out a coarse littie cotton socket h*udk rchief, with a flaring

white pattern «n a dull blue ground, and dried a few tears that had riaen in hta eyes while he was speaking. "Mv tint )|fe hai had ao mooh happinesa in It/' he »*ld, aelf raproachftilly, looking at iil'U.. Roaamond, "that my courage, when it is wanted for the time of tronble, Is not ?i May to And. And yet, I am German I all my nation are philoeopbera—why is that I alone am as soft la my brains, and aa weak In ny heart, as the pretty little baby, there, tint Is lying asleep in yonr lap.

W- a* if

:i "t

Don't speak again don't tell ns anvthl"^ till you feel inort«wli|kwed,H Mid KcsMRoad. "We ate i^yed from our

worst sisiitois«iaiowtliSl wo know yon havo left I|r qifotor ftnd fetter. I will ask nomine qiicstlohs,—at, 'oast'

il'/

Ided, hfter a pause, "t will only ask

.»E-g|e stopped and her W®* ,W*V~

.'mM I A In AA»n I^JI

derejf inquiringly towards Leonard, lie had hitherto been listening with silent interest to all that had passed but he now interposed gently, and advised his wife to wait little before she ventured ou saying anything more.

It is such an easy question to nn swer," pleaded Rosamond. -'I only wanted to hear whether she has got my message—whether she knows that I am waiting and longing to see her, if she will but let me come?"

Yes, yes," said the old man, nodding to Rosamond with an air of relief. "That question is easy easier even than y»u think, for it brings me straight to the beginning of all that I have got to say. He had been hitherto walking restlessly about the room sitting down one mo merit, and getting up the next. Jle now placed a chair for himself, midway between Rosamond—who was sitting, with the child, near the window—And her husband wh«» occupied the sofa at the lower end of tho room. In this position, which enabled him to address himself alternately to Mr. and Mrs. Frank land without difficulty he soon recovered composure enough to open his heart unreservedly to the interest ot his subject.

When tho worst was over and past, hesfiid. addressing

and

willi her to the Rttting-

having first, with hor usual con-

Hiderauo.i for tho comfort of any servant whom she employed, sent the nurse down stairs, with a leisure hour at own li-wsil, after the duties of the day. "I don't like to be away from you. Ijiuny, at this anxious time," she said, when sho rejsin»)d her husband "sol have brought the child in here lie is not likelv to be troublesome again and the having him to take care of is really a*'-e],»f to mo ia our present state of siisiK'use."

all the happiness that binds tlieui the one to the other And once more I answer to that, 'No! no misery, no wrench. See now shall go my ways at ©nee to the good wife, and fetch her here to answer for the pood husbaud with her own tongue.' While I sp^ak those words there Hies out over all her face a look—no, not a look—a light, like a sunflash. While I can count one, it lasts before I count two, it is gone the face is all dark again it is turned away from me on tho pillow, and see the hand that is outside the bed begin to crumple up the sheet. 'I shall go my ways, thtm, and fetch the good wife,' I say again. And she says, 'No! not yet. I must not see her, I dare not see her till she knows—' and there she stops, and the hand crumples up the sheet again, and softly, softly, I say to her, •Knows what?' and sho answers me, 'What I, her mother, caunot tell her to her face, for shame.' And I say, 'So, so, my child! tell it not, then—tell it not at alt.' She shakes her head at me, and wrings her two hands together, like this, on the bed cover. 'I must tell it, she savs. 'I must rid my heart of all that is been gnawing, gnawing, gnawing at it, or how shall I feel the blessing that the seeing her will bring tb me, if my consrionce is only clear?' Then she stops a little, and lifts up her two hands, so, and cries out loud

Oh, will God's mercy show mono way or telling it that will spare mo before my child! And I say, 'Hush then! there is a way. Tell it to Uncle Joseph, who is the same as father to yon Tell It to -Uncle Joseph, whose lit-t le son died in your arms, whose tears your hand wiped away, in tho grief time long aao Toll it, my child, to me and I shall take the risk, and tiie shatno (if there i« shame) of telling it again. I, with noth ing tospeak for me ^ut my white hair I, with 110 hing to help me lint my heart that means no harm—I shall go to that good and true woman, with the burden of her mother's, grief tp lay before her and, in my soul of souls I believe it, sho will not turn away

