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01 AUGUST
WILKEE COLLINS'
Written from His
THE DISPATCH.
CHAPTER L
THE PBOFHECY.
HE "War of the Ee
bellion had began.
Missouri was about
evenly balanced
between secession
vrith the Southern
Stales and. loyalty
with the Northern
States. The time
was August inlSSGl.
There had been
struggles of legis
lation over the
question whether
Missouri should go
to the South or stay
)Vwith the Xorth.
VW Every city, every
,W town, and many a
family, was dis
tracted and di
vided. All was
turbulence. Gen
eral Fremont was
in couimaud of the
Unionist military department, and
he had sent General Lyon with a
small army to drive out the Confed
erate troops, who had entered the
State from Indian Territory under com
mand of General Ben McCulloch. The
movements of both commanders were for
awhile as chaotic as the diverse sentiments
of the people, for the Governments of the
United States and the Confederate States
were alike indecisive in their policy con
cerning the uncertain territory. The battle
of "Wilson's Creek was not far off, and the
immediate region was loosely possessed by
Confederate troops.
But peaceful quite was the yard of a
farmhouse which overlooked tne stream at
sundown of a summer day. Four persons
were unconsciously grouped in a way that
made a fair picture. They were two men
and two women, not one of whom had gone
further in life than a few years beyond
maturity. One woman sat negligently on a
bench, with one arm hanging over its back
and the other swinging at her side. Her
face was so perfectly regular and proportion
ate in its features that it might have been
expressionless but for large black and won
denully lustrous eyes. He who stood be
hind her leaning on the back of the scat
was a very manly fellow. A tendency to
slouchiness in his clothing was in keeping
with free and careless ways, and indicated
his rural rearing as certainly as the woman's
nicety of dress showed her acquaintance
with the exactions of a fashionable life in
the city.
The other couple were in a swing that
hung from the limb of a tree, the brawny
man clasping the ropes with his hands, and
the slender woman clinging to him with
more energy than her position seemed to
require. She jumped down of a sudden,
and perverted the fact by saying: "You
were hugging me, Tudor Bo ne." She ran
out of the yard, he following, and . clumsily
protesting'his innocence of intentional ini
i propriety.
The pair that remained had listened with
the air of being still diverted bv something
that was by no means new to them: and the
woman said: "They are amusing, Mr.
Willett." Her tone was lazy, like her atti
tude and her manner. "Whether she was
aflected by the listlessness that comes of I
summer lounging in the country, or whether
her calmness or surface was a careful cover
ing of activity underneath, young Oliver
Willett had been trying to discern. He
courageously determined on a more direct
way to the desired knowledge than guessing,
and precipitately began, in thoughtlessly
chosen, but ardent words, an avowal of his
passion.
A woman came to the open window of the
house and stood eaves-dropping. This was
May "Willett Oliver's sister, and older
than he. She waited only long enough to
comprehend what her brother was doing
and then interrupted by presenting herself
before them. Oliver walked into the house
without saying another word. May took
the place that he had left at the back of the
seat, and said quietly, but with a firm mod
ulation: "Mrs. Armytage, 1 have been
listening. I heard what my brother said,
and I know what he was going to sav. I
am going to speak frankly it is my duty.
You and Mrs. Dimmock married women
came here to spend a few weeks. I wel
comed yos. as a school-day friend, and her
as your friend. You asked me not to tell
anybody that you were wives."
"That was her freak, not mine," Mrs.
Armytage repl ed; "I was ashamed of it
from the start." e
"You acquiesced, at least, and I gave you
my word not to let even Oliver know. I did
not foresee that you would so quickly be
come lovers. He has been commissioned an
officer in the Confederate army, yet he
lingers here, away from his duty, and in
dangerous proximity to the Unionists' ad
vance." Mrs. Armytaee's manner was placid as
ehe said: "Am I to blame? I have not
undertaken to control his conduct or his
heart. I am the wife of a United States
annv officer, and who can sav that I am un
faithful? I have tried to discourage your
brother, and it is not my fault if I have not
succeeded. But if you order me away, I
will not hesitate about going."
Mrs. Armytaee arose with stately dignity,
but May drew her back to the seat, saying:
"Forgive me."
"I impose only one condition," Mrs.
Armytage said. "Promise never to unde
ceive your brother. Let him continue to
think of me with respect."
"I promise," May said.
Tudor Bowne and Mrs. Dimmock returned
to the yard, and saw nothing in Mrs. Army
tage'a beautifulty immobile face to show
that a gust of feeling had swept over it. Mrs.
Dimmock was clinging to Tudor's arm with
a clever mockery of affection, and he was
exhibiting an exaltation of delight. They
were bringing along an aged negress, whose
gaudily turbaned head and tatterdemalion
garments made her a singular figure. That
was old Judee, of familiar repute in the
county as a witch, but an engrossing novelty
to the guests. A wandering vagabond she
was, and she told fortunes with all the
werfdness of which she was capable. She
was regarded as a voodoo necromancer, and
among the blacks she was feared, if not
quite reverenced; while the whites were not
tree of superstition regarding her charms,
spells and prophecies, although at the "Wil
lett homestead there was an intelligent dis
position to treat her jocosely whenever she
visited the place.
But she was quickly the center of a group
comprising all the persons of the premises,
and she shrewdly chose the two strange
ladies to especially impress herself upon.
The account which is hereto be given of her
prediction and what ensued, is to be con
strued as the reader pleases either as a nar
rative or something occult, or of something
altogether explainable as matters of chance
coincidence. The writer Ib merely a his
torian, with no disposition to theorize upon
the incidents which he sets forth.
Old Judee was formalin her method as a
prophetess. She proffered her services to
Mrs. Armytage first, and then to Mrs. Dim-
znocK; due tnose ladies, conscious
of their roguery in having figured be-
lore their two wooers as maidens, were Be.
cktwi nv .n na i - at, ... ..... .......
