Terre Haute Weekly Gazette, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 20 September 1883 — Page 2

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STORY OF THE CHAIN PIER.

Continued From Last Week,

CHAPTER vrri.

From that time I felt that my suspicion was a truth. I knew that were characters so complex that no human being could understand them. Here was a beautiful surface,—Heaven only knew what lay underneath. There was no outward brand of murder on the white brow, or red stain on the soft, white hand. But day by day the certainty grew in my mind. Another thing struck me very much. We were 'tting one day quite alone on the grass ar a pretty little pool of water, called utton Pool."—in some parts it was shallow, in some very deep. Lance gone somewhere on business, and left us to entertain each other. I often noticed that one of Mrs. ming's favorite ornaments was a den locket with one fine diamond in centre she wore it suspended by a all chain from her neck. As she sat iking to me she was

playing

with the

nain, when it suddenly became unfastened and the locket fell from it. In less than a second it was hidden in the long grass she looked for it in silence for some minutes, then she said gently: "I have dropped my locket, Mr. Ford is it near you. I cannot find it?" "Is it one you prize very much?" I asked. "I should not like to lose it," she replied, and her face paled as searching in the long grass she saw nothing of it.

I found it in a few minutes, but it was lying open, the fall had loosened the spring. I could not help seeing the contents as I gave it to her—a round ring of pale golden hair. "A baby's curll" I said, as I returned it to her.

Her whole face went blood-red in one minute. to led

The only thing I have belonging 1 little sister," she said, "she ait

my

wnen I was a child." "You must prize it," I said but I «ould not keep the dryness of suspicion •from my voice. "Mrs. Fleming," I asked, suddenly, "are you, like Lance and myself, without relations?" 'Almost." she replied, briefly. "Strange that three people should be almost alone in the worlabutfor each •other!" I said. "I was left an orphan when I was lour years old," she said. "Only Heaven knows how I have cried out upon my parents for leaving me. I never had one happy hour. Can you imagine a whole childhood passed without one happy hour?" '^Hardly," I said. "With white, nervous fingers she fastened the gold chain round her neck again. "Not one happy hour," she said. "I was left under the care of my grandmother, a cold, proud, cruel woman, who never said a kind word to me, and who grudged me every slice of bread and butter I ate."

She looked at me, still holding the ^golden locket in her white fingers. "If I had been like other girls," she said, "if I had parents to love me, brothers and aisters, friends or relatives, I should have been different. Believe me, Mr. Ford, there are white slaves in England, whose slavery is worse than that of an African child. I was one of them. I think of my youth With a sick shudder—I think of my ^childhood with horror—and I almost thank Heaven that the tyrant is dead who blighted my life."

Now the real woman was breaking ^through the mask her face flushed, her «yes snone. "I often talk to Lance about it," she said, "this terrible childhood of mine. I was punished for the least offence. I never heard a word of pity or affection. I never saw a look of anything but hate on my grandmother's face. No one was ever pitiful to me fierce words, fierce blows, complaints of the burden I was, that was all my mother's mother ever gave to me. I need not say that I hated her, and learned to loathe the life I fain would Have laid down. Do I tire you,

Mr. Ford?" "On the contrary, I am deeply interested," I replied.

She went on— My grandmother was not poor, she 3 greedy. She had a gooa income which died with her, and she strongly

She paid that

objected to spend it.on me, for my education on the condition when I could get my own living by teaching I should repay her. Thank Heaven, I did so!" "Then you were a governess?" I said. "Yes I began to get my living at fifteen. I was tall for my age, and quite capable." she said "but fifteen is very young, Mr. Ford, for a girl to be thrown -on to the world." "You must have been a very beautiful girl," I said. "Yes, so much the worse for me." She seemed to repent of the words as jjoon as they were uttered. "I mean," she added, quickly, "that m^ grandmother hated me the more for

There was silence between us ior some minutes, then she added— "You may imagine, after such an unloved life, how I love Lance." "He is the best fellow in the world," I said, "and the woman who could deceive him ought to be shot." "What woman would deceive him?" she asked. "Indeed, for that matter, what woman could? I am his wife." "It happens very often," I said, trying to speak carelessly, "that good and loyal men like Lance are most easily deceived." "It should not be so," she said. She was startled again. I could see it in her face.