He paused, and looked at Rosamond Her head was bent down over her child her tears were dropping slowly, one by one, oii the bosom of his little white dress. Waiting a moment to collect herself before she spoke, she held out her hand to the old man, and firmly and gratebrlly met the look he fixed on her. •'O, go on, go on she said. "L^t me prove to you that your generous confidence in "mo is not misplaced J"

I knew it was not, from tho first, as surely as I know it now!" said Uncle Joseph. And Sarah, when 1 had spoken to her, she know it, too. She was silent for a little she cried for a lit tie she leant over from tho pillow and kissed me hore, on tny cheek, as I sat by the bedside and then she looked back, back, back, in her mind, to the Long Ag and very quietly, very slowly, with her eyes looking into ray eyes and her hand resting so in mine, she spoke the words to me that I must now speak again to you, who sit here to day as her judge, before you go to her to morrow, as her cnild."

Not as her judge!" said llosatuotid. "I cannot, I must not hear yo« say tha^ speak her words, not mine," rejoined the old man gravely. "Wait, before vou bid hne change them for others—wait, till you know the etid."

He drew his chair a little nearer to Rosamond, paused for a minute or two, to arrange his recollections, anil to sepa rate them one from the other then resumed

As Harah began with tne," ho siid, "so I, for my part, must begin also,— which means to say, that I go down now through tho years that are past, to the time when my nlcca went out. to her first service. You know that tho sea captain, the brave and good man Trevorton, took for his wlte an artist on tho stage—what they call, play actress, here? A grand big woman. HHd a handsome with a life, andasiUSt, and a will in her, that is nototton Ween a woman of the sort who ean say, We will do this tiling, or that thing—and do it in the spite and face of all the scru pies, all the obstacles, all tho oppositions In the world. To this lady there cumes for maid to wait upon her, Sarah, mv nieo»»,—a young girl, then, pretty, and kind, and gentle, and very, very sbv. Out of many others who want the place, and who are bolder and bigger and quicker girls, Mistress Treverton, nevertheless, picks Sarah. This is strange, but it is stranger yet, tha Sarah, I on her part, when she comes out of hor first fears, and douba, and pains of shvnesa about herself, gets to be foud with all her heaitofthat grand aud handsome inUtress, who has a life, and a spirit, and will of the sort that is not often seen. This ia strange to say, hut it Is also, as I know from Sarah's own lips, every word of it true." "True beyond a doubt,'• said Leonard "Most of the strong attachments in the world are formed between people who are unlike each other." "80 the life they led In that ancient house or Porthgenna began happily for them all," continued the old man. ''Tho love that the mistress bad for her husband was ao full In her heart, that It overflowed lit kindness to everybody who was about her, and to Sara •, her maid before all the rest. She would have nobody but Sarah to read

to her, to work for her. to dress her in the uiornitlg and t|je evening, and to uttdVess herjRt night... She was as fainU-1 hi* ns a sister might have been with Sarah, when they two were alone, in tfie long days of rain. It was the game of her idle time-the laugh that she liked most—to

astonish

thHe

Rosamond—"when

she could listen and when 1-could speak, the first words of comfort that I said to her were the words of your message. Straight she looked at me, with doubting, fearing eyes. 'Was her husband there to hour her?' she says. 'Did lie look angry? did he look sorry? did he change, ever so little, when you pot that message from her?' And I said, 'I^o: 110 change, no anger, no sorrow, nothing like it,' And sho said again, 'Has it made between them no misery? has it nothing wrenched away of all the love

paS!' to

apiiant°

As the new year gets on," he

011, red sometime 1, ami sometimes pale go away into her room, where Sarali

kiss and

rags

rERRJD II AH'I'E HATURDAV T1'^'EN1-NG MAIL—

the poor country,

maid, who had never so much as seen what a theatre's inside was like, by dressing in fine clothes, and painting her face, and speaking Wil loiiig all that she had done on the theatre ief ne, in the davs that were before her marriage. The more she startled aud puz zled Sarah with these jokes and pranks of masquerade, tho better she vi as always pleased. For year, this easy, happv life, went on in tha ancient house—happy for all the servants—hap pier still for thfl master and mistress.