And refused to have their fortunes told.
L
. .
A l,
NIGHT IN '61.
LAST STORY PLOT.
Original "Sketch
"Den yo', Mass'r Oliver," old Judee said,
"lemme tole yo fortin'. Dah's fo'tellin in
yo' case sah impo'tent fo'tellin. I kin
see dangah, Mass'r Oliver dangah right
ahead o' yo'."
"That's not hard to foretell in these war
times," Oliver laughingly responded.
"Ax' me, Mass'r Oliver ax' me," she
droned.
"Tell me what you see," he said, aiming
only to satisfy the curiosity of the ladies.
"I sec yo' in de middle ob a soldier com
p'nv marchin' marchin'."
"Well, I trust they're Confederates in
gray. Aunt Judee. And can't you put me
at their head? I am to be a captain, you
know."
"Dey yan't in gray. Dey's in bine, sah.
Dey's Union soldiers marchin' marchin."
and she swayed her body, and held up her
head, as though in unison with the tread of
the troop which she saw. "An' yo' yan't
in de command. To's wearin' de same
clothes yo' got on now. Oht I see dat yo's
a pris'ner, fo' yo' arms is tied, an' de com
p'ny guards yo' close." Her eyes turned
slowly away from Oliver, and she seemed to
be watching something that was moving
steadily away. "Marchin' marchin'
marchin'," she repeated over and over, but
in a lower and lower tone, until she finally
whispered: "Dey's gone out'n sight, sah,
an' I don't see no moah."
"But I'd really like to know what be
comes of rue," Oliver remarked carelessly.
"I trust that you," and he covertly ad
dressed Mrs. Armytage, "have some regard
as to that."
Old Judee turned her gaze on that lady,
and stared steadily, yet vacantly.
""Well, well," Mrs. Armytage asked;
"and what are you seeing now?"
"I see yo' on horseback, lady ndin'
hard ridin' fast. Great trouble in yo'
face great trouble." Suddenly she ceased
to speak, and spread one hand to her ear in
the attitude of listening. "I heah's yo' say
somefing. 'I must sabe him I must sabe
him!' Dat's what you' savin'. An now
yo' rides into de woods." She had seemed
to follow with her eyes the course of the
equestrienne, making recognizable the
movement of a person in the saddle of a
running horse. "Dah yo's gone. I doan
see no moah."
"Trv again."
"No, missy I doan' see no moah."
Even those who had seen Old Judee be
fore in similar exhibitions were soberly im
pressed. There was martial excitement in
the air, and the woman's rude yet moving
description of Oliver a captive in the hands
of a company of soldiers stirred them.
"I'm afraid, Aunt Judee," said Oliver,
halt jesting and half iu earnest, "that
you're indulging your Northern sentiments.
We're old, old friends, yet you make the
Yankees capture me."
"But she sends a rescuer after you," Mrs.
Dimmock suggested.
Had the negress merely indulged her wish
and fancy in describing the Confederate
officer as a prisoner? And had she, taking
an easy cue from his manner and words to
Mrs. Armytage, sought to mollify him by
representing the lady as seeking his deliv
erance? She had the cunning of the South
ern voodoo votaries, whether she possessed
any of their supposed supernaturalism or
not.
"Look again," Oliver insisted. "You've
put me into a predicament now see me
through it."
Old Judee took his hand, and reached for
one of Mrs. Armytage's, too. Still kneel
ing, and with the hands tightly clasped, she
gazed steadfastly at the young couple, and
then beyond them into the distance.
"I see yo both," she said. "Yo, Mass'r
Oliver, is in front ob de soldiers."
"Ahl4at last you've put me in command,"
he interjected.
Dey am de Union soldiers standin still
standin' solemn. Yo am facin' dem.
(Dey lifts dar guns. Dey fires at yo an yo
falls. De lady am dar, too; pale as death.
She am lain tin'. She drops on degroun.
De smoke ob de guns gets thick. It hides
yo both. I can't see. Dat am all."
Old Judee arose to her feet, rubbed her
eyes, had a minute of apparent bewilder
ment, and then was sufficiently wide awake
to take the coin which Oliver handed to
her.
"All humbug," he said.
"Of course," Mrs. Armytage assented.
But they gazed in silence after the black
Aunt Judee's Prophecy.
woman, as she walked away, and nobodv
was prompt to ridicule her prophecy. It
had made, at least momentarily, a serious
impression on all who heard it.
CHAPTER IL ' '
LOVE JOiD TAB.
Half an hour later, Mrs. Armytage and
Mrs. Dimmock were alone in the garden
when a lumbering carriage rolled to the
gate. Colonel Armytage, of the Union
army, was the man who alighted. His hair
was white enough for 70 years, but his skin
was sufficiently ruddy and smooth for 50;
and his age was a fair compromise betwixt
tne two that is, CO. He kissed his wife,
and said, "Your color indicates some sort of
emotion, and that is unusual in you." She
replied with perfect equanimity that a wife
ought to be pleasurably agitated on meeting
her husband after a separation.
"I have come to take you back to Spring
field," said he.
Mrs. Armytage was frightened, and she
furtively scanned his face for information of
the reason; but there was no anxiety be
trayed in her tone when she asked it they
were to go soon. There was more feeling in
the exclamation, "lam glad," after he had
said, "Immediately."
"I'm not," said Mrs. Dimmock.
The arrival of a carriage was not so com
mon an event as to be uninteresting, and
from the house emerged several servants.
As they came toward the Colonel, he hastily
said to his wife and Mrs. Dimmock: "Gen
eral Lyon has arrived at Springfield. There
is to be a forward movement. We can't
leave you any longer in a rebel household.
Hush thev must not hear."
