THE PITTSBURG DISPATCH.
i.h-
SECOND PART.
PAGES 9 TO I2P
U
C0T FIEST
ASERIES OF SHOBTSTORIES
By J. Marsden Sutcliffe,
ENTITLED
THE ROMANCE OF AI ItfSUKAMJE OFFICE,
BnxG Passages nr the ExrEEiEKCE op Me. AUGUSTUS "WILLIAM WEBBER,
Formerly General Manager to the Universal Insurance Company.
ALL RIGHTS
BEFORE THE CURTAIN.
It -would not be fair to the reader to ask
him to attach any credence to the true his
tories I am about to relate, without inform
'ine him how I became acquainted 'with the
facts to which his indulgent attention is in
cited, and the circumstances under which
these Teracious records are sent forth to
jmeet the public eye. As the necessary ex
planations are associated with the happiest
'events in my life with which all
happy and intending Benedicts will
'surely sympathize and, as the only person
who has a shadow of claim to impose an in
terdict, has strictly enjoined npon me to
avoid any appearance of concealment about
the matter, there can be no reason why I
should not take the reader Into my con
fidence without further circumlocution.
Mr. Augustus "William "Webber was for
.many years the Secretary and General Man
ager to the Universal Insurance Company,
which, all the world knows, has its head
quarters in a palatial block ot buildings in
the city, with imposing branches in the
leading cities of the empire, not to speak of
lands more remote.
The Universal, as its name was no doubt
meant to imply, undertook to effect insur
ances on every known and conceivable risk,
simply adjusting its terms in particular
instances to meet special contingencies that
appeared to call for a deviation from the
fixed tariff. The office only confined its
operations within the limits defined by the
two terminal points that mark man's pil
grimage, to wit, the cradle and the grave.
So all-embracing was the scale on which its
business was conducted that a city wag was
once heard to remark that the only risk that
the Universal had ever refused to entertain
was an insurance against fire in the next
.world. On that point so the wit remarked
the directors cheerily adopted the agnos
tic philosophy and declined to plunge into
the unknown.
It will be inferred, therefore, from this
bon mot, that the company, which owed so
much of its prosperity to the skill and inde
fatigable labor of Mr. "Webber, transacted
its business on a scale that may be appro
priately described as both varied and im
mense. It was not surprising, then, that
when Mr. "Webber arrived within sight of
his sixty-fifth birthday the strain of his tre
mendous responsibilities became too great
for his strength, and that alter long resist
ing the advice of his physician he decided
to "strike his flag," and spend the evening
of his days in occupations less laborious.
His retirement took place soon after my
acquaintance with the family commenced.
The directors showed their appreciation of
his services by voting him a pension equiv
alent to one-half of his former salary. In
the event of his death the pension was to be
continued to his widow.
There were some of Mr. "Webber's friends
who contended that the directors might have
behaved more handsomely in the'matter of
his retiring allowance, though the person
chiefly interested has never been heard to
complain that his treatment fell short of his
own expectations. But stress was laid on
Mr. "Webber's long and splendid services,
and his no less long and expensive family.
It was. an open secret among his intimates
that Mr. "Webber's nest-egg was of very
small dimensions. Some even went so far
as to say that when the nest came to be ex
amined, as it must when his testamentary
dispositions came to be revealed, that the
egg would be minus altogether.
The actual size of Mr. Webber's nest-egg
was made known to me, under circum
stances that call for explicit mention, since
they led to the publication of the narratives
that are to follow.
It happened in this way. I had a Ion? in
terview with him at his residence, Myrtle
Lawn, Streatham, one blissful and ever
memorable July evening. It was the even
ing when; with considerable trepidation, I
asked him to ratify the attachment which
had grown up between his eldest daughter,
Laura, and myself.
I had been introduced to Laura some
months before by my friend, Rex Barclay,
who shared with me a top story set of cham
bers in Lincoln's Inn, and who described
her to me as "an awfully jolly girl," but
"without a tocher." This information was
something of a surprise to me when later on
I came to know the good style in which the
"Webbers lived, until I remembered what a
little way a large income will go when there
is a large family to be reared, and especially
when there are seven sons, whose ambition
'leads them to spurn a desk at the Universal,
and fixes itself on the choice of professions
whose secrets are only to be learnt on pay
ment of a heavy premium.
Laura's portionless lot did not, however,
damp the ardor of my incipient passion, but
rather added fuel to the flame.
In this respect her position was not wholly
pnlike my own. Not that I was actually
penniless. The favorite nephew of a bach
elor uncle, I had succeeded to all that he
(had to bequeath a little capital which, se
curely invested, brought me in an income of
i250. This was more than sufficient or my
'wants while I was wailing for the briefs to
come in, but a ludicrous sum to think of
marrying upon. But I had found means to
be busy while waiting, until some solicitor,
gifted with more than common penetration,
should discover the stores of legal learning
that were hidden away beneath my horse
hair wig. The time not spent in haunting
the law courts was employed in contributing
light, fugitive pieces to the magazines,
which, when they paid at all, paid abomin
ably. Still, it was something. I farccLbet
ter with the newspapers. One or two articles
offered to the Dailg Argus were accepted
and handsomely remunerated. Better still,
this led to occasional invitations from the
editor to write for him on subjects suggested
by himself. Altogether, I was doing well
for a novice so well that, growing wearied
in waiting for briefs that never came, and
becoming more fascinated with the new
work, which left few idle hours at my dis
posal, I finally turned my back on the law
and laid in a larger stock of foolscap than
before, with such good success that I soon
felt justified in broaching mv hopes to Mr.
"Webber.