fhr tho want th,n,

tho whole complete—one little blessin that was always hoped for, and th: never came—tho same, if you please, the blessing in the long, whito-frock with tho plump delicate face and

for the rest of mv

life, to have a ehil 1 shu says. 'Iain losing my husband's low ho wou'd never havw gore' av* fr.-.ni m-'\ if I ha nrought him a child Ti:t 11 she looks in the glass, and says b^tsreen ser teeth, 'yes! yes! I am a fine woman, with a fine figure, and I would

change

O.WL

places

with the mrliest, erookedest wretch iual! creation,if I could only have achild!' And then she tells Sarah that tho captain'brother spoke the vilest of till vile wordof her, when she was married, because she was an artist on the stage aud she says, 'If I have no child, who but liethe rascal monster that I wish could kill»—vvlio but he will come to possess all that the captain has got?' 'And then she cries again, and savs, 'I am losing his love—ah, I know it!—I know it!—1 am losing his love Nothing lhat Sar ah can s*y will alter her thoughts about that. And the mo-iths go on, and the sea captain comes back, and still there is always the same secret, grief growing, and growing in the mistress's heartgrowing, and growing, till ^t snow the third year since the

marripge,

and thore

is no hope yet of a child and, once more theseft captain gets tm-d on th^land, and goes off again for his cruise- -long cruises, this time away, away, away, at the ottier end of the world."

Hern Uncle Jr.seph paused once mnri apparently hesitating a little about how he should goon with tho narrative. His mind seemed to be soon relievt-d of its doubts, but his faco saddened, and his tones sank lower, when he addressed Rosamond asraln. "I must, If jou please, go away from the mistress now," he said, "and got

the mistress now," ne said, -ana gov 7 „,iM,

tack t». Sarah, my ntea, and n,,o

word also of a mining man. with the Cornish name of Polwheal. This wjis a young man that worked well and got good wages, and kept a good character. He lived with his mother in the little village that is near the ancient house and, Seeing Sarah from time to time, took much fancy to her, and she to him So tho end came that tho inarriago-

deredMnd looked at her liusbaud. ,4'01V Linny l"ib« murmured, "the ftrst^nowi of y«iir liRndnHHs-was a wreArial me, —h££ -v |i was it tp Is!''

PitylMfr.pHaid-sthe.old

Sho looks and thinks, looks an/1 thinks, till thcro steals into h« mind a doubt which makes her tremble at herself, which drives her straight forward yito Surah's room, which sots her eyes search-

inmost heart. 'There is something on your mind besides your grief for the dead and gone,' fche says, and catches Sara!« by both the arms before

th^alluiion by front to ij'ont, with euvionHev-

.nd 8Killing at the dill.) in .Ti I.V.t nodding and smiling Rosamond's lap then resumed.

SHK

"Sarah sees in the mistress a change The good sea captain is a man who love children, and is fond of getting to the house all tho little boys and /zirls of his friends round about. He plays with them, he kisses them, lie makes them presents—he is the best friend the little boys and girls have evnr had. The mistress, who should be their best (riend

fsa wo?k tor her, and walks about, and you world bSc^. sSah® finds fault and one day lets the evi temper tiy OHt of her at he- tongue, and sa^s, "Why have I got no child for my husband to bo fond ot? Why must hf

play always with the children

of other women? They take his love ayvay

for

something that is not mino. I

hate those children and their mothers, too It is ker passion that speaks then, but it speaks what is near tho truth f.»r all that: She will not make friendf with any of those mothers the ladir-s she is familiar fond with, are tho ladies who have no children, or the ladies whose families are all up grown. You think that was wrong of the mistress?" lie put the question to Rosamond, who was toving thoughtfully with one of the baby's hands which was resting in hers. "I think Mrs. Treverton was very much to bo pitied," she answered, gently lifting the child's hand to l?er lips. "Then I, for my part, think so, too, said Uncle Joseph. "To be pitied?— yes! To be more pitie 1 some months "after, when there is still 110 child, and no hope of a child, and the god sea captain saj'S, one day, 'I rusi here, I get old with much idleness, I want to be on the sea again. shall ask tor a ship.' And lie asks for a ship, and they give it him. and he goes away on his cruises—wLh much kissing and .fondness at parting from his wife—but still he goes away. And when he is gone, the mistress romes in again where Sar.ih is at work :or her on a fine new gown, and sn i'.chis it away, and casts it down the floor, and throws alter it all the line jewels she has got on her table, and stamps and cries with the misery and the passion that is in her. 'I would give all thos1 finthings, and go iu

Then I shall speak again. Till that time let us he as we were before I put th* question vesterday, and before you told taetruth."