May "Willett came out, and Colonel
Armytage was presented to her. She wel
comed him gracefully; and being told, that
her visitors were about to go away,said that
she was very sorry, which was a lie that
politeness required of her.
Mrs. Armytage hurried the preparations
for departure with all her might, because
she hoped to avoid a meeting between ber
husband and Oliver or Tudor. She whis
pered her purpose to May, who gave aid to.
us accompusaraeni.
Colonel Armytage went into the house for
glass of water before starting. May ac-
I comoanied turn. The two wives were wait-
An.ani.n rum -nn rm nn
J ing iiapatiently in the yard, when Oliver
V2r$'i('9ri "r'
Willett and Tudor Bowne sauntered into it
together. Mrs. Armytage fled 'like a
coward into the house. Oliver attributed
her withdrawal to,displeasure at his recent
half-made avowal of love. From Mrs.
Dimmock he learned of the intended sudden
departure, and he connected it instantly
with his previous guess that his love-making
had given offense. Mrs. Dimmock made a
bold stroke by saying:
"Colonel Armytage is in the house her
father," repeating the latter words so as to
fix tbem in Oliver's mind, "and he will
take us away within five minutes. Now,
listen to me, and she put her arms care
lessly through those of the men. "He says
the condition of this section is dangerous.
He is a Union officer, and the folks around
here are rebels. Now, if his identity be
came known he might be treated roughly.
So please avoid mentioning his name, or
his relation to Miss Armytage."
Oliver did not answer, but Tudor said:
"When you command I obey," and went
into the house with the able young falsi
fier. Mrs. Armytage soon came out, wearing a
hat and a light cloak, in readiness for the
ride. On seeing Oliver 'alone she would
have retired, had he not detained her.
"Here in Missouri," he said very earn
estly, "our ways are blunter than yours of
the Eastern cities. I love you you know
it." She endeavored to get past him, but
he stopped her by a clasp of her wrist. "A
second, I beg. I recall the avowal. I do
not wish to violate usaze or propriety I
will ask vour father's consent to woo vou.
He is here, and will speak to him frankly."
Mrs. Armytage perceived the error into
which Oliver had been led as to Colonel
Armytage's relationship to her. She said
entreatingly: "No, no don't speak to
him!"
"Why not? My love is honorable."
"Mine is not.
This was her hasty thought, uttered be
fore she had considered how much of con
fession it conveyed.
"Then you do love me?" said Oliver,
catching only at one phase of her meaning.
He would have clasped her, but she drew
back, saying: "Hush! He is coming. In
heaven's name, Oliver, do not say anything
to him. I will tell you why some time. I
have written a message to yon. It is be
hind the mirror in my room. Look for it
after I am gone."
He seized her hand, and was about to kiss
it, when Colonel Armytage and the rest
came out of the house. He stepped back
into a shadow, from which, unseen, he
heard them bid adieu to his sisters and saw
them ride away.
"Drive fast," said Colonel Armytage to
the negro who held the reins. He added to
the women, "This neighborhood is not over
safe for us."
"It is full of peril," said Mrs. Armytage.
The journey of ten miles to Springfield
was made in the early evening, and it con
veyed Colonel Armytage and the two ladies
direct to the house where he had for a week
been provisionally quartered. The town
was a hubbub of military occupation.
General Lyon meant to advance upon the
Confederates next dar, and the preparations
were confused, for in those early days of
the war the operations had little of the pre
cision and orderliness subsequently
achieved. uoionei Armytage s absence,
though brief, had left his duties co accu
mulate, and he had no time to devote to his
regained wife.
Frivolous Mrs. Dimmock, interested by
the hurly-burly, had no thought of the
farmhouse that she had so recently quitted;
but Mrs. Armytage wandered away into the
garden. She sat on a bench, leaned against
the tree that made a back for it, and turned
her face toward the bright moon, which had
risen just high enough to shine over the
wall that lined the garden on that side.
Externally she was the placid, cool, young
beauty. In her mind, so well hidden by
her characteristic self-control, was being
formed, and not without a struggle, a firm
resolution to think no more of Oliver Wil
lett. A noise at the wall startled her, and
Oliver leaped over. He stood before her,
took off his hat and bowed low. His en
trance to the garden had been rapid and
resolute; but now he was hesitant, as though
a little confounded by his situation. Mrs.
Armytage rose, and looked at him with
wonder in her lustrous eves as she said:
"What brings you here?"
'You," he answered.
"You are reckless."
"A lover knows no fear."
"But he should not let his own fearless
ness be the destrnction of the woman he
loves."
"What do you mean?"
"Did you get the message that I left for
you?"
"Yes; and came with it to its author."
They had spoken so rapidly that their
dialogue thus far had been as - inconsiderate
as it was exciting to them; yet she main
tained bv for the most composure, and when
he would have grasped her hands she
stepped back with a show of displeasure.
"My letter told you," she said, "that you
must never see me again that there was a
sufficient reason why we must not meet."
"It told me, too," he said, uncooled by
her repellent manner, "what your lips had
refused to tell. I had begun to believe that
you were heartless, and the sudden knowl
edge of the truth that you loved me was
like stimulant to an invalid potent to make
the blood tingle, the heart bound and the
brain whirl. What could do but come to
you?"
"Forget it if I wrote anything to encour
age your madness. I was thoughtless I
scrawled hurriedly to escape observation.
Remember only that I said we must not
even think of each other."
"I know the letter word for word."
He took from a pocket a crumpled sheet
of paper that looked like a page torn from a
diary; but he scarcely glanced at it as he
recited what was penciled on it.
"It says: 'The past two weeks were to me
like a brief existence in another lite than
my own. I had never loved any man. My
situation forbade me to entertain such a
sentiment, except for one who was powerless
to excite it. You made me love you.' " He
held the writing before her, and added
triumphantly, "they are your words."