Mr. "Webber received me with great
kindness, and, without staying to hear all I
had to say, he cleared the ground at once,
by his own candid avowal that thongh he
might give me his daughter he could give
me nothing with her, and very little, if any
thing, hereafter. Having made a clean
breast of his own position, Mr. "Webber pro
ceeded to question me on mine. He warmly
commended the prudence of my proposal to
settle the whole of my uncle's bequest on
xaura, out drew in his horns when he
learned the whole extent of my income and
the sources whence it was derived.
It was plain to be seen that Mr. "Webber
. did not think much of literature as a pro
fession. He frankly told me that he was
not eo much dissatisfied with the income I
was making as with its precarious character.
He insisted upon the importance of a ap
pointment that held the promise of perman
ence and certainty about it. In the long
-run he brought the interview to a close by
!-
1'CBLISHED.
RESERVED.
informing me that whilst I was free to come
and go, there would be no engagement,
nothing that could bind Laura, until I
brought the news that I had obtained a
fixed appointment that would bring in an
annual sum not less than that which ac
crued from my inheritance, and which I
had proposed to settle on Laura.
Mr. "Webber's contingent assent did not
trouble us young lovers. Laura gave me
her promise, which was quite unconditional.
She would wait, so she said, till we were
both staid, elderly people, if necessary; and
she ratified her promise with "the first kiss
of love." And bo the time slipped by until
jnnstmas.
The Christmas dinner was eaten, and the
guests at the table had retired (for a chil
dren's party was in progress in honour of
Mr. "Webber's birthday), he and I were left
alone chatting "over the walnuts and wine,"
when the bright and happy face of my dar
ling appeared in the doorway. By a pre
concerted arrangement she came to join us
while I opened out to her father a little se
cret I had breathed in her ears a few hours
before, and which promised to bring us very
near to the fruition of our hopes.
""Well, pussy, what do you want?" said
Mr. "Webber, as Laura came and seated her
self on a vacant chair by my side.
"She has come to hear what I have to say
to you, sir," I replied, speaking for her.
Mr. "Webber darted a quick glance of in
quiry, as if he more than suspected what was
coming.
"We are thinking of marriage at Easter if
we have vour permission," I said.
"At Easter!" exclaimed Mr. "Webber.
"That is very soon. But what about the
conditions? Ton remember them?"
"I think I do," was my reply. "They
were a permanent engagement, and a salary
of not less than 250."
"You have stated them exactly," said
Mr. "Webber, who with nervous fingers was
engaged in peeling a walnut.
"They are complied with," I remarked
triumphantly. "The editor of the Argus
sent for me yesterday, and after compliment
ing me on my work informed me that there
was a vacancy on the staff, which he was
pleased to offer me."
"And the salary?" queried Mr. "Webber.
"Four hundred a year, sir. It is only a
junior's place."
"Four hundred," said Mr. "Webber, mus
ingly. "Come that begins to look like busi
ness." "But that is not all," I cried, enthusias
tically, as I saw how well he was behaving.
And then I then went on to expatiate on
the advantages of the post that had been so
unexpectedly offered me, pointing out that
it would not interfere to any material ex
tent with my present pursuits, and pleading
hard that with so promising a future open
ing out there was no reason to interpose any
delay to the consummation of our happi
ness. Laura, who had been sitting with her
hand in mine, gave me a little pressure of
approval.
"What have you to say, pussy?" said
Mr. "Webber, beaming with fatherly affec
tion and pride on his daughter.
But Laura's answer need cot be recorded.
Before the interview closed Mr. "Webber
had given his consent; and Laura, after
throwing her beautiful white arms round
her father's neck and kissing him fondly,
waved an adieu to me and sped from the
room to join the bright-faced youngsters
who were gathered round an "enormous
Christmas tree in the schoolroom.
But Mr. "Webber and I lingered for some
time longer, in which he entered into more
minnte detail than upon a former occasion
into the share he was prepared to take in
our settlement On this it is unnecessary to
detain the reader iurther than to say that
after Mr. "Webber had concluded his ex
planation, he sat for some time thoughtful
and silent. Presently he spoke.
"I don't see how it is to be done," he
said, "and yet I shonld like to give Laura
something substantial on her marriage a
really good serviceable piece of plate for
instance that would outlast her time and
serve to remind her of her father when I am
gone. Not that she will need such a re
minder," he added, "but her home will not
be furnished to my liking unless it contains
some visible and abiding memorial of mv
love for her and my appreciation of the
place she has filled in our hearts and
home.
Then Mr. "Webber broached to me a pro
posal that had been slowly simmering in his
mind while he sat silent.
"If I were to set to work to write up my
experiences while I was at the Universal,
would you undertake to put them into lit
erary shape and procure their publication?"
he suddenly asked.
I was struck with the proposal, and we
proceeded to talk it over.
Mr. "Webber reminded me how long and
varied his experiences had been at the Uni
versal, and what strange histories had come
under his notice in his capacity as general
manager. "There can be no doubt," he
said, "that the benevolent objects promoted
by insurances have amply justified the ex
istence of the companies in countless num
ber of instances, but one shudders to recall
what awful crimes have been committed for
no assignable reason whatever than was to
be fonnd in the greed that the premature
payment of a life policy could satisfy. In
Palmer's case, for instance, it was strongly
suspected that there were many other deaths
that might have been laid at his door than
the murder of John Parsons Cook. There
was the fact, at all events, that in several
instances he had effected, or caused to be
effected, insurances on lives which came to
a remarkably rapid end soon afterward."
"I sui pose there is no week passes by in
which some clever, but unscrupulous, scoun
drel is not devising fraudulent measures of
which the insurance companies are the vic
tims," I remarked.
"Indeed that is so," replied Mr. "Webber.