At this point he broke the thread of the 1 arrative again, explaining, as he did so, that his memory was growing contused aooKt. a question of time which ho wished to state correctly in introducing the series of events that were next to be described. "Ah, -well! well!'' he said, shaking his hpad. aiter vainly endeavoring to pursue the lost recollection. "I*or once, I must acknowledge that I forget. Whel her it was two months, or whether it was three, after the mistress said those last words to Sarah, -I know not—but at tho end of the one time, or of the other, she. one morning, orders her carriage iiufl goes away alone to Truro. In the

So the end came uiai mo marriage- 'tiand

promise was between them given and th. things mit are your onA taken as it happened, ahout the ti MO first atM,I *hwh holds a, when the sea captain was back alt3r his net of black, be^t kind nniiM.

lust whou he

WIIS

thinkins of'going away in a ship again. pn,"

triink, a mnty fc

nim. f-l'it

hfr-'-for sttffiffed then

lH*r wh ame

t.vn

nlak®

also the mistress finds out that Sarah and Ifavo the rest to me! frets and lo«ks not like herself, and that out, and leaves barah to work a the the miaer, Polwheal, he lurks here and thing £be does is to ^nd for the doctor lurks there, round about the house and to see her. He asks what is themaUer, she says t» herself. 'So! so! Am I stand- gets for ananHv^rt!^ ing too much in tho way of this mar- »V, ano not like herself also that shi. riage? For Sarah's sake, that shall not thinks the soft air of

be And she calls foi them both one her weak. The days pass and the doc evening, and talks to them kindly, and tor come, and goes, and, say wh ho sends away to put up the banns next may, those two answers morning tho young man P#flwheal. That «n two that he oan get A I this tuns, night, it is his turn to a* down into the Sarah is at work and when she has

A—

work after the

hours of the day. With his heart all light, down into that dark lie goes. When ho rises to the world again, it is the dead body of hiin that is drawn up —the dead body with all the yeung lifo, by the fall of a rock, crushed out in a moment. The news flies here the news flics there. With no bresk, with no warning, with no comfort near, it oomes on a sudden ts Sarah, my niece. When to ber sweetheart thst evening she b«d said good by, she was a young, pretty girl: when six little weeks after.she, from th* sick bed where the shock threw her, got up—all her youth was gone, all her hair was grsy, and In her eyes the fright look was fixed that has never

The simple words drew the picture of the miner's death, and of all that followed it, with a startling dlstinctm with a fesrful reality. Rosamond sbnd-

ud *ael piwl( ipF ..If to grff)

so lt:J'() rft'w «Uc01 i(j fo»sh Iftd jnsy^

,-PUy

after—that,

was U'orse!

YjUrttye, s'X, seven weeks pass after the 't^fh^f the mining man and Sarah, in the body sull'ers less, but in the mind liters more. Tho mistress, who i^ kind and good to her as any sister could be, finds out, little hy little, ..something in her face which fs not the pant look, not not the fright look, not the grief look— something which the eyes can see but which the tongue cannot put into words.

she

can

turn away, and looks her in the face, curious eyes that miner mail, l'olwheal.' she s-iys 'my mind 1 misgives me about the miner man, Polwhe:l. Sarah I have been more riend to you than mistress. As your friend ask you, now—tell me all thotruib?

Th question waits but 11 word of anywer! only Sarah struggles to get away, and tho mistress holds her tighter vet, liivl goes on and savs, '1 know that tin marriage promise passed la 'tween you and the Miner Polwheal I know that if

truth in him

know that he went out

from is place to put the banns up, for

secrets from all the world br sides, Sarah, but have none from me. Tell nie, this minute, tell me the truth! Of all the 1 :st creatures in this big, wide world, are you—?" Before sho can sav the words that are next to come, Sarah falls on her knees, and cries ont sudden 17 to be let go away to hide and die, and be heard of no more.That "\va3 all the answer sho gave. 16 was enough f.r the truth, then it is enough for the truth now."

