Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 20, Number 44, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 26 April 1890 — Page 6

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By ISA DUFFOS HAEDY.

Continued from last week,

'•Merry Christmas!" shouted Tommy, rushing down stairs late to breakfast, and meeting at the breakfast room door his beloved governess, also late. "Merry Christmas, Miss Lucy!" "Too early. Tommy dear," she said. •""Wait till to-morrow—Christmas day!" "Why, my dear, how ill you look! What's the matter with your exclaimed Mrs. Norton, who had her husband's liabit of always speaking out exactly what she thought.

Lucy smiled—a stiff, constrained, lifeless kind of smile. "I woke up with ono of my worst headaches," she explained. Paul Norton looked at her with quick and tender anxiety. "We must keep her very quiet today," ho said in an unconsciously possessive tone. "Yes, wo must havo her all right for Christmaaday,"agreed his brother heartily.

Later on in the morning Paul, going in search of his love, hi3 mind's eye on the promised interview, found her in the parlor with the children, putting up the evergreens. She had on a simple dress of nun-like gray, a little white lace at tho throat and wrists. She was pale—so palo that oven her lips had lost their usual scarlet bloom the only spot of bright color about her was her golden hair. Sho was standing up, tall, willowy and graceful, twisting sprays of hoily into a wreath round ono of the pictures on tho wall. Littlo Amy clung to her skirts, gazing admiringly up at her as her deft hands twined the holly round tho frame.

Tommy, his .arms full of evergreens, stood by, handing her spray after spray. Somehow tliis simple homo picture of Lucy standing among tho children there, branded itself upon Paul Norton's mind in colors never to bo effaced. As she turned to meet him, no smile of greeting curved her lips thoso mobile lips seemed rigid and, pale as sho was, her eyes struck him with their burning brightness—they shone with a kind of fever light. "Is your head bettor?" ho asked anxiously. "Not much." "You shouldn't try to keep about when you havo one of your bad hcndaches," ho said sympathetically. "You exert yoursolf too much. Ought you not to lie down and rest?" "If I could rest!" sho replied. "But lying down, quiet silence, drives me mad! I am better here."

Paul looked at tho children. ITo was a good uncle, and very fond of his small nephews and nieces but just now ho wished them elsewhere. He wondered whether there was any possibility of getting them all out of tho way ho wanted to talk to Lucy. He was pondering whether they might not bo induced to go out in tho garden and pick some moro holly berries—when his brother's voico was heard in tho passage outside. "Paul—Paul!" and tho tono of the summons told him that something was amiss.

What is it, Hal?" he said, opening the parlor door. Henry Norton motioned to him to step out and" shut tho door behind him. "There's an awful business!" Henry said in an agitated undertone. "There's man been found murdered in tho wood, closo by tho gate. It's that very Mr. Beresford who was hero yesterday." "Murdered? hero?" exclaimed Paul in horrified amazement, but also careful not to raiso his voico. "It's too true—there ho lies, shot dead, poor fellow! Como with mo, Paul we must see what's to bo done."

There was a childish cry of terror and dismay from the parlor tho sound of a fall, and then Amy's voice uplifted in a burst of loud, frightened sobs.

Tommy dashed open tho door. "Oh, father—uncle!—something's happened to Miss Lucy!"

Paul rushed forward. Lucy had fallen on tho lKor in a dead faint, her white face upturned, tho holly still in her hand. "Can sho have heard what we were saying outside?" Paul exclaimed in dismay as ho knelt by her side. "I thought we spoko quite quietly," said his brother, almost equally aghast. Ills florid face pale and perturbed. "Tommy—Lulie—-run and fetch your mother!"

They left Lucy, still insensible, in Mrs. Norton's care, Paul tearing himself away from her reluctantly, and indeed only being induced to accompany his brother by his sister-in-law's repeated assurances that it was only a fainting fit, which sho knew perfectly well how to manage, and could manage much better without any men hanging round.