"No week, you say; but you might have
said no day. Such cases were so frequent
with ns that I was compelled at last to urge
my directors to include a private inquiry
agency with our own detectives as part of
our regular staff."
"And could you find work for them?" I
asked, receiving this information with sur
prise. "Plenty of it. Think of what our fire
losses might amount to if we did not take
precautions to protect ourselves against in
cendiary frauds. "Why, Doggett, the head
of this department, has saved us in that one
point alone, in a single year, far more than
his services have cost the office."
"But cases of incendiarism have scarcely
the romantic interest attaching to them to
interest the public," I remarked, anxious
to 'draw Mr. "Webber on the character of his
proposed reminiscences.
"Some of them have," he replied. "But
I am not thinking of cases of that kind
though we might find room for one or two in
the unlikely event of us running short of
more interesting matter.
"Do you see that ring?" he said presently,
removing from his fingers a ring containing
a large diamond of the purest water. "That
ring is associated with one of the most ro
mantic disappearances that I can remem
ber, and one that baffled Scotland Yard for
many a long day."
And, thereupon, Mr. Webber told me the
story of the strange disappearance of Mr. preserve its pastoral character and its old
Constnia (which will find a place in these I world ways.
PITTSBURG,
narrations of real life), after which it is
needless to add I fell in with Mr. "Webber's
proposal, and engaged, when he had com
pleted his reminiscences, to assist in prepar
ing them for publication, with what result
the reader must now judge.
Before we rose from the table it was set
tled that at the earliest moment Mr. "Web
ber had tUne to compare notes with Mr.
Doggett. the private inquiry agent to the
Universal, he would begin his taBk.
The profits of publication were to be de
voted to the purchase of the memorial of a
father's fond love and an eldest daughter's
filial devotion, on which Mr. "Webber's
heart was bent.
Easter came, and with it my marriage to
"the handsomest and most loving-hearted
girl in England." My space is run out,
and I cannot stay to describe how Laura
looked as a bride. I know that I was the
happiest fellow alive that day, and that
there was a smile of placid satisfaction on
Mr. "Webber's face, as he handed me a
bulky volume of notes recording his varied
experiences, just as a plentiful shower of
rice and old shoes were hurling through the
air as the signal for our neparture.
The reader is now in possession of the se-
cret which vouches for the accuracy of the
histories now to be related. The explana
tion has been a long one, but it has not been
too long if it has enlisted the sympathies of
the reader in behalf of Mr. "Webber and the
stories he has to tell.
I have only to add that I received the MS.
in such a condition that I judged the less it
was tampered with the better.
"Tell the public exactly how you became
Possessed of the narratives," was Mr. "Web
er's parting charge to me as Laura and I
drove away from Myrtle Lawn, to start the
journey of life together. And then he
humorously added, "It may save me and
my prospective sons-in-law some trouble, if
the three eligible young men who may
chance to come this way on your errand
know exactly the dimensions oi their future
father-in-law's nest-egg."
I have endeavored to carry out Mr.
"Webber's instructions to the letter.
NO. 1.
THE CROSS HALL TRAGEDY.
Mr. Timothy Bradburn, the owner of
Cross Hall, whose tragical death created a
remarkable sensation in the North of En
gland many years ago, belonged to a race
that is fast disappearing, if indeed it would
not be correct to use the past tense and de
scribe it as now vanished. He was a mem
ber of that class which formed the backbone
of old England before the age of steam came
in and turned the older order of things
topsy-turvy the class of small freeholders
who farmed their own land; whose wives
and daughters were not ashamed to be seen
jogging to market behind old Dobbin, the
mare, taking with them the produce of dairy
and poultry yard, and employing their wits
when they arrived at their destinations in
obtaining the best terms they could; while
the male folk gave themselves up to the
rearing and cultivation of stock, and boasted
that they could mow a swathe of grass with
the best
They were a sturdy, independent race,
with no nonsense abut them, honestly con
temptuous of what they ridiculed undor the
name of "fine notions," and not a bit
ashamed of the bridge that carried them
over the rough places of life to the El
Dorado of genteel competence. In truth,
they had no need to be ashamed of there
suits of "their skilful husbandry. "What
wonderful cheeses and delicious-looking rolls
of amber butter, with the sweet aroma of
cheese room and dairy still upon them I
"What a store of eggs and fatted poultry and
well-fed pork! "What geese at Michaelmas,
and turkeys of excellent weight and incom
parable flavor at Christmas those market
carts used to contain! The mere sight was"
enough to tickle the palate of a jaded epi
cure. The wives and daughters of these small
freeholders looked as if they throve on the
appetizing dainties they carried to market.
The women were always buxom, and some
times handsome even. The lasses were
comely and roguish, with complexions like
milk-and-roses, firm and ample busts, arms
plump and shapely, come to perfection as
only arms can by constant nse and healthy
fairing arms that would have cast into the
shade the spindle limbs of a professional so
ciety beauty. If Thomas gave Mary a
sly pinch as he overtook her at their tryst-
ini vt1nA iinrtl tlin llfHrflinn t-nn if .ao
ten to one that Mary would scream, but she
would not have to roll up her sleeves and
show how "black and blue" was the im
pression that Tom'-s mischievous fingers had
made. The flesh was too wholesome and
firm for that! If hard work rendered their
hands a trifle too large for beauty, their
hearts were kind, and their manners'simple
and homely.