He sighed bitterly, and ceased speaking for'a little while. No voice broke the reverent silence that followed his last words. The otte living sound that stirred in the stillness of the room, was the light breathing of the child as he lay asleep in his mother's arms. "That was all the answer," repeated tho old man, "and this mistress who heai'd it savs nothing for §qme, time after, but still looks straight forward into Sarah's fare, and gro^s paler and paler t!«.e longer sho looks—paler and paler, till on a sudden she starts, aud at ore flash the red li es buck into her face. 'No,' she says, whispering and looking at tho door, 'once ur friend, Sarah, always your friend. Stay in this house, keep your own counsel, do as I bid u, and leave the rest to me.' And with that she turns round quick on her heel, and falls to walking up and down the room—faster, fester, faster, till she is ou' of breath. Then she pulls the bell with an angry jerk, and calls out loud at the door, 'The horses. I want lorde then turns upon Strail, 'Mv gown for riding in Pluck up your heart, poor creature! On my life and honor I will save you. My gown, my gown, then I am mad for a gallop in the open air!' And she goes out. in a fever of the blood, and gallops, gallops, till the horse reeks again,and the groom tnii:! "ho rides alter her wonders if she ist in d. When she conies ba.k, lor all thut ride in the air, she is not tired. The whole evening after, she is now walking ab iut the room, ami now striking bind tunes all mixed up together on the piano. At the bedtime she caw not rest. Twicf. hree times in the night she frightens Saiah by coming in to see hows :e does, an.I bv saying aiways tho.ie samo words over again, 'Ke*»p your own counsel, do is I bid you, and leave tho rest to inc. Tn tho morning, she lies late, sleeps, gets up very pale and quiet, and says to Sa rah, 'No word more between us two of vbat happened yesterday—no word fill the time comes "when you fear the eyes of everv stranger who looks at you.

iari.o

11 at baskets. On the cover of the one there is a card, au written 011 it are the letters, 'S. L.' On tho cover of the other there is a card, and written 011 it are tho letters, 'R. T.' The baskets aro taken into the mistress's room, and Sarah is called, and the mistress pays to her. 'Open the basket with S. L. on it for those aro the letters of your name,

shawl then black silk of the oe« Kina,

Against the marriage promise nor lie stuUior theundtr garments, a word to oh finest sort.^ /Make-up thosej^hingw to nor the lady his wife hau a

wuru w» "V',,»

t, for the minei*, P*1 wheal, had good ht outfit If, says the tnistrws. Wage rind kVrit a good character. Onlv are so much l.ttler than I, taat ,, the mistress said that the loss of Sarah the things up, new,, less 1Lr^b'®' would be sad to her—very sad and 5'nm.n'y

g«wn5

t'1.en a,?

fl{,,t0l^"™'t{®1^Ito,dement

ornwall

makes

1 ,one, the mistress says, -Now foi the other batsket with R. T. on it for those ar» the letters of my name, and the things in it are mine.' Inside this, thsre is firat a box which holds a common bonnet of black straw then coarse dark shawl then a gown of good common blHck stuff then linen, and other things for the under garments, that are only of the sort called second bet.' 'Make up all that rubbish,' says the mi tress, 'to fit me. No Questions! You have always done as I told you do ss I tell you now, or you are a lo«t woman.'

Wben the rubbish is made up, she tries it on, and looks in the glass, and lausbs in a way that 1s wild and desperate to hear, 'Bo I make a tine, buxom, comely servant girl she says. 'Ha! but I have acted that part times enough in tuy days nn the theater seene.' And 1 she takes off the clothes again, and bi«'s Sarah pack tbem up st once in on?

jfbings she has er. 'The doctor •nit of this damp e, to where the air jfiil keen!' she

s:vys. n,ml Igjafehs again, thl the room rinfrs wHh \W At tw same time, Sarah begins to pack, and take8"*fcome knick knack things nlTth« table, and among them brooch which has on it the likeness, of thcrsea: cnprain's iacer rTh© mis--tresssees her, tnrns white in the cheeks, trembles all over, snatches the brooch away! arid locks it up in the cabinet in a creat hurry aait the look of it frightened her. 'I s*iall leave that itehind

Hie,'-she

says, and turns round on her heel, and goes quickly out of the room. Ton guess now, what the thing was that Mistress Treverton bad it in her mind tjQ do

He addressed the question to Rosamend first, and then repeated it to Leonard. Th« both answered in. the affirmative. nnd entrea. ed him to go on.