"Blot tbem out and read the rest."
She stood with folded'arms as passive as a
statue. He read, aided by his recollection
and the bright light of the moon:
"I am free to confess it because I also tell
you that I must abjure the passion that
makes me irresolute, while I write out my
own sentence. I cannot bear to explain to
you the reason why we must be strangers,
.but it is absolute, irresistible, final."
I "Why do you come here after that?" she
fcaid, still calm.
"I come to learn what the thing is that
can part us."
"I will not tell you."
"Is it that you are a Unionist and I'an
officer in the Confederate armv?"
"No; that is not the reason."
He argued no more, but said, "You
puisle me," as he thrust the paper into a
JJue&st pocket.
cmo loosed toward the
house, with a thought for tho first time of
being observed, so absorbed had she been,
despite her self-possession.
"Somebody will come," she said. "Go
at once. If you were recognized here you
might be put under arrest."
He instantly concluded that her repulse
of him had been caused by her tear for his
safety. That was pleasing to his vanity,
and allaying to the doubts that had been
taking shape in his mind as to whether she
did love, after all. He clasped her passion
ately. She did not struggle to escape, but
resolved instead on the course that she well
knew would be more effectual, and which
she was convinced she could not now avoid.
She said:
"Oh, must I abase myself Before you? I
desired vou to forget me, or remember me
respectfully. You compel me to tell you
what it is that must keep us apart. I am a
wife."
She was freed instantly. Not that he,
with intention recoiled from, her; but his
arms relaxed involuntarily, and he stood
with the limpness of a man who had re
ceived a terrible physical as well as mental
shock. He gasped out, after a pause: "A
wife, did you say?"
"Yes; wife of the man you thought was
my father."
The first definite sentiment that was
formed out of the jumbling of ideas in his
mind was resentment; and he began: "Your
deceit"
"You will forgive me," she pleaded, in
tone as well as in words, "when you know
that at the first, I had no deliberate thought
of seriously deceiving you, when you con
sider the self-condemnation I have suffered,
when I tell you that the determination to
be an honorable wife is made at the cost of
a breaking heart."
Her attitude of supplication, her eye3,
that he had never before seen bold tears,
her voice, that he had never before heard to
express passion these drove the resentment
out of his thoughts, and left only the over
mastering knowledge of the reality of her
love. Therefore, it is not surprising that he
said: "Struggle no more, but go with me
now. I will take you away from your un
loved husband."
He again put his arms aronnd her, and
partly through an effort to free herself and
partly through an unconsidered impulse,
slid down to her knees. She clung to his
hands while she said:
"Don't break my good resolution! Don't
use 'your influence tor evil, but sustain me
in my honor!"
He lifted her tenderly to her feet and said:
"Your rebuke makes me ashamed omyself.
Good-by."
"Farewell; and remember that my good
repute is in your keeping."
He took her hand respectfully. "I
swear!" he said, with all the solemnity that
could attend a more formal oath -taking, "by
the hand that I may never hold again, by
my unalterable love, that I will sooner give
up my life than this secret."
He started toward the wall, but turned
OLIVER'S SUCCESSFUL EUSE.
back as though to say something raore. He
saw her standing rigid and white in the
moonlight, and people hurriedlj approach
ing. Colonel Armytage was at the front of
the party, but they were led by k man in the
uniform of a sergeant, who pointed and said:
"This is an officer in the rebel army. He is
a spy." .
"He is Mr. Willett, at whose) home I have
been a guest," said Mrs. Armytage, with
wondenul calmness; but, while she spoke
with a steady voice, she leanefl against the
seat for support. I
"Young man," said Colonll Armytage,
"it will be necessary tor you imder the cir
cumstances to explain your presence here,
at the headquarters of the j Union com
mander. I hope you can dp so satisfac
torily." i
Oliver said firmly: "I havei no explana
tion to make." I
"General Lyon has been .warned," Col
onel Armytage continued, "that a spy
would visit these premiseso-night, to get
information as to our plans for to-morrow.
I sincerely regret that my wife's friend has
rendered himself liable to detention, and I
trust that he has not 'endeavored to use
knowledge that he may have gained in
social intercourse. Guards, conduct this
gentleman to the General!
Oliver thought vaguely of trying to
escape, but the grasrV of soldiers was upon
him. Then he recollected Mrs. Armytage's
letter, and his hands' went involuntarily to
his breast She saw 1 the gesture and knew
what it meant. She (clung to the seat, only
by a hard resistance preventing herself
from falling into it.
Colonel Armytaie also saw the move
ment, and said ai Oliver was marched
away, "Search him (for documents that he
may be carrying.
CHAPITER III.
TWO OP OLD JUDEE'S VISIONS EEALIZED.
At midnight Mrsl Armytage was the sole
occupant of a room in the second story of
the spacious house! which Colonel Armv
tageand his staff occupied. The windows
looking out on thesame large garden from
which Oliver Willett had been taken as a
spy not long before, were wide open, for the
atmosphere was sultry. Mrs. Armytage sat
by a table. During an hour she had scarcely
stirred from one petition. Slowly she had
come to a clear appreciation of what had
happened, and she was waiting, as one
strapped -to a guillotine might, with awful
dread awaiting the fall of tho blade for
her husband to coijoe witli the letter that she
felt must eie this have been taken from
Oliver. The 12 strokes of a. clock at mid-
night sounded to
knell: and from t
her unreasonably like a
at she went into a da
of wondering why
the bell's familiar noisn
suggested such an
idea to her. As nersnm
in ureams conucn ;e nours into seconds, so
her thoughts hac wandered iar and wide
before the twelfttf stroke; and then, looking
up, she saw her husband standing before
her.
"Not abed yetf " he said.