Mr. Norton's startling tale was indeed true. There on the borders of the wood, just off tho pathway, partly screened by tho bushes, die body of tho stranger who had presented himself as Mr. Beresford at Haaelmead the previous afternoon lay stark and frozen among the long frosty grass and weeds. He had been shot right through the heart, and on search being made a pistol was found lying a few yards off—one of those small pocket derringers whit :h are small enough to be concealed in a lady's hand, but which carry the deadly, largo conical baiL Was this terrible deed, which had fallen like a blood red "bolt from the blue" Into their peaceful hfe ono of suicide or murder? There x%as no sign of a struggle, no cvidenco apparent on a car* gory examination to tell the taio. Mr. Norton, of course, immediately sent Information to the police, who were speed* iiy witho Jpot, »otl on their arrival tho bodyrw&s conveys! to ono of the outhOtfS®. there to await the inquest. No tetterpt or pj ta. bearing any address or givlnr' ay to the deceased family or res nw, wore found upon him, so no notification of his tragic fat® could be seat to bis friends. Inquiriw made at

the Tiger, the nearest inn to Hazelmead, elicited that the stranger had arrived there on foot the previous afternoon* had partaken of refreshment, asked the way to Mr. Norton's, and expressed his intention of returning to the Tiger to sleep but meanwhile, before this information reached Hazelmead, Paol Norton had. returned to the house. "Is Miss Lucy better?" was the first eager question. "Oh, yes." replied Mrs. Norton, "it was just a faint she says she was feeling very ill this morning, as indeed any one could see and she was startled and afraid there was something wrong when Hal called you out of the parlor. She's much better now, and is lyingj on the dining room sofa, quiet."^ ^\A'1

Paul went to Lucy, and bent over her with tenderest inquiries and expressions of regretful fear that his overheard conversation with his brother had given her a shock. "But I never thought you'd hear us," he said deprecatingly. "I am so sorry I fainted and frightened you ail," sho murmured. "But women are weak creatures, you know, and her lips quivered suddenly into a strange smile, a pale gleam of ghastly mirth. "Yes, we who are strong must be careful of you tenderer plants," ho said "it is our place to guard and shield you! Lucy, how I should prize the privilege of cherishing you if you would give it to me? 1 love you even more when you aro palo and ill than in health and brightness!" "Is this a time to talk of love?" she answered, half averting her face, when there's—deathl" she shuddered 50 near!" "Love is no Quid's play," he rejoined gravely "it's one of tho earnest things of life—as true and real as death itself I" "Who taught you that?" "You! It is you who have taught me what love is!"

She fixed her large gray eyes upon his with a wild, mournful, despairing gaze. "I wonder," she said, "would you forget me if—if—I were gone away forever?"

Paul's protestations wero cut short by Mrs. Norton's appearance with & cup of strong tea for Lucy.

That evening, when Lucy was sitting with Sirs, and Miss Norton and Paul in tho parlor, there was a ring at the hall door, and on its being opened a stranger's voice was audible in colloquy with the maid servant—a man's voice, not loud, rather low, in fact, but with a peculiar keen, resonant quality in its tone. Lucy looked up with a violent start. Mrs. Norton listened for a few moments then, her curiosity waxing strong, went to the door and called: I "What is it, Sarah?" "A gentleman from London wants to speak to the master, ma'am. I'vo shown him into the dining room."

Mrs. Norton went out Paul looked at Lucy. "How you are ti cmbhng!" he said in a low, anxious voice. "Are you feeling worse?" "I'm nervous unstrung," she answered "the least thing startles me." "You aro ill, I am sure," ho urged, and suggested his usual panacea: "Won't you go up stairs and lie down?" "I think I will," sho murmured. "Let me help you," he said eagerly "lean on my arm—you can scarcely walk!" Jane Norton discreetly refrained from pressing her services, and left Paul to lend Lucy his strong arm up tho stairs—a support which was perhaps not so necessary as he seemed to think. Lucy did not speak until she reached her own door, then she said, in a low hollow voice: "Thank you you are very good to mo .—always! I don't think I'll come downstairs again to-night." "No—don't!" ho said tenderly "wo shall all miss you—but lio down and try to sleep."

When Paul returned downstairs, his brother, carrying alighted lantern, was taking tho strange visitor out by tho back door. "They'vo gono to seo the body," said Mrs. Norton, with tho grave and awestricken expression which seemed unnatural on her fair, fresh, comely face. "Who is it?" asked Paul. "His name's Dash wood—and, Paul," lowering her voice, "he's a polico officer in plain clothes down from Scotland Yard." "From Scotland Yard? Why, surely there's no timo for them to havo got a fellow down from there already, even if they'd telegraphed pn the instant!" "No it seems he hasn't como about tins business. He didn't know of the— death. As far as I can make out, he'd como on some errand about this very Mr, Beresford, who, it appears, isn't Mr. Beresford at all! Oh, dear! oh, dear! it makes my head whirl to think of it! And he asked all about our household: and, Paul, he seems curious about Lucy! asked what our governess' name was, and how long she had been with us. and seemed as if he'd like to see her. Oh,