You guess?

said. "It is more

than Sarah, at 1 iiiic, roiild do. What with the misery in h*r own mind, and tho strnnice ways and strange words of her mistress, the wits that were in her were a'l confused. Nevertheless, what her mistress has said to her thatshebas always done and toiietber alono those two from the house of Porthmuina drive awav. Not a word savs the mistress till they havo got to the -urney's end for the' first day. and ar»* stopping at fir inn among stringers for the nigh'. Then at. last rth» pf aksonf 'Put you on, Sarah, the good linen, and tho good gown to morrow,' sho s»su s, 'but keep the oommoir bonnet and the common shawl, till we get into the carriage again. I f-hall put on the coarse linen and the coarse gown and keep the good bonnet and shawl. We shall pass so the people atthe ir.11, on our way to the carriage without very much risk of surprising them by our change of gowns. When w*3 are out on tho road again, we can change bonnets and shawls iu tha carriage—and then, it is all done. You are the married lady, Mrs Treverton, and 1 am vour maid who waits on .you, Sarah Leeson.' At that, the uliinmering on Sarah's mi ml breaks in at last she shakes with the fright it gives her, and all sho can say is, 'Oil, mistress! for tho-. love of heaveii what is it you mean to do?' 'I mean,' the mistress auswors, 'to save you.mv faithful servant, from disgrace and ruin to prevent every penny that the captain has got from going to that rascal monster, bis brother, who «landered me and, last and most, I mean to keep my husband from eoinjj away to sea again, by my making him love nie as he has never loved me yet. Must I siy more, you poor, afflicted, frightened creature—or is it enough so? And all that S-irab can answer, is to cry bitter tears and to say faintly. 'No.' 'I) you doubt,' says the mistress, and irasps her by the arm, and looks her close in the face with fierce eyes, 'Do you douh.t- which is best, to cast yourself into tho world forsaker, and disgraced, and ruined, or to save yourself from shame, nnd mako a friend of me for the rest of your life? You weak, wavering, baby woman, if you cannot, decide for yourself, I shal1 for you. As I will, so it shall be! To-morrow, and the day after, and the day* after that, we go on and on, up to the" north, whore my good fool of a doctor says the air is cheerful keen—up to the north, where nobody knows 1110 or has h«ard my name. I, the maid, shall spread the report that you, the lady, are weak tt your bcakh. No strangers shall you s^o, but the doctor, and tiie nnrse, win nthe time-to call them conies. Who they may he, I know not but this I do know, that the one and the other will servo our purpose without tho least suspicion of what it is: and that, when we get ba -k to Cornwall again, the secret between us two will to no third person havo heou trusted, and will remain a D'-ad Secre". to the end wi the world With all the strength ot the strong will that is in her, at the hush of night and in a house of strangers, sh speaks those words to the woman of all women tho most frightened the most afflicted, the most helpless, the most ashamed. What noed to say tho end O11 that night Sarah first stooped her shoulders to the burden that^ias weighed heavier and heavier 011 them with every year, for all her after life."