That was not like what she expected, and
she thought it wis a trivial preface for the
real matter; butt he seemed to expect a
replr, and so shh said: "How could I
sleep?" j
"True," he answered, while she listened
with every fiber strained to meet an acensa
tion; "the sad evenfof to-night has shaken
my nerves, and they are stronger than
yours."
He kissed her on the forehead. She took
the endearment with a heart-bound, as an
indication that somehow the calamity had
been averted, and hesitatingly asked,
'What-what was the result? He explained
that"
'"He explained nothing,' It was not possi
ble for him to clear himself. He was caught
at the enemy's headquarters on the night
before an important movement Probably
he supposed that his acquaintance with you
would be a plausible excuse for his presence,
and he was brave enough tp take the phance.
His hold plan aUgutWe been successful
had he not carried a paper that condemned
him."
"Condemned him?"
"Yes; for although he managed to destroy
the paper before anybody read it "
"He destroyed it?"
"The careless guards gave him the oppor
tunity. Doubtless it contained memoranda
of what he had learned."
Mrs. Armytage understood full well that
Oliver had kept his vow to protect her rep-
utaiiuu, unuuui;u in uuiug so ne nau ae-
stroyed the proof that he was not a spy. In
LUC Ulav nmuttu v. u fjlAHIUUG DUG glUWCLl
with a blind desire to save him in return.
Hence she exclaimed, "The paper con
tained no such thing."
"How do you know?"
The question brought her to the point of
confession, if she intended to make one; but
instead she shrank from it. "Who knows
that it did?"
"Well, he refused to deny it when a
reasonable account of the paper's contents
might have saved his life."
"Is his life in danger?"
"He has only a few hours to live. He is
sentenced to be shot at daybreak."
Once more the woman forgot herself in
her appreciation of the sacrifice that had been
made lor her, and she exclaimed: "Oh, it
will be murder! He is not a spy."
"I would like to think so, but he will not
plead not guilty," he added, as she sank
back in her chair, covered her face and
wept. "I know it is shocking to you to
know that the man who was your host yes
terday is to be shot this morning, and that
your husband is in a sense his executioner.
War necessities are brutal."
Mrs. Armytage stood up and put her arms
around her husband's neck. "You never
denied me anything I asked, reasonable or
unreasonable. Save this man's life. Help
him to escape, if it can be done in no other
way."
Her impulsive action was astonishing to
him, and he was by it distracted from her
words; but when he comprehended them he
said: ' "Your proposition is dishonorable."
"Would you be a murderer?" She
was as vehement now as she had just been
wheedling; and she took her arms from
around his neek. "He is not a spy I
know it. By saving him you would keep
yourself clear of an innocent man's blood."
"Proof 4hat he is not a spy would save
him. Can you furnish that?" and he gazed
searchingly into her face.
"Yes," she answered quickly- and some
what defiantly; but, being thus brought to
the point of confession, she again fell short
of heroism. "No, nol" she said; "I mean
tbat a woman's discernment is sometimes
better than a man's. I have seen him in
his home, and have become acquainted with
his qualities. He is honorable, brave"
"Those are qualities that would fit him for
a mission of peril."'
Angered by her arguments for Olivet:
being turned against "him, she broke out,
petulantly: "You are heartless."
"You know I am not," said the old man,
kindly, but chidingly. My affection for
you, scarcely reaulted, is proof to the contrary.
Were I naturally jealous, your plea for this
young man might arouse suspicion in my mind
as to your motive."
She crouched down at bis side as he took a
seat and pnt her arms around him in a caress
ing way that was not common to ber. He saw
that sbo was weeping. In spite of an exertion
of the will, such as was wont to steady her
nerves under any circumstances, she trembled
like a coward. At length she said: "You lovo
me very dearly. Would it disturb you to know
tbat some other man loved me, too?"
"ADd that you loved him?"
He said that with a quickness that startled
her. She leaned on his knees, as she responded:
"Why need you como so readily to that sup
position?" "Who is the man?"
"Oliver Willett."
He stood up so hastily that she was pros
trated on tho floor He did not help her up,
and she arose unaided. This rebuff at th - out
set of a confession made her waver in her pur
pose. She asked herself why a partial revela
tion or. tne lacts would not do as well; and,
hoping rather than believing that it would, she
said: "He made mo a proffer of his love. I re
pulsed him. I told him that he must never see
me again. He followed me to tho city and then
asked me to fly with him. Then he was ar
rested. Tbat is the truth, as I live. He is no
spy. Now you will save him will yon not?
There must be some wiy of doing it, when you
are convinced th? t ho did not come here on the
errand imputed to him."
"Is that all yoa wish to say?"
"Is that not enough?" she replied, a little be
wildered, and feeling that her determination
was melting away.
"You are trying to deceive me. Your motive
I do not condemn, but the device fails. Your
pity for him has impelled you to a desperate
effort to save his life. You have exceeded
what duty to your friend required."
'I have told you the truth, as there is a
heaven above usl"
"Stop!" Could this cold, stern old man be
the petting husband she had known? She
'looked at him in wonder and fear. "You have
forcotten one point tho document that he de
stroyed." She felt that this was tho time and the last to
tell all that she had left untold. She raised
her eyes to his face, and saw thai he was iron.
Agiin she resorted to a fragment of the truthl
"That was a letter from me to him, com
manding him not to seek me."
"If that be so, why should he have destroyed
it? There is nothing in such a letter the hidin"
of which wonld be worth a man's lire.
She could have met this objection with the
little that remained unconfessed that the let
ter contained her confession of lore for Oliver
Willett She had intended to tell that, and to
trust to her husband's indulgent lore for for
giveness; but now she was convinced that he
would not forgive tbat one fault She was
silent, and ere she knew it he bad quitted the
room.