That same afternoon we drove into Vale Royal. Mrs. Fleming had several poor people whom, she wished to see, and some shopping to do. lla taki your locket to a a have the spring

"You shoul jeweler's," I said, "ani secured." "What locket is that?" asked Lance, looking up eagerly from his paper. "Mine," she replied "this." She held it out for his inspection. "I nearly lost it this morning," she said "it gell from my neck." "Is it the one that holds your sister's hairr' he asked. "Yes." she reolied. openinc it and

What nerve she had, if this was what I imagined, the hair of the little dead child. Loving Lance rose from his chair to kiss her. "You would not like to lose that, my darling, would you?" he said. "Excepting me, that is all you have in the wide world."

They seemed to forget all about me she clung to him, and he kissed her face until I thought he would never give over. "How lovely you were when I found you, Frances," he said. "Do you remember the evening—you were bending over the chrysanthemums?" "I shall forget my own life and my own soul before I forget that," she replied.

And I said to myself: "Even if my suspicion be perfectly true, have I any right to mar such love as that?" I noticed that during all the conversation about the locket, she never once looked at me.

We went to Vale Royal, and there never was man so bewildered as I. Lance proposed that we should go visiting with Mrs. Fleming. "Get your purse ready, John," he said—"this visit will require a small fortune." "I find the poor value kind words as much as money," said the beautiful woman. "Then they must be very disinterested," he said, laughingly—"I should prefer money." "You are only jesting, Lance," she said.

It was a pretty sight to see her go into those poor, little, dirty houses. There was no pride, no patronage, no condescension—she was simply sweet and natural she listened to their complaints, gave them comfort, and relieved their wants. As I watched her, I could not help thinking to myself that if I were a fashionable or titled lady, this would be my favorite relaxationvisiting and relieving the poor. I never saw so much happiness purchased by a few pounds. We came to a little cottage that stood by itself in a garden. "Are you growing tired?" she asked of her husband. "I never tire with you," he replied "And you, Mr. Ford?" she asked.

She never overlooked or forgot me, but studied my comfort on every occasion. I could have told her that I was watching what was to me a perfect problem—the kindly, gentle, pitying deeds of a woman who had, I believed, murdered her own child. "I am not tired, Mrs. Fleming, I am interested," I said.

The little cottage, which stood in a wild patch of garden, was inhabited by a day-laborer. He was away at work liis wife sat at home nursing a little babe, a small, fair, tiny child, evidently no more than three weeks old, dying too, if one could judge from the face.

She bent over it,— the beautiful, graceful woman who was Lance's wife. Ah, Heaven! the change that came over her, the passion of mother love that came into her face she was transformed. "Let me hold the little one for you," she said, "while you rest for a few minutes and the poor j'oung mother gratefully accepted the offer.

What a picture she made in the gloomy little room of the cottage, her beautiful face and shining hair, lier rich dress sweeping the ground, and the tinywhite child lying in her arms. "Does it suffer much?" she asked, in her sweet, compassionate voice. "It did, ma'am," replied the mother, "but I have given it something to keep it quiet."

tfDo

you mean to say that you have

drugged it?" asked Mrs. Fleming. "Only a little cordial, ma'am," replied the mother, "nothing more it keeps it sleeping, and when it sleeps it does not suffer."

She shook her beautiful head. "It is a bad practice," she said "more babies are killed by drugs than die a natural death."

I was determined she shonld look at me I stepped forward and touched the child's face. "Do you not think it is merciful at times to give a child like this drugs when it has to die to lessen the pain of death—to keep it from crying out?"

Ah, me, that startled fear that leaped into her eves, the sadden quiver on the beautiful face. "I do not know," she said "I do not understand such things." "Whatman it matter," I said, "whethera little child like this dies conscious or not? It cannot pray,—it must go straight to Heaven! Do you not think anyone who loved it, and had to see it die, would think it greatest kindness to drug it?"

My eyes held hers I would not lose their glance she could not take them away. I saw the fear leap into them, then die away: she was saying to herself, what could I know?