It was ot such a race that Timothy Brad
burn was born. There had been Bradburns
at Cross Hall time out of mind. A sun dial
on the smoothly-shaven lawn in front of the
old houe bore the initials P. B, and the
date 1486. Mr. Bradburn used to say that
the initials referred to the founder of the
family of the Cheshire Bradburns, who
came to that country from Northumberland
after the battle o'f Bosworth Field had
closed the long fend between the honses of
York and Lancaster. The date was assumed
to refer to the erection of the house, a sup
position that appeared to be borne out, not
only by the appearance of the ancient and
picturesque dwelling which had been the
home of successive generations of dead-nnd-gone
Bradburns through the centuries that
had elifjsed since Peter Bradburn migrated
into Cheshire, but was further attested to by
a carved beam within, which bore the same
initial; and (Jate 1486".
Cross Hall was one of those old houses,
half timber, half plaster, the oak timbers
stained black and.thc plaster washed over
with a dazzling whiteness, that form an at
tractive feature on any landscape. Such
houses were common in "merne England"
once. It was in such a structure that
Shakespeare was born. But the ax of the
destroyer has been laid at the root of many
of these old roof trees, and they have nearly
disappeared, along with the race to whom
they gave shelter through life's "strange,
eventful history." Many fine specimens of
this antique order of architecture are, how
ever, to be found in parts of Lancashire and
Cheshire; in the latter county more so now
adays perhaps than in the former: for
Cheshire, ot all northern counties, with the
exception of "Westmoreland and Cumber
land, is least violently divorced from an
historical past, and has contrived
lrlfflB!wFi& MmimlK Alii
IK
iiIoWm "Mi IBB J- Tltohf
HEHlmllVn wJhH rf
SltSif wwWfS&J
SATURDAY, JANUAEY 26, 1889.
i Cross Hall is one of the finest specimen
of' this style in house building that either
of the two'counttes contain. It has a bold
frontage, and two projecting wings, one of
which, in early Tudor days, and later still,
was traditionally reported to have served
for a chapel. The black-stained wood work
presents innumerable curves and lines, fan
cifully conceived, which, standing out by
way of contrast from the white ground worK,
remain to tell of what an Englisman's no
tion of art was as applied to 'domestic
architecture toward the end of the 15th cen
tury. Still speaking ot the site as it was in
Timothy Bradburn's time, before it was
altered past all recognition; a few flower
beds cut out in the green turf of the lawn
in front imparted an air of cheerfulness,
while the lawn itself, extending to the en
tire front of the house, gave an idea of
roominess, until further progress was
checked by the ha-ha, beyond which the
rich meadows, green as emerald and golden
with buttercups, stretched far away. The
farm consisted of about 150 acres of the best
grassland in Cheshire. The nearest village
was three miles away, and the market town
is, or was in the old days, the ancient city
of Chester, with its venerable walls and its
"urious and ever delightful rows. The blue
hills of the Cambrian range closed in the
prospect on one side. So much for Cross
Hall.
Now for its inmates. "When this story
opens the establishment of Mr. Timothy
Bradburn was reduced to four persons
Timothy himself,Nancy Baddeley, aniece by
marriage; Selina Gubbins, his honsekeeper,
and Frank Trestrail, about whom more here
after. Timothy Bradburn was a widower
of 65. He had married young in his father's
lifetime, the daughter of a Cheshire yeo
man, versed in the mysteries of cheese and
butter-making; and as his mother was dead,
and his father well stricken in years, he
took his bride home with him to Cross Hall.
After 12 months of almost idylic bliss
Timothy Bradburn's dream of happiness
came to an end. He carelessly left his
loaded gun reared against the clock in the
kitchen, and bis young wife took up the
weapon to restore it to its place. It so hap
pened that the trigger caught in her apron
string, and in trying to disentangle it the gun
went off inflicting a serious wound. There
was enough knowledge of amateur surgery
at uross nan to arrest the bleeding; but the
shock to the system brought on a premature
confinement, and Mrs. Bradburn died in
giving birth to her first child.
For months afterward, Timothy Brad
burn was like a man demented, and, like
Rachael, "refused to be comforted." He
not only attributed the accident to his own
carelessness in leaving the loaded weapon
about, but in the bitterness of his remorse,
he accused himrejf of the, guilt of the double-murder
of his wife, and the child whose
coming had been looked forward to with
much loving anticipation by the newly
wedded pair. Time, "the great healer,"
modified Timothy's grief and assuaged the
bitterness of his self-accusations. But from
his wife's death he grew unsociable and self
contained. Cross Hall farm had invariably been left
to the eldest son; and when Timothy's
father died, he adhered to the custom of his
ancestors. But Timothy acquired not only
the old homestead but the bulk of his
father's wealth, to the exclusion of his
younger brother, George, who had led a
wild, racketty youth, and who was barely
mentioned in the will. "When George
heard the will read, after his father's
funeral, he was in high dudgeon. He
stormed and raved, declaring that his father
had never done an unjust action in his life,
and would not have done so in his will, "if
he had not been put up to it," and ended
by calling heaven to witness, in fearful
oaths, that he would be revenged on the
brother who had supplanted him. An angry
scene 5f altercation between the two brothers
was put an end to by Timothy commanding
George to quit Cross Hall immediately, and
never to darken the doors again. George
took his brother at his word. He packed up
his few belongings, quitted Cross Hall the
same night, took a situation as farm-bailiff
on a neighboring estate, and, having mar
ried a daughter of the soil, cherished a vio
lent hatred against Timothy to the day of
his death.
Late in life, Timothy married again a
woman nearly his own age, who did not
long survive her marriage. Her life at
Cross Hall was such a brief one that it
would probably have dropeed out of recol
lection if she had not left behind her a
niece the daughter of her dead sister
Nancy Baddeley, a smart, saucy, handsome
lass of 20 at the date of this story.
Selina Gubbins, whe served Timothy
Bradburn in the double capacity of house
keeper and maid-of-all-work, was a some
what hard-featured, high-chceked woman of
50. who needs no introduction. It mar mst
be mentioned that she had lived in Mr.