The Colonel went at once to the Improvised
cuardliouse, where Oliver Willett was await
ing the execution of the sentence of death
Tho young man had repeatedly asked himself
why he had destroyed the proof that he was
not a spy, and as of ten he vividly remembered
his promise to Mrs. Armytage. made in the sol
emn nature of an oath, that he would sooner
die than reveal the secret of her love. Then
the idea would get uppermost in his mind that
he was throwing hfs life away in an unworthy
cause. Swayed by these opposing considera
tions and oppressed by physical dread, he was
fast settling into apathy something tbat was
beyond bis previous agitation, and a relief
from it, when Colonel Armytage entered.
"Air. Willett," he said, "vou have but a few
hours to live, unless you can yet prove that
your errand was not that of a spy."
Oliver guessed that the Colonel suspected
the truth, and, on the quick impulse of shield
ing the woman otbia worship he exclaimed: "I
cannot do it I expect to die."
"Have you no desire to live?"
"No man a stronger; but I voluntarily took
upon myself a solemn obligation, and I must
not be a coward because the worst has come of
it"
"Yes, you might hare had some other errand
that of a lover meetinc his sweetheart, for
example. Was that it in your case?"
Oliver was certain now tbat bis surmise was
correct He said as conscientiously as any man
ever lied, "No."
"If it were so, and vou could prove it, your
life would be spared."
"I can prove no such thing."
"That removes a sorrow from me, and seals
your fate. Withfn an hour my wife has told
mo that yon were her lover that you came to
see ber, and rot as a spy from the rebels."
Believing tbat she had confessed the wholo
truth instead of only an ineffectual part of it,
Oliver's only sentiment for the instant was
pride In bis own saennce.
The Colonel left him to himself.
An hour later a muffled woman was in his
presence. When she showed her face It was so
cioso kukdc leic ner breath fall hot on his
pheefcandltwasMrs. Armytage who spokej
"I could not let you die with the thought that I i
I. safe in your sacrifice, had not Med to save
you. I told my husband why you came to the
city, bnt he would not believe me. I conjure
you to convince him tbat I told the truth."
It fs not always true That men are braver In
premeditating heroism than when the time of
action comes. Oliver bad, even since his inter
view with Colonel Armytage, wavered from his
determination to die possessed o this woman's
secret He had balanced bis obligation to ber
against his family's grief and his own dread of
aeatb,and which was weightiest be had scarcely
been able td determine. But now, under the
powerful influence of her presence, and in the
.Tel
fi ,-j .--.1 l 'j :. r. ;
vow. He said very quietly: "Your husband
nas Deea nere.
"And you told what I saidt"
"Yes."
"You assured him that it was truer They
will believe It, and yon will be saved?' She
waited with affright for his answer. She hon
estly believed that she hoped be would say
"Yes;" but In her mind was a shadowy, awful
fear of what might be the consequences to
herself.
"It is too late to alter my purpose If I
would," he said, taking her hands in his. and
feeling tbat they were Hot and nervous. "Your
letter Is destroyed. If I were to tell its con
tents now, 1 should not be believed. I have
thought it all over. My life is very precious to
me; but mine or yours must go for what
would be left of yours worth retaining if the
world regarded you as a faithless wifeT I will
ale in the flush of a high resolve. You would
linger, if I had proved cowardly, in years of
death. No; I have kept my oath and your
secret."
When Mrs. Armytage was once again In her
room, the first gray light of dawn shone into
the window where she sat Her husband bad
not returned. The horrible duty of the execu
tion of the court martial's sentence devolved
on him, and, although he assigned its details to
a staff officer, it added to bis other activities of
the night and kept him awav from her. Boon
she heard the beat of a muffled drum, mark
ing the tread of marching feet Looking out
through the shutters, she saw a company of 60
soldiers coming down the street
In their midst was Oliver Willett
The first vision of Old Jndeo was realized.
The prophecies of the negress had not been
recalled by the distracted woman, but now she
felt that Oliver's march to death had been
foretold. With a dumb, still sense of despair
for ber lover, she watched the dreadful pro
cession until it passed beyond her sight and
hearing.
"What was it that Old Judee told next!" she
exclaimed. "I remember. She saw me riding
on horseback toward a wood. She heard me
say that I must save him. HowT I can't con
celve a way."
She was In a condition now in which quletuda
was not possible. Her saddle-horse was in a
stable near by. She did not consfder what she
meant to do, nor hardly realize what she was
doioc. Old Judee's prophecy Impelled her.
She hastily dressed, herself in her riding habit,
aud reached the stable unobserved. There she
saddled and bridled the norse, impetuously
mounted him, and rode In the direction that
the detail of executioners had gone. Once
beyond the limit of the town, she discerned at
a distance the company just entering a grove.
Urging her horse into a run she dashed after
them disappearing into a wood just as the
prophetess had professed to see her do In the
second vision.
CHAPTER, IV.
SHOOTING THE SUPPOSED ,SPT.
The place selected for the execution of the
death sentence on Oliver Willett was in a grove
two miles from the- town. The motive in the
selection was to have the spot as near as pos
sible to the section inhabited by Southern sym
pathizers, that the fate of the supposed spy
might readily become known among them.
The first ot those directly interested in the
event to arrive on the ground was Mrs. Army
tage. She knew the spot chosen, and she
reached it by a detour on her fleet horse ahead
of the soldiers afoot She sat still on her
horse, and, bearing the birds sing, fell to mar
veling that they sang at such a dreadful tune.
Pleasant sounds seemed to her shamefully out
oi Keeping witn tne occasion, one cnea to de
vise a plan of action on behalf of her lover.
One thing alone she had not confessed to her
husband that Oliver's love of her had been
reciprocated by ber. Should she publicly avow
It? What good would it do?
"You here, ma'am?"