But I knew. I remembered what the doctor said in Brighton when the inquest was held on the tiny white body, "that it had been mercifully drugged before it was drowned." "I cannot tell," she replied, with a gentle shake of the head. "I only know that unfortunately the poor people use these kind of cordials too readily. I should not like to decide whether in a case like this it is true kindness or not." "What a pretty child, Mrs. Ford what a pity that it must die!"

Could it be that she who bent with such loving care over this little stranger, who touched its tiny face with her delicate lips, who held it, cradled it in her soft arms, was the same desperate woman who had thrown her child into the sea?

CHAPTER IX.

Mrs. Fleming was not at her ease with me. I found her several times watching me with a curious, intent .ze, seeking, as it were, to pierce my thoughts, to dive into my motives, but always puzzled—even as I was puzzled over her. That round of visiting made me more loath than ever to believe that I was right. Such gentle thought and care, such consideration, such real charity I had never seen before. I was not surprised when Lance told me that she was considered quite an angel by the poor. I fell ill with anxiety. I never knew what to say or think.

I did what many others in dire perplexity would do, I went to one elaer, wiser, and better than myself, a whitehaired old minister, whom I had known for many years, and in whom I had implicit trust. I mentioned no names, but I told him the story.

He was a kind-hearted, compassionate man, but he decided that the hushfflH phnnW lio tnU

1

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uuiuiijg iii uuu ior mm to see.

E E

©ucn a woman, ne said, must nave unnatural qualities. Could not possibly be one fitted for any man to trust. She might be insane. She might be subject to mania—a thousand things might occur which made it, he thought, quite imperative that such a secret should not be withheld from her husband.

Others had had a share in it, and there was no doubt but that it would eventually become known better hear it from the lips of a friend than from the lips of a foe. "Perhaps," he advised, "it might be as well fqr you to speak to her first it would give her a fair chance."

If it were not true, she could deny it, although if she proved to be innocent, and I had made a mistake, I deserved what I should no doubt get if she were guilty and owned it, she would have some warning at least. That seemed to me the best plan, if I could speak to her, break it to her in some way or other.

A few more days passed. If any doubt was left on my mind, what hap-

Eave

ened one morning at breakfast would satisfied me. Lance had taken up the paper. I was reading some letters, and Airs. Fleming making tea.

Lance looked suddenly from his paper. "I used to think drink was the greatest curse in England," he said. "Have you changed your opinion? I asked. "I have. I think now the crying sin of the country is child-murder."

As he uttered the words, his wife was just in the act of pourine some cream into my cup It aid not 'surprise me that the pretty silver jug and tne cream all fell together. Lance laughed aloud. "Why, Frances,"he cried "I have never seen you do such a clumsy thing before."

She was deadly pale, her hand shading. "I have frightened myself," she said, "and no wonder with such a noise."

A servant came, who made everything right. Then Lance continued, "You interrupted me, Frances. I-was just saying that child-murder is one of the greatest blots on the civilization of the present day." "It is such a horrible thing to speak of," she said, feebly. "It wants some speaking about," said Lance. "I never take up a paper without reading one or two cases. I wonder that Government does not take it up and issue some decree or other. It is a blot on the face of the land." "I do not suppose that any decree of Government would change it," I said, "the evil lies too deeply for that the law should be made equal as it is the whole blame, shame, and punishment fall on the woman, while tne man goes free there will be no change for the better, while that is the case. I have no patience to think of the irregularity of tne law." "You are right, John," said my old friend. "Still, cruelty a woman is so horrible, and the woman must be as cruel as a demon who deserts or slays her own child. If I had my own way I would hang everyone who does it there would soon be an end of it then."