How many days did they travel to wards the north?" asked Rosamond, eagerly. "Where did the journey end In England or in Scotland?" "In Jflnsrland," answered Uncle Joseph. "But the name «f the place escapes my foreign tongue. It was a little town by the side of tho sea—the great sea that washes between iny country and yours. There they stopped, and there they waited till the time' eamo to send for tiie doctor and the nurse And as Mistress Treverton had said it should be so, from the first to the last, it was. The doctor and the nurse, and the people of the hou^e wore all strangeas and ti this «lay, if they still live they believe that Sarah was the sea captain's wife, and that Mistress Treverton was the maid win waited on her. Not till they were far 1-ack on their way home with the child, did tiiu two* change gowns again, and return each to her proper place. The first friend at Porth genna that the mistress sends for to show the child to, when sho gots back, is the other doctor who lives there. 'Did you think what was the matter with me when you sent me away to change the air?' she says, and laughs. And the cfor, he la'uqhs, too, and says, 'Yes. surely! but I w.^s too cunning to say what I thought in those oarly days, because. at such times, there is always fear of a mistake. And you found the tine dry nirso good for you that you stopped?'ho says. -Well, that was righj,! rinht for yourself' ard right also 'or 'the child.' And the doctor laughs again, -and the mis ress with hiin, and Sarph who stands by arul bears them, feels as if her heart would burst wfthln her, with th» horror, and the misery, and the shame of that deceit. When the doctor's back is turned, she goes down on ber knees, and begs and prays with all hef soul that the mistress will repent, and s»nc1 her away with the child, to be beard of at Porthgenna no more. The mistress, with that tyrant will of hers, has but four words of answf to give: —4ft is too late!' Kiv« weeU-i after, the t-ea captain comes back, and the'Too late' is a truth that 110 repoitanoe can ever alter more. The mistress's cunning hand, that has guided th»« deceit from the fir*t guides it alwavs to th? last—guides-itso that the cxptafn, for the love of her and of the child, goes back to the sea no more—guides it till the time when she lays her down on the bed to die, and leaves all the burden of the Secret, and all the guilt of the confession, to Sarah —to Sarah who, under the tyranny of that tyrant wMl, lias lived in the house for five long years, a stranger to her own

cb,,d

Five years!" murmured Rosamond, raising the baby gently in ber arms, till his face touched hers. "Oh me! five long years a stranger to the blood of ber blood, to the heart of her heart!" "And all the years after!" said the old roan. "The lonesome years and years annng strangers, with no sight of the child that was growing up. with no heart to pour the story of her sorrow Into the ear of any living creature—not even into mine 'Better,' I said to her,

when she. could spcakHwne no more, and when her face Was^Vinied away again on the pillow 'a* ibdHsand times better, iny child, if you patliold the Secret 'DouldlDell it.^Mpaid 'to the master who trusted nn ?^Conld I tell it afferwarfts to^tbe cirfkii^fTose very birth was a reproach to me? Could shellsten to the story of her mother's shame, told by her mother's lips How will she l.ietMi to it now, U110La Joseph, when she hears it from"you? Remember the lifo she has led, and the high place she has held ,in tha world. How can she rtSrgive'me? Ilow cativSe ever look at me in kindness again?"'

You never left her," effed Rosamond interposing betor? he could say more "surely, surely you iever left her with that thought in her heart!"

Uncle Joseph's head drooped on his breast. "What words of mino could change it?" he asked, sadly.

Oh, lrfuiny, do yxjst, "hear that! I must leave you,'and leave the bady. I must goHo l|er, or tho*j$a£t words *bout uie will break'iny heart." The passionato tears bursf'frotn her- eyes as she spoke and she rose hastily from her B-.at, with the chiltl in Iter arms.

Not to night." said*. Uncle Joseph, "She said to me at parting "1 can bear 110 more to-night give me till the morning to tet as strong as I can." "Oh," go back then yourself!" cried Rosamond. "Go f^r God's sake, without wasting another moment, and make hei think of me as she might Tell her bow I listened to you with my own child sleeping on my bosom, all the time —tell her—oh, 110, no! words are too cold for it!—Come here, come' close, Uncle Joseph (I shall alwafs vall you so now come close to me and kiss my child—her grandchild !—Kiss him on his cheek because it has lain nearest, to my heart. And now, go back', kind anil dear old man—go back to hvr bedside, and say nothing but that I sent Hint kies to her!" M*A-l V* [T° BB CONTINTMSn.

—Tnia is to give untied that all tke citizens troubled with Cough or Cold should at once procure a pot tie of Dr. Bull's Cough Syrup. Pru«'J5 cents.

-r.

-HSJi

^Saturday Evening

MAIL,

*4 .JwiW

FOR THE YEAR

1877.'

bu/.

& iViOD EL \V E EKIj PA PER FOR THE HOMH mmM'Ut V"

TEK.\{.:

ne year 2 (it Six luontns, 31 OC I'hree months, 50 cts.