She turned and saw Sergeant Brickson. He
was a soldier of the regular army, and had for
several years been in her husband's regiment
He continued: "You will be seen If you stay.
The prisoner and the squad the firing squad,
ma'am are i't more'n five minutes away.
Your husband's coming too. I beg pardon,
bnt I didn't suppose you wanted him to find
yon here.-'
"I do not care," she said impassively.
"Well, ma'am, you said at least I know
young Willett's your lover, and I?'
"You are ready enough to ascribe the worst
to my interest in him. I wish my husband
wonld be as uncharitable."
She was speaking meditatively, but seeing
that herwords puzzled the Sergeant she added,
"I would at this instant give all I possess for
proof of what you are so ready to believe."
"I can give it to yon,'" and the Sergeant dis
played the letter that had drawn Oliver to the
city, tbat had been partly burned and hidden,
and tbat he had giren to Major Dimmock. He
held it up so that Mrs. Armytage could see it
and asked. "Isn't this your letter to your lorer?
"Yes, yes." she eagerly answered. "How did
you get it?"
"I got it where he hid it after he tried to
burn it."
"Give it to me." She reached for it but he
drew it away.
"Excuse me, ma'am. I'm a man tbat sees an
unexpected chance before him to rise in the
world. I did a service for you last night and
you're under promiso to pay me to pay me
with a promotion in the army. I let you get to
the prisoner, who was in my charge, and you
agreed to have your husband make a captain
of me." '
"And I will keep my promise."
"I've Eot no right to doubt you, ma'am, but a
man's first duty's to look ont for bis own in
terest That mayn't be scripture, but it's
sense. To put it plain," and here he rested bis
hand on his horse's mane, and went closer to
her, "it seems to me as it this letter's a kind of
a written note, payable on demand payable in
promotion on demand. Of course I don't un
derstand it all. but I do know this is a love
letter from Colonel Armytage's wife to this
young man that's going to be shot Before I
got it I had your bare word tbat I'd be made a
captain. Now I hold something that'll compel
yon to keep your promise."
sergeant, near me." xnere was uut a trace
of discomposure in her manner: but her bril
liant eyes seemed to the soldier to be Dlazlng
at him. "You reaon shrewdly, yet you are at
fault You think I dread your showing that
letter to my husband. You are mistaken. If I
had it I would put it in his hands myself. The
man they are going to shoot is not a spy. He
came to meet me, and he is going to die because
he has suppressed this evidence. That latter
is proof ot the truth, and I would nse it
if I could, for his salvation and my destruc
tion." "Your destruction?"
"Yes: but what ot that?"
"I'll tell you what of it ma'am, as fax's it
concerns me." The Sergeant had been dam
founded at first by her avowal, but he had,
nevertheless, comprehended the new bearing
of the letter. "If your husband discarded
you, how could you pay me what you owe
me? Where'd be your power to hare me pro
moted?" She still sat calmly on her horse; but her
eyes were so burning in their gaze tbat the
Sergeant no longer dared to meet tbem.
"Will you let an innocent man be shot when
yon can save him?" she asked.
"He deserves it doesn't he?" and the Ser
geant's lack of confidence in bis argument was
shown by his retreating a step, it's not for
me to go betwixt him and Ills resolution."
"Give me the letter I Implore. You see that
it will give no power over me, for I only desire!
to maae it public." A
"You do now: ma'am," and the Sergeant's!
tone gained boldness as hfs argument grew
logical, "but you will not after your lover lsj
dead when no good to him could come of youij
diserace. Than it will be worth to me' 1
"How much? Name the sum, and I wi!
pay it"
"You haven't enough money about yoi
ma'am."
'i can obtain It YousbU be paid to-mor
row.
"What wonld be yonr to-morrow if this lette:
came to iigntr xoua Deuomeiess, jjouuucj
tor Colonel Armytage would turn you into t
bucbu VI o iu luo nnuauuwuu UA.U 0iu
you don't." The sound ot drums mmec
tance was heard, "They are coming you nv
Mrt. Armytage Pleads for Forgiveness.
not be sees."
"I will not go away," she sold, irmly.
"Hide yourself, tfceu."
"No."
,Tha Sergeant looked at her face, and saw by
it that no entreaty or command of bis would
move her. His hope of advancement was fad
ing away. The beating of the drums came
nearer and nearer; and even the measured
tramp of feet was audible. In sheer despera
ation be caught hold of the horse's bridle. The'
spirited beast reared. The movement was,
quick and violent Mrs. Armytage was thrown
heavily to. the ground. The Sergeant had only
time to see that the smooth white of her fore
head was flecked with red, and that she was
unconscious, before the soldiers came conduct
ing Willett His terror and dread were in
creasing as he felt that death was close: but hfs
face, ashen from Its whiteness and rigidity of
resolute expression did not disclose bis mental
agony. He with the rest saw Mrs. Armytage
lying on the ground. The blood was trickling
over her face from a cut near her temple, and
there was no sign of returning consciousness.
He went to ber so quickly that the soldiers
thought It was an attempt to escape, and
muskets were leveled at him in a twinkling;
but no hindrance was made to his gently lifting
ber.
She lay on bis breast with her head on bis
shoulder and his arms sustalningly around her
on instant so, and then Colonel Armytage
was there, looking on in astonishment But
the brief time had been sufficient for a strong
effect on Oliver. The helplessness of the un
conscious woman; the face so close that be
might have kissed the parted lips: the belief
that she bad come to the place of execution to
save him it she could these things aroused
him out of the awful fear of death Into which
he had been sinking, and made his heart burn
with heroic resolution.
Colonel Armytage stood mute at the sight of
his wife In Oliver's arms, and. in a mistaken
feeling of anger, he 'muttered a curse. The
wound on her forehead, however, partly ex-
Elained. and the Sergeant only added tbat she
ad been thrown from her horse. She was
gently pnt on the ground again and a drummer
was hurried off for water.