Bradburn's service all her life, and that her
brother, John Gubbins, resided in the bosom
of his family in a cottage a couple of hun
dred yards away, and was a valued farm
helper. About Frank Trestrail something more
must be said, inasmuch as he plays an in
fluential part in the story. "Who Frank
Trestrail was, where he came from, or what
was his true errand at Cross Hall, no one
knew. He turned up at the farm unex
pectedly, in the midst ot hay hnrvest. in the
summer before Mr. Bradburn met with his
death, and found the owner of Cross Hall
laid up with an attack of gout, and very
positive "that everything was going to
wreck and ruin" in his absence. Trestrail
offered his services to act as overlooker
temporarily while Timothy was laid aside,
aryl after "putting him through his facings"
so the old man termed his snarling inter
rogatories Mr. Bradburn engaged him,
and finding Trestrail thoroughly efficient,
he ended by asking him to remain when the
hay harvest was over. Since which time
Trestrail had stayed on.
It was curious that Trestrail never vol
unteered any information about himself,
although his appearance and manners pro
claimed him greatly superior to his position
as farm manager. He was not subjected to
any idle questions. He was not a compan
ionable man, and Nancy Baddeley, after
making one or two attempts to penetrate the
outer crust, troubled her dainty head about
him no more. "He minds his'business, and
that's enough for nie; I can mind my own,
and so there's an end on't," Timothy was
heard to say, in reply to an inquisitive
neighbor who ventured to rcmoudtrate
with him on the unwisdom of giving house
room to a man of whose antecedents nothing
was known.
Mr. Bradburn kept little company at
Cross Ilall. A neighboring farmer would
occasionally drop in, for a pipe and a glass
and a chat about stock ana market prices;
but that was a rare event. .For though
Timothy, who was near-fisted, never failed
to show himself neighborly when these de
mands were made upon his hospitality,
there was something in his manner that
forbade the liberty being taken too fre
quently. A more constant visitor to Cross Hall was
'William Bradbnrn, his nephew, a finely
built specimen of the yoeman type, who had
succeeded,on his father's death.to his father's
post of farm bailiff, and who lived with his
mother a mile away.
Timothv had never condescended to nntfoe
his nephew's existence, until he met the
young man by the side of his father's grave.
Mr. Bradburn had not been invited to at
tend his brother's funeral, but he dispensed
with this formality, and attended notwith
standing. He even went so far toward
burying the hatchet as to speak kindly to
the widow, and to ask the young fellow to
look in upon him at Cross Hall, promising
him that he would always find a knife and
fork waiting tor him there.
"William Bradburn hesitated and then
went. "When once he had broken the ice he
went often, until his uncle wondered at the
frequency of his visits. The magnet that
drew "William Bradburn to Cross Hall was
the bright eyes of Nancy Baddeley, eyes as
"black as sloes," like Tony Lumpkin's
sweetheart's, and as brilliant as stars in a
frosty sky.
Nancy was a well-made girl, with slightly
irregular featnres which the rich carnation
that dyed her softly rounded face redeemed
from plainness. The dairy was her empire,
and there she reigned a little queen. No
one who saw her there, moving about among
her milk-pails, standing good three inches
higher in her pattens, with a short, gay
colored petticoat revealing a particularly
trim ankle, and her dimpled arms bared
above the elbow, with a shawl fastened
across her shonlders only half concealing a
vusuui wojier man me ujiik. in me uairy,
and her dainty head rising like a capital
above the slender column of a faultless
throat, could have remained unaflected by
Nancy's charms, and her fresh, Hebe-like
beauty. It was only after a close analysis
that discovery was made that the cherry
ripeness of Nancy's lies would have gained
if her mouth had not been so large and to
characteristically weak, or that Tier faco
would have been really beautiful in spite of
this defect, if her nose had been less fleshy.
and the nostrils more delicately cut. But
Nancy's face, in spite of these drawbacks,
was really pretty, and had, what often
serves better than merely flawless outUoes,
the charm of ever varying expression, so
that these defects passed unnoticed except
by the critical eye of the connoisseur in fe
male beauty.
In "William Bradburn's eyes Nancy was
simply perfection. "When "Mr. Bradburn
saw that "William was "making up to his
wife's niece," he changed in his demeanor
to his nephew. "William was carpeted be
fore his uncle in the old oak parlor, and
sharply told that if he were "coming after"
Nancy under the idea that she would in
herit any portion of his uncle's wealth he
was laboring under a mistake, and had bet
ter abandon the project at once. Timothy
declared that he had other views of dispos
ing of Cross Hall, and his money. John
Barnes would-be bis heir, conditional upon
taking the name of Bradburn. Barnes was
Timothy's nephew by his marriage with his
first wile, whose sad death had left such an
abiding impression on Timothy's memory
and character, and he&had been chosen by
the old man to be his heir because of some
resemblance he fancied he saw in personal
appearance and disposition to the bride of
his youth, .there was, no aoubt, some idea
of atonement to the dead wife was at work
in his mind, in thus selecting her kinsman
for his heir.
But to proceed, Mr. Bradburn gave "Will
iam to understand plainly that he would
have no love-philandering at Cross Hall;
and as a further dissuasive from courtship,
he informed his nephew that if he would
renounce his pretensions to Nancy, he would
find him the money to stock & farm and set
him going. Beyond this point, he inti
mated that he did not intend to go; and the
offer must be considered to be withdrawn if
he heard anything more of his "goings on
with "Nancy.''' "
Timothy s interposition in 'William Brad
burn's love affairs came too late. "Whatever
views he may have entertained in respect to
Nancy's future, Mr. Bradburn had not com
municated them to Nancy herself; and
Nancy never presumed on her relation to
him as the niece of the second Mrs. Brad
burn, nor did she suppose that she was any
thing more to him than any other of the
hired helpers on the farm. She bad her
own room, and occasionally he made her
little presents; but that was all. She had
not been taught to call him uncle. She
spoke of him as Mr. Bradburn, or, more
commonly, called him the master. He
boarded and lodged her, and paid her wages
in return for her services, and there the
matter ended.