There was a low, startled cry and the paper fell to the ground. Mrs. Fleming rose from her chair with a ghastly face. "Frances," cried her husband, "what is the matter "You will talk of such horrible things," she replied, vehemently, "and you know that I cannot bear them." "Sweetheart." he whispered, as he kissed her, "I will be more careful. I know a sensitive heart like yours cannot bear the knowledge of such things. You must forgive me, Frances, but to me there is something far more loathing in the woman who kills a child than in the woman who slays a man. Do not look so pale and grieved, my darling John, we must be more careful what we say." "I must beg you to remember that you began the subject, Lance." "I am ashamed of making such it fuss," she continued, "but there are some subjects too horrible even to dwell upon or speak of, ancl that is one. I am going into the garden, Lance: perhaps you and Mr. Ford would like your cigars there I am going to prune a favorite rose tree that is growing wild." "Do you understand pruning, Mrs. Fleming I asked. ."Such small things as rose trees," she replied. "We will follow you, Frances," said her husband. "My case is empty I must get some more cigars."

I fancied that she was unwilling to leave us together. She lingered a few minutes, then went out. Then simple, honest Lance turned to me with his face full of animation. "John, did you ever see such a ten-der-hearted woman in your life? She is almost too sensitive."

My suspicions were certainties now, and my mind was more than ever tossed and whirled in tortured doubt and dread. I shall never forget one evening that came soon afterwards. We went to dine with a friend of Lance's, a Squire Peyton, who lived not far away, and he was the possessor of some very fine pictures of which he was very proud. He took us through his prettilyarranged gallery. ."This is my last purchase," he said.

We all three stopped to look at a large the mother is cradle of amongst the tall" reeds in the water.

I saw Mrs. Fleming look at it with eyes that were wet with tears. "Does it sadden you asked Lance. "It need not do the little one looks young and tender to be left alone, but the water is silent and the mother is near. She never left him. What a pretty story of mother-love it is!

The beautiful face paled, the lips trembled slightly. "It is a beautiful picture." she said, "to come from that land of darkness it makes something of the poetry of the Nile."

Watching her, I said to myself, "that woman has not deadened her conscience she has tried and failed: There is more good than evil in her."

All night long there sounded in my ears those words, "A life for a life I" And I wondered what would, what could be the punishment of a mother who took the life of her own child

Continued Next Saturday.

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a guaranteed specific for Hysteria, Dizj nees. Convulsions, Fits, Nervous Neuralgi Heaaache, Nervous Prostration caused by then of alcohol or tobacco. Wakefulness, Mental preesiou. Softening of the Brain resulting in sanity and leading to miser}', decay and deAt, Premature Old Age, Barrenness, Loss of pow in either sex, Involuntary Losses and Hperma orrhoea caused byovor-exertion of the brain, sei abuse or over-indulgenco. Each box contaij one month's treatment. $1.00 a box, or six boxfor $5.00, sent by mail prepaid on receipt of prie

we giiakaxti:e six boxes

To cure any case. With each order received byfor 9ix boxes, accompanied with $5.00, we wr sen .1 the purchaser our written guarantee to r' fund the money if the treatmoot does noteffe *»cure. Guarantees issued only by

Address I C. P. ZIMMERMAN, Druggist, S Sole aeent.

Corner Thirteenth and Main streets.

NATURAL MINERAL WATER. The Only Palatable Aperient

Preserves the health by promoting all the vital functions. Purifies and cools the blood. Positive cure for all disorders of the Stomaeh, and Liver, Indigestion, Bl'iousnees, Heartburn, Flatulency, and all diseases of the Kidneys.

Sold at importer's prices In Chicago, by Fuller & Fuller, Van S*haick, Stevenson & Co., Lord, Stoutcnbura, & Co., Morrison, Plummer A Co-, John A- King & Co.. Chtca-

«o

Drug A Chemlcfrt Co.. and all Druggists, Ilneral Water Dealers and Wine Merchants.

00LD UEDAL» PARS, 187:

GERMAN

Milt

The most popular iw« ChoocAate In the market. 1 is nutritious and palatabli a particular favorite wit children, and a most exce lent article fbr family use.

The genuine is stamped German, Dorchester, Mas. Jteware of imitations.

8old by Grocers everywhere.'

V. RAM & CO., DurcMer, Has

FREE

Wanted Teachers!

TR1AH

FOR

An nnfallins and speedy care DtbUttu and Weal Wtaknrxn, ls» or any evil rt excess, ovei work, ate., (over forty thonnad pos

BiOON mm, ILLS

Oark Street,'

m^nth

Steady employment during HprJng and Bummer. Address J.|(?. MuCrKjr in