Mall and offlcc Subsei i|jUnna wilt, Invariably, be discontinued At expliathiii of tim« paid for.

Encouraged by the extraordinary success which has attended {iubli'.:n.t:»n of THE HATtJRDAY EVKXIKO All. tke publisher has perfected arrwiguM. ut-s by whieh ii will henceforth be one of life rn'vt jK-riuIai papers in the West.

THE SATURDAY KVfcM NG MAIL isan Independent Weekly w*p per, elegantly printed 011 eight pagesuf book paper, aud aims to be, In every -sense, it family Paper. With this aim In view, nothing will appear tn its columns that can:iu! br read aloud la the most refined fireside circle.

CLUBBING WITH OTl lHK PERIODICALS. We are enabled to offer extraordinary Inducements In the way of cltib'blii- with other periodicals. We will furnish THE .SATURDAY EVENING MAIL, PKICE «2.0fl PER YEAR, and any of the periodicals enumerated below at greatly reduced rates. Th«B« periodicals will bo sent direct from the

offices

of publication. Here is tha list: SEMI-WEEKLY.

Semi-Weekly Neu 'York Tribune, price $3.00, and The Mail W 61

ksX "WEEKLY PAPEIW. Indianapolis Journal, prfco fcl.OO, and 'I'll- Mail W rndianajKilia Sentinel, pxlcu "i") X. y. Tribune, price#"2.(M), ah.. '1 lie Mail 3 50 Toledo Blade, price 82.00, aud The Mail »U tf. Y. Sun, and The Mail Prairie Farmer price S2.00 ti 11 Tiie Ma 1 0* Western Rural, price82.50am- The Mull 8 t» Chicago Advance, price, SW.OO, and The 4 5# Chicago interior, price 82.60, and The jUat 4 OC Chicago IriUr-Occan, price ¥1.50, ami

Tin Mail 8 & Aimlelon't Journal, price 31.00, and The Man 6 25 Rural IS'ew Yorker, price 5.1.00, and 'Ihe

Mai'

Mail 30

ATrtWisVlrti®®"&-60, and Tho Mn fforper'* weekly, price *1.00, and The

6 58

Ifrtrper'a liaxar, price #1.00, and' The VUU.. Frank IJ*tir* IlU&lrnttii IS ens paper, price W.00, and The MaU 5 0» Leslies Chimney Corner, pr^ce 54.00, and

Th- Mail Bous' "nd t-firis' ]Vt«kly, fncn 52.50, and Tii«# Mail

5 00

Arthur'* Hvrtie Magazine price 82.50 aim The Mall 'PeUmonfi MaQarine, price 12,00, and The .. ,-..f 'American Agriculturist, price 5I.-VI and 'ftnMall

7ft

MONTHLIES.

3.w'

Deiwrest's- Monthly, price f3,00, aud The Mall Ootiey't Lady'* Book, prkse $3.00, and

Tliw Mailiilttle Ctrrporal, prlco *#.90 and The Mail 3 60 Ucrdmtrs Mvnlhly, price *i.W, and The 5 Atlantic Monthly, price 54.00, and The

Hw-per's Magazine, price $?.(W, and The Mali.-. •. (Jardener's ilvnlhly, price S2.00, and The mm. 3 "0 Tnuno Foiks ltural, and The Mnll......... 2 7$ The Sursery, price 11.50, apd 1 he Mai 1 '0 St. Nicholas, price 83.00, aiid The Mail 4 4j

All ti*premiums offered by the above pub Mcatlon* are Included In this dabbing ar* rangeracut.

CLUBBIX«1 WITH COUNTY PAPERS.4 We have made arrangements to furalah THE MAIL, and any ote the Newspapers in the neighborhood ot Terra Haute all for $3.00.

Add e«s P. 8. WENT FA S.I... 1 Publisher Saturday Evening Mail,

TFTMTKHAtfTK

SEWING

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REPAIRED AWD

In the very best manner and warranted werk? by JOSEPH FOLK, No. 322 Mai•treetl north side, between 8rd aad 4* u» fftalr*. iWt condemn your I oblneunUl Mr. FOLK has had a look at for the real tronble may be very light an tne cow «'f repalrla* a mere trifle. The lx* nM«lles and oil oonstantiy on band.

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