"When Nancy heard that Mr. Bradburn
had interdicted their courtship she stole out
secretly to meet her lover. Their meetings
were not less frequent than before, the only
difference being that they met in quiet
country lanes and shady woods, where they
enjoyed more freedom in telling out their
mutual feelings and exchanging caresses
than would have been possible at Cross Hall
with Timothy Bradburn keeping watch out
of the grim penthouse that overshadowed
his deeply set eyes.
Matters were in this position one morning
late in the October following the summer
that had seen Frank Trestrail become dom
iciled at Cross Hall, when John Gubbins
arrived at the farm to commence his day's
work by milking the cows. Honest John
was astonished to find the back door fast
ened, no lights twinkling in the window,
and no sign of an awakened or awakening
household, such as customarily greeted him.
He knocked at the door for a long time be
fore he could make any impression on the
sleeping inmates. At last, when he had
continued knocking until his wrist ached
with the exercise, he heard sounds of some
one moving within, and then of heavy foot
steps descending the great heavy staircase.
Slowly the ponderous bars were shot back
and Frank Trestrail appeared on the thres
hold, apparelled only in his shirt, trousers
and shoes.
Trestrail looked heavy with sleep; but
what startled John Gubbins most was to
see marks of blood on Trestrail's shirt.
Trestrail looked confused when his atten
tion was drawn to the blood-stains on his
linen, and professed himself at a loss to
account for their presence. The men con
tinued conversing in the kitchen until Se
lina appeared. Then Trestrail left the
kitchen to finish dressing, and John Gub
bins, taking his milk-pails, departed to his
milking with a satirical observation on the
strength of Master's ale and tbe quantity
that must have been drunk the night before
to make them all sleep so soundly.
Gubbins had nearly completed milking
when Trestrail rushed across the farmyard,
and' with blanched face and agitated manner
bade John saddle the mare and go for the
police and doctor, telling him that Mr.
Bradburn was lying in a pool of blood in
his bedroom, murdered.
After Gubbins left to execute this order
Trestrail sat in tbe kitchen shivering before
the fire and buried in moody thought. He
was recalled to consciousness by Selina,
who was weeping, remarking through her
sobs
"It's strange that Nancy is not down yet
She's not one to lie abed."
"You had better go and call her," Tres
trail suggested.
"Hnppen she's murdered, too," said
Selina, her already white face catching a
more sickly hue at the force of this new
train of thought.
"Who should murder an innocent young
girl like Nancy?" Trestrail answered.
"Well, if it comes to that," said Selina,
speaking sharply, "who should murder an
old man like our master?"
""We had better leave that to the police to
find out," Trestrail rejoined. ,lAs for
Nancy there has no harm come to her. She
has overslept herself like the rest of us, and
ycu had better go and call her belore the
police come."
"I'm afeared,"SeHna replied.
"Nonsense! What is there to be afraid
of? Nancy is all right, I tell you," said
Trestrail, growing angry at the woman's
obstinacy.
"Perhaps she is, and perhaps she isn't,"
Selina remarked in a more determinedtone
than ever, "but whether she is or she isn't,
I've seen enough upstairs to last me for my
lifetime, and I won't go up 'em again till
the police come." And Selina kept her
word.
It was 9 o'clock before the police arrived,
for the sergeant lived in the village three
miles away, and though "Williams, the ser
geant, accompanied by a youthful constable,
named Doggett, who had recently joined
the force, hurried as fast as their legs would
carry them to Cross Hall immediately after
John Gubbins brought his message, there
were no short cuts, and they had to walk all
ihc way to the farm. "When the police ar
rived, Selina consented to go upstairs and
arouse Nancy, whom she found wrapped in
a sound slumber, and had some difficulty in
waking. "When Nancy was wide awake,
and had begun to dress, Selina told her that
her master was lying murdered in his bed.
For a moment or two Nancy seemed unable to
comprehend the terrible news, and then
throwing a shawl round her shoulders, she
wentjjustas she was, without completing
dressing, to Mr. Bradburn's room, and
catching sight of the horrible object lying
on the bed, and the police standing
there with Frank Trestrail, she gave a
piercing scream and fell down in a dead
swoon. She was taken back to her room by
Selina and Trestrail, and after a long ad
ministration of vinegar and burnt feathers
Selina contrived to bring her round. But
as soon as she recovered consciousness,
Nancy went off into high hysterics, and fit
followed npon fit, until she was put back to
bed again, thoroughly exhausted.
Meanwhile the police had concluded their
examination of the room in which Mr.
Bradburn had met bis death.
The motive of the crime was apparent. A
small safe that stood near the bed had been
opened and the whole contents abstracted.
The old man had evidently been roused
from sleep by the presence of tbe thieves,
and a heavy blow with some blunt instru
ment on the head had quickly settled him.
A gless of untasted brandy and water was
standing on a table near his bed. An at
tempt had been made, apparently with a
crowbar, to detach the safe from the wall,
with a view ot carrying it on bodily, ser
geant "Williams surmised that it was with
this crowbar the blow had been delivered
which had killed the old man, and that
after the deed had been committed there had
been a change of plan, and instead of carry
ing off the safe, the murderers had searched
the old man's pockets for his keys, and hav
ing found them had adopted the simpler
plan of emptying the safe and carrying off
the spoil.