Paul, 1 feel as if we were all getting tangled up in some dreadful mystery!" "Some dreadful mare's nest," he rejoined abruptly, but wincing. "It's these detectives* business to find mare's nests,*" he added unjtistly. "Of course, they make inquiries about all the members of a household when any tragic affitir like this has happened. But Lucy is too ill to bo troubled with any talk or inquiries to-rfight it would be simply cruel to disturb her. The poor girl wants rest a2hd sleep. Fanny, you good soul! you'll let her have it?" "I am sure Td be tho last t© worry her, and of course, no doubt, it is a police officers duty to ask all sorts of questions but this is a dreadful Christmas eve, Paul! I never remember such a one,*' and Mrs. Norton begaa to weep.

She went Up JO see the invalid presently, and, returr-•*.' assured Paul that she hadn't been

nrying her at all, only

bathing her bead with eau de Cologne, and uUfeing to her a little and telling hear to to

I \dUi and disturbed, they kept uncs ly late hours at H&Edmead that night* Paul wns the last to go to his ro Ho had not naturally alight step, he r«ww»4wtMywig tried to tread

TBRRE HXtTTE

lightly as he passed by the room wherein he imagined Lucy was sleeping But his painstaking tiptoeing was wasted car®, for as he reached her door it opened softly, as if she had been watching for him.

She stood on the threshold, still in her long grey dress, her golden hair disordered her eyes, large, dark and dilated, had a kilid of wild, fixed intensity their gaze. "I hoped you" were asleep," he'said softly, looking at her with tender surprise and anxiety. ,*&- "I soon shall be. But I thought 1 would say good night to you, Paull" "My darling!" he whispered, and fond-, ly, reverently kissed'her. "Lucy, love, go to sleep don't fret yourself about anything if there is anything to trouble you, we'll talk it over to-morrow. Til not keep you now." "Good night," she said softly. "You have all been very kind to me here—all! You shall know what troubles me tomorrow." "Good night, my darling. Sleep wellc" he said.

A pale, strange smile lighted up her face. "Yes," she replied,"I shall sleep well."

The silence of night rested like a pall upon Hazelmead, only broken by the ghastly and sinister sound of the howling of the dogs. Most of the Nortons, weary with the excitement of the day, slept soundly through it but Paul, wakeful, felt that evil-ominous wailing jar on his every nerve—would fain have stopped his ears to shut out the baleful sound. He was restless, but towards daybreak fell into a deep slumber, from which he was aroused by a sudden inexpressible consciousness of some undefined horror, and dread, which resolved itself into a sound of suppressed hysterical sobbing somewhere—a muffled murmur of horrified voices. Paul sprang up and threw on his clothes in haste. What nevsN calamity had happened? Surely that sobbing was in his sister-in-law's voice. Yes, and he caught the words, "Keep the children in their room," and "Send for the doctor," and —what was that his brother said?—"The doctor can be of no use here!" Here—where? Paul rushed out into the corridor a moment ,took, him to Lucy's room. i,

Mrs. Norton started at sight of him, and instinctively stretched her arm across the door as if to keep him back. His brother, pale and horror stricken, stood by Lucys bed. .ft .' "What is it?" cried Paul hoarsely.

Mrs. Norton could only answer by a sob. He broke past her like a madman ho rushed to Lucy's side, looked down on her as she lay, white and cold and rigid —the marble stillness, the livid hues, of death upon her face. One glance was enough: it was too true that no doctor op earth could be of any use here life had been extinct for hours.

A small phial, empty, unlabeled, was found under the pillow on the table writing materials were scattered about as if lately used, and amongst them lay a letter, the direction uppermost so as to catch the eye. It was addressed to Paul Norton, and there, standing,by bis dead love's side, he read her last words:

The livid hues of death upon her face.' "I told you that you should know all about mo to-morrow. So you will—no doubt of that. The sleuth hounds will tell you all when they find that I have escaped them. I am hunted down at last There's only one refuge left for me, and they will not follow me there. Somehow I feel now a* if I had always known this hour would come I have kept something ready for it, as you will find tomorrow. I heard Dashwood's voice, and when he sees my face he will tell you who I nm. And he will guess, what you have not suspected, that it was I who shot the man you saw as Beresford. He insulted me, threatened me I had my little American pistol with me, and I shot him. Oh, Paul, have some mercy on my memory! Don't, don't think me all bad! You wouldn't, if you could only know the martyrdom in which I have expiated my past—the hopes I had of a better life! And this last deed is no crime. I have rid the world of one not fit to live. He had no mercy on me, and I showed him none. He was the curse of my lifefrom first to last. I owe him worse than death for tho wreck and ruin he made of me! "Believe the worst they tell you of me —all, except one thing. Of the worst crime laid to my charge, I am innocent. Of the murdefr in which I was accused of complicity four years ago, I am as innocent as littlo Amy. But who would believe it of a woman who has led my life? I was acquitted, but 1 know how few really thought me innocent. I say again, believe all of me except that. You have seen the children with mo. Don't you think their little white souls would have felt it, if that had been true? My hands wero clean—clean ofblood guiltiness—until last night! g§f||g| "And all today I couldn't bear the children to be near me—it seemed so strange they didn't shrink away. And yet* you saw, they clang to me, all unconscious! And now I shall never see their littlo faces again. I might have brazened this out, as I have braved crises nearly as bad, but since Ie known you I have been changed, have felt as I used to feel when I was a girl, ignorant and innocent for them was a time when I was not all unworthy. And I might have been a good woman if I

known you earlier—if I had ever had a love like* yours to lean upon! As it is, you have bad a lucky escape from- me. For—now I say it dying, who never owned it to you living —I loved you, Paul!—loved you as well as a better woman might have loved. Now, good-by. Do try to forgive me!— and if you can't forgive, then try to forget me! I never would have wronged you, but you are well rid of me. Think of me sometimes, but never think of me as Lydia Walbrook! I left that hated name—that accursed life—behind when I came here. Think of me, Paul, only as the heart broken woman who loved you better than the life she is glad, glad to leave. Never—never more Lydia!—only your lost and most miserable "LUCY."

Years passed awv At Hazelmead, Paxil Norton's painting room was shut up the dust gathered on deserted easel and old portfolios, and on the one picture which remained there—one picture turned with its face to the walk

Home had been sweet to him %^C®^ but now it was home no more. Whenever he was there the bitter waters of memory went over him he could not bear the associations that filled the place: every corner was haunted by the image of the woman whom he had deemed so good and pure, who was a sin stained waif and stray notorious—(for it was but a fow years since the -name of Lydia Walbrook had been on every man's lips in a yet unforgotten cause celebre)—the accomplice of criminals—and at last a criminal herself. He never "spoke of the blow that had crushed his heart, but the mainspring of life was broken in him. All his associates found him a changed man his few intimates said among themselves that Norton had undergone some terrible experience and would never be the same again. He strove to absorb himself in work, to devote himself to his art but his nature was too emotional, too deep— perhaps too narrow and too little imaginative—for art and ambition to fill the vacant place of love. Success was as Dead sea fruit to him and against failure, when failure came, he had no talisman of sweet home love and faith to comfort him. He had sent all his hopes, his faith', his very heart of* life, to sea, in the one frail vessel that had, gone down a a

And so years rolled away and at last illness struck him down his failing hand had to lay tho brush aside, and then, weak and lonely, he thought of the old home and of his early days then the tender memories of old overflowed the bitterness of the later past and then he went back to Hazelmead as they besought him to return and be cared for among his own people—went back,as they all saw too soon, never^fco leave it more.. It was his fancy to have his old "den" arranged as his sleeping room. As he gave instructions for the moving of his furniture, his eye dwelt on the picture leaning with its face to the wall, just as he had turned it years ago when ho went away. "Leave it," lie said "don^t touch ifc-1-let it be as it has been!" "So in that room, possessed by memories," he lay and waited for death and through the long nights and weary days, who shall

EYElSTINdr A17,

Bay

what ghosts haunted him? Werejthey all dark shadows of tho tragedy and horror of the past?—or did softer visions mingle with them, of the tender dreams and golden hopes that once were here and his?—did he recall those sweet hours that he had passed here before the black and bitter seas went over his soul?'

Often he lay and looked at the corner wherein the unframed canvas stood leaning against the wall, the dust gathering thick on tho face that was turned away —hidden—yet not as the face, whoso silent image it was, was hidden in the grave mold, beneath the coffin lid.

And one day, when all knew tho end must be very near, he pointed to the picture—said: "Turn it—lift it—set it where I can see her!"