Near the open safe, and lying on the
floor, the attention of the police was at
tracted by something bright and shining,
and, pick'ing it np and going to the window
to examine it, Sergeant Williams exclaimed
in a voice betraying great surprise, "Why,
it is a diamond!"
Alas! that diamond suggested a false
clew and lead to the death of an innocent
man on the gallows. But we are antici
pating. The police having completed their exami
nation of the bedroom, and the doctor hav
ing arrived and certified to death having
taken place for some hours, an investiga
tion of the premises was begun. Sergeant
"Williams sought in vain for any sign of a
forcible entrance having be?n made into
the house until he went around to the
front. Then he discovered that the hall
door, though stoutly made of oak, had not
E roved strong enough to resist the cotn
ined attack of ax and crowbar. But what
puzzled Sergeant "Williams most and he
was an intelligent and shrewd officer was
to unriddle the mystery how an entrance so
forcible, and accompanied by the noise that
was inevitable in breaking down the door,
had tailed to arouse the inmates. At that
moment he cast a glance of keen inquiry at
Trestrail, and noticed for the first time a
slight smear, as if of blood, on the sleeve of
Trestrail's shirt t
""What is ths?"-he asked, eyeing the man1
Keenly, "ana now came, it mere .look at
it: it is blood I" N
"I do not know how it came there," Tres
trail replied; "it has pnzzled me greatly;
and look here," he added, unbnttoning his
waistcoat, and removing the scarf he wore
round his neck, which disclosed to view sev
eral blood stains on the front of his shirt,
"what do you think of that ?"
""What do I think of that?" exclaimed
"Williams. "Why, I think if you cannot
give me an explanation and a good one,
too how those stains came there, it will be
my duty to arrest you for the murder of Mr.
Bradburn."
"I can give you no explanation," Ties
trail answered, moodily, "Iurther than that
those stains were not there when I went to
bed last, and were not there to my knowl
edge this morning until John Gubbins drew
my attention to them when he knocked us
np. Whether you like to believe it or not,
that is the simple truth, and I stand on my
innocence and court the fullest inquiry."
"Ah! they all do that," the Sergeant
answered, dryly; and then, after a pause in
which he appeared to be turning matters
over in his mind, Williams continned, "I
will thank you to show me your room, Mr.
Trestrail."
Trestrail led the way upstairs, closely fol
lowed at his heels by the two officers. It
was dark when he dressed himself, but
Frank Trestrail was accustomed to dress in
the dark on those cold mornings in early
winter. But it was a bright frosty morning,
and the sun was shining, when Trestrail,
followed now by the two police officers,
again entered his room. At the first glance
round the room, the sharp eye of the Ser
.geant detected iresh evidence of the sus
picion that was beginning to assume definite
shape in bis mind. Going to the washing
stand, attracted by what he saw there, Will
iams discovered that the murderer of Mr.
Bradburn had washed his blood-stained
hands in the hand basin, leaving clear evi
dence of his guilt in the water. Williams
examined Trestrail's hands. He had done
no work that morning. They were clean. In
this, the Sergeant saw an additional con
firmation of his growing suspicions toward
Trestrail.
"Take off that waistcoat," the officer said.
Trestrail obeyed, and Williams, carrying
the garment tb the window, searched for
further blood stains, but the closest scrutiny
failed to reveal any further incriminating
sign. An examination of the pockets, how
ever, threw what Williams called "an im
portant light on the case." He drew forth
from one of the pockets four diamonds, simi
lar to the one that had been found on the
floor of Mr. Bradburn's room. The officer
took possession of the diamonds, and then
glancing sharply at Trestrail, who gazed
upon these multiplying signs of his guilt
with white face, he placed his hand on hfs
shoulder and said: "Francis Trestrail, I
arrest yon for the murder of Timothy Brad
burn, your master, committed some time
last night or early this morning. You are
not obliged to say anything, but whatever
you do say will be taken down in writing,
and may be used in evidence against you.
Have you anything to say?"
"No'thing! I am innocent," was the firm
reply, as Trestrail made an effort to collect
his courage.
"You say you are innocent?"
"I do."
"Put the snaps on, Doggett," said Will
iams, in a peremptory tone, taking out his
notebook to write down the prisoner's state
ment. "I will go with you quietly. There is no
necessity to handcuff me," Trestrail said, in
a sharp tone of pain, ns Doggett moved to
obey his chief's command.
"Put the snaps on," Williams replied, in
a more authoritative voice than before.
"We cannot stand upon punctilio in cases of
this sort."
Trestrail held out his hands to Doggett,
with a hot flush of indignation on his fare
and brow, and Doggett complied with his
instructions.
"Take your prisoner downstairs, and tell
Selina that her brother must get his horse
into the cart at once to go to Chester."
As Doggett led his prisoner downstairs,
Trestrail asked, "Will you do me a good
turn, if you can?"
"I will if it is consistent with my duty,"
Doggett replied.
"I am innocent of yon poor old man I
murder. Will you do your best to prove
my innocence?"
"I will do my best, but it will be hard
work."
"You swear that?"
"I do."
"Promise me, that even if they hang me
for this, you will never rest until you have
proved my innocence to the world."
"I promise."
"Then thank God there is one person who
believes that I am not guilty of this crime.
You do believe me innocent?" Trestrill
added after a pause as they reached the
kitchen.
"I do most firmly. You haven't the look
of a guilty man, and you haven't conducted
yourself like one."
But Doggett was a young, and inexper
ienced officer; and was unversed in the dark
ways of crime. He had his experience to
gather yet.
Williams remained behind in Trestrail's
bedroom, but without discovering any
further evidence tending to implicate him
in the dreadful Cross Hall tragedy. He
continned his examination of the premises,
but there were no signs of footsteps, owing,
perhaps, to the hard frost. Having com
pleted his investigations, so far as he
thought necessary, he took his seat in the
cart with the prisoner, after giving Doggett
instructions that he was to allow no one to
enter the apartments upstairs.
And so, sitting between John Gubbins,
who acted as driver, and Sergeant Williams,
Frank Trestrail was driven away from Cross
Hall, and late that day entered Chester
with "gyves npon his wrist."
(To be continued.')
OFIUH EATING IN INDIA.
lis Use as a Stimulant Almost Universal
Hovr it Is Prepared.
Times of India.
In the hot weather there is much heat
apoplexy even among the natives. They
seem to need a stimulant or narcotic as a
febrifuge, just as those on the coast do, and
opium is undoubtedly a febrifuge. In the
fens in Lincolnshire it is nsed daily as such
by the peasantry. The Deccan, with its:
bracing climate, appears to be the only
part of the Presidency in which both opium
eating and the habit of drinking alcohol
are almost entirely absent. The Mahrattas
are a more energetic race, it is true; but
that also may be the effect of climate. la
almost any village of Guzerat, if not in all
you may see among the Hindoos the listless,
apathetic manner and dull, sleepy eye of the)
opium eater. Anywhere there it is only
necessary to ask for a little Kasumba to ba
offered it on all sides.
The mode of making that drink is not
pleasant to see. A little crude opium is
produced and placed on a small ball of raw
cotton. The maker holds this in the palm
of his hand, and pours a little water on it.
He kneads the opium into the wet cotton
and goes on pouring water till the cotton is
saturated with brown fluid. He then
squeezes it out as from a sponge into the
palm of his hand, and you are invited to
sit on the ground while he pours the dirty
stuff into youi mouth, from a still dirtier
hand.
The opium eater is alway dirty. These
people ask but little food. Opium eatery,
have no appetite. They will work just as,
they are compelled to do in order to pro
cure their drug. Ask them why their fields
are uncultivated or half-tilled, and they
say, "Look at the labor we should have to
undertake." They listlessly drag one foot
after another, silent and half asleep. In
one village the reply given to an inquirer
who asked if the people were well off, was,,
"How could we be when opium is so dear?"
No wonder the active little JMahrattas
walked, through thA. country. Merc than -half
the outlawry of the province is due to
opium smuggling. Where the cultivators
have managed to keep to a certain extent
free from the opium fiend they are invaria
bly well oft
SUPERSTITION AND MUEDER.
What the Belief In Thieves Candles Re
sulted In History of the Crime.
London Globe.
A remarkable trial has just concluded in
the Government of Kursk, in Southern Bus
sia, with the conviction of four peasants for
the murder of a girl of 11, they being sen
tenced to penal servitude for terms varying
from 8 to 20 years each. It was shown that
the culprits believed in the strange super
stition that candles made from human fat,
made them invisible. In order tc obtain
this necessary material, they first attempted
to murder a boy in a forest; next they tried
to kill an old peasant, and afterward a Bus
sian clergyman, whom they met in a field.
In all these cases they were unsuccessful,
being disturbed before they could accom
plish their purpose.
On the 15th of October last, however, they
came across a young girl, Lukeria Cherka-
shina, in a lonely spot, and at once pro
ceeded to strangle and mutiliate her. Out
of the iat from this child's body they made'
candles, with the help of whose supposed
protecting rays they attempted a robbery.
They were, however, caught and pnt in
prison, where they confessed everything.
It was stated in court that the superstition
of "thieves' candles" is widespread in
Itussia, which confirms Dr. Bloch's state
ment that it still exists among the thieves
of nearly all nations.
THE NOMENCLATURE OP THE WAITER.
Some of tho Qaeer Things Called for in
Restaurant.
Cincinnati Gazette.
"Two hot devils, and one in the black!"
shouted a waiter in a Vine street restaurant
last night, startling a clerical looking old
gentleman wearing a white tie, and causing
him to look over his shoulder furtively to
see if any of Beelzebub's Lieutenants could
be thus materialized at the command of a
waiter, brought forth at a high temperature
and in a garb of black. Devils usually
come in red, in pantomimes at least, and
one "in the black" was an innovation to
the clerical looking gentleman. The
"devils" which the waiter ordered was de
viled crabs, and when he shouted "one in
the black" he didn't refer to devils, but to
coffee without cream. The nomenclature
of the waiter is a queer one. "Devils" are
deviled crabs; "stack o' sinkers" is the
playful way in which buckwheat cakes are
ordered;" "pig in the mud" is the sugges
tive name for a ham sandwich with mustard;
"white wings, sunny side up," is the senti
mental order of the waiter when he wants
cues fried on one side alone; "Bostons" is
the rather appropriate name for beans, and
"mystery brown" is corn beef hash.
RESPECT TOR TBANKUX
A New York Ulan Wbo Always Raises Ills
Hat When theName Is Mentioned.
New York San
As one of the Sixth avenue elevated
trains was approaching a downtown, station
a day or two ago, the brakeman, openingthe
door, called out, "Franklin street." An
old man of courtly appearance, who had
been deeply engaged in reading a news-'
Eaper, thereupon raised his hat. He kept
is head uncovered until the train had
moved away from the station, when he re
placed his hat and resumed his reading.
"I have heard of that old man from several
of the trainmen," said the guard, "but I
have never before happened to see him.
He is not crazy; oh, no, but he always
raises his hat when the Franklin street sta
tion is called out, in token, I suppose, of
his respect for the old printer and philoso
pher whose name indicates the street."
X,
BPTSBBWsgKHLsKPKBfM