And his sister, weeping, turned it, and brushed away tho veiling dust, and he saw again the sweet palo face, framed in its golden hair, the* lips of soft and subtle curve, the dreamy eyes that told no talo of tragedy—for his hand had not portrayed, because his eye had not recognized, the black shadow of her life.

And, gjfcing at the irtrait, his lips wore unsealed and he talked of her he had not spoken of for years—spoke not of her sins nor of his sufferings, but recalling little incidents, foolish, trivial memories, of their happy days.

That night they watched by him, knowing his very hours wero numbered. Ho had sunk Into an unconsciousness that was rather stupor than sleep. At dawn he stirred, opened his eyes, and bade them draw up tho blinds and let in the light. The chilly light of early morning fell on the portrait.

He raised himself, supported in his brother's strong arms and with a strange wild fixity—with that unearthly penetration of dying eyes—his gaze grew to the picture his hand had painted. Ho spoke

—in a voice to which the old ring of rtrength seemed suddenly and magically restored: f-^j-"Where am I going?—and wherols she? t/OSt—lost—where are the lost souls?" "Paul—Paul," his brother replied, with jolemn emotion, "it is not for us to say. rhe mercy of God is infinitef*

The dews of death were on Paul Norton's brow his voico grew hoarse and .lollow as lie questioned with a terrible earnestness:

Is she—my poor love—lost? No, no —it cannot be! Somewhere—somewhere —we shall meet. She said—to-morrow," then suddenly his eyes lit up with a flash of wild and rapturous recognition as he exclaimed: "Not lost!—not lost! Ah, see! she smiles! ^Yes-to-morrow, Lucy—to-morrow." That look of strange unearthly rapture was on his face as ho lied: and, was It only his delasion, or —did Lacy smile indeed? "There are more things in heaven and sarih than are dreamt of in oar philosophy And either the watchers dimmed It or they too saw a light, that was sot that of the cold gray dawn upon the pictured face! They too saw the

glory of an angeho smile play over the lips—a supernatural radiance in tho eyes that for a moment seemed to beam with life. And they prayed that it might be a token that the lost and sin stained soul had indeed won her way, through remorse and penitence,

To pardon and to peacal,.

THE END. A-

Signatures on Treasury Not«*». By photography the autograph is reproduced in various sizes, some smaller than the original and one or two larger, the latter for use on checks and warrants. The autograph fac-similes thus produced were transferred by means of wax and ink to pieces of steel, and thereupon cut by the engravers. These are pieces of soft steel, easily worked, but in an hour or two they are hardened in a patent furnace. Taking one of them after it is hardened the workman transfers the inscription upon it, by means of a powerful pressure, to the face of a little spool of soft steel, and this in turn is hardened till it is tough enough for the work before it. Bank notes are printed in sheets of four, and of course there must be a plate for each note.

When the original plates are engraved a number are purposely left blank where the signatures of the treasurer are to be affixed, and these original blank plates can be reproduced as desired by pressure transfer. Taking one of the blank plates and putting it in a press, the workman adjusts to its proper place the spool bearing "J. N. Huston," brings down the power of the press, rolls the spool backward and forward a few times, and there he has the autograph of tho new treasurer plainly written in the soft steel of the plate on which is to be printed many a bushel of fives, tens, hundreds or five hundreds. This soft steel plate is hardened in the fire before being put to work, so that it may havo greater endurance. Portraits, dates and other figures are changed on the steel plates in the same simple manner at small expense.

If perchance it should be desired to change the namo or date in a plate of which there are no duplicates with blank spaces for this purpose, a complete plate is softened and the old namo or date scratched off with a sharp tool. This leaves a little hollow or indentation in the face of the plate, and as the surface must be perfectly level and smooth some ingenuity is required to produce another perfect surface for the engraving of the new name. This is done by the simple means of pounding on tlipt section of the back of the plate directly under tho spot where the hollow is, a few sharp blows sufficing to bring tho surface up level with the remainder of the plate. This newly raised surface may not bo perfectly level and smooth, but it is burnished down and tho desired name or words stamped into it by the hard steel spool apd heavy pressure.—Washington Letter.

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This new method of -'one rcmodey forgone disease" must appeal to the common sense of all nufferera, many of whom have experienced the ill effects, and thoroughly realise the absurdity of the claims of patent medicines which are guaranteed to cure every ill out of a single bottle, and the use of which, as statistics prove, has rained more stomachs than alcohol. A circular describing these new remedies Is sent free on receipt of stamp to pay postage by Hospital Remedy Company, Toronto, Canada, sole proprietors.

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