It was only natural that the accident to Mrs.
Armytage should seem, even to the Colonel, of
small comparative consequence. The deliber
ate shooting of a human being was a horror
that was not to be crowded out of minds by an
event that at a timeless fraught with thrilling
interest would have been exciting in itself.
The Colonel dispatched a messenger for a
physician, saw for himsif that his wife's hurt
was not very serious, and then turned to
Oliver.
"I would not have come here." he said in a
tone too low for anybody but Oliver to under
stand, "but that I wanted to give you a lost
opportunity to prove yonr innocence if yoa
could. I will take on myself the responsibility
ot delaying thi3 execution on your assurance
that you are not a spy." He pointed to the
woman at their feet and continued! "Perhaps
it is her persistent friendship that moves me to
make this offer."
Her friendship! Oliver knew it was her love.
His thoughts ran fast like those of a drowning
man, leading him like a flash through his terror
of death, through bis adoration of Her, through
his following of- her after she had forbidden
him, and so to his own promise. "I will sooner
part with life than vour secret"
"You hesitate," said Colonel Armytage.
Mrs. Armytage uttered a low moaning the
first indication of returning consciousness.
"I must, not hesitate!" Oliver exclaimed,
with some impetuousness of manner. "Tho
cause that I serve will not permit me to waver
in my duty.""
"Is there nothing I can do for you so mes
sage I can bear to your family?"
"My poor sister she will be left alone. Her'
heart will be broken. Where is she!"
"The sad sews was sent to her several hours
ago."
Oliver thought it was strange, knowing ber
strength of resolution and love, that she did
not come to bid him farewell. Be gave to
Colonel Armytage a goodby message for her,
and the two men shook bands.
Preparations for the killing of Oliver Willett
were swift and simple. Much of the celerity
was due to the sergeant who glanced often un
easily at Mrs. Armytage, fearing she would be
come conscious ueiuro ino aeaaiy vouey noa
been fired. The 20 musket bearers were ranged,
and Oliver was made to stand in readiness. He
requested to face the executioners, with eyes
unbandaged, and was indulged. At the same
time, under Colonel Armytage's direction, Mrs.
Armytage was lifted by two of the drummers
to be carried a short distance away. The Col
onel was glad of a reason for avoiding the
death sight; and the excuse was good, for his
wile was fast coming to consciousness. "He
had barely turned his back, however, before he
heard a new voice, tbat of Tudor Bowne, who
did not go to Oliver at first, but addressed Col
onel Armytage.' '
"I come to ask a favor," he said. "Friends
ot Oliver desire to secure his body. They await
your permission."
"You have permission."
Tudor waved his bat as a signal to eight men
to approach from where, at a distance of a
hundred yards, they had stopped. Then he
went to Oliver, grasped his hands, and said:
"Goodby, old friendf ' In a whisper be con
tinued: "Heed whit I say, Oliver: your life
deDends on it When the command is riven to
fire drop instantly to the ground. Stand firm
when you hear the order, 'Make ready; don't
stir at the command, 'Almf bnt fall flat on the
ground lust before the word 'Fire.; Don't
fail."
The eight men walked into the field. They
carried a long, rough box, which they sat down
close by. Oliver looked at it and Shuddered as
he saw that it was a coffin.
"Are these men unarmed?" the Captain in
command asked.
"Search them," Tudor suggested.
The officer gave the command, "Beady!" and
the muskets were leveled.
"Remember my parting words, Oliverl"
Tuder shouted.
Oliver was like a stone In immovability and
almost as devoid ot sensation. He thought
but not very clearly, that Tudor had resotted
to a device to give him courage through a false
hope. Should fie drop to the ground before
the fire would be not simply prolong the
ordeal, and be open to the accusation ot cow
ardice? He knew that it was owing to con
fidence in Bis bravery that he was not bound
and blindfolded. Ought ho to flinch?
Time and again throngh the nicbt had Old
Judee's vision come into bis mind. All the
way from the guardhouse to this spot the tap
or the arums naa Kepi time witn her woras.
"Marchin' marchin' marchin'." Upon seeing
Mrs. Armytage on the ground, with her saddled
norse ciose uy, ne nau Known oi ner naing
to the place in accord with what the
negress hadl professed to see in her
the second prophetic view. Now it flashed
upon him that her third phantasm had de
picted his fall before the muskets of soldiers.
Was be to strive against a fate so manifestly
foreordained. Or, would his voluntary pros
tration, as directed by Tndor, satisfy the pre
diction? These thoughts were almost instanta
neous. His mind was suddenly as clear as
crystal, and his nerves and muscles tense and
stroner.
"Aim." commanded the Captain.
Mrs. Armytage slid out of the arms of the
men who bore her, and who had been detained
by Tudor's words with the Colonel. She
opened ber eyes and saw Oliver facing the
ready muskets. She tried to scream, but could
not make a sound. The Colonel quickly grasped
her, to turn her away from the scene that hor
rified her so perceptibly. Oliver saw her fall
in a faint and. even in that fateful moment he
recalled that as a part of the thud vision.
"Firel"
Oliver fell on his face, so brief an instant be
fore the rattle of the volley that the soldiers
did not know he was unhurt Their attention,
too. was BtartlinelT diverted. Tudor and his
eight companions sprang to the long box, flnng
off the cover, and took out muskets. The
amazed soldiers with empty guns, found them
selves confronted like magic by these stalwart
armed ones.
The first to stir was Oliver, who was quickly
on his feet alive to the truth of the situation.
The second was the Sergeant who was on him
with a drawn sword, suddenly and furiously.
There was a brief wrestling struggle, and then
the Sergeant was on the ground, with his own
sword held by Oliver at his breast Then there
was a bargain wordless and quick, but bind
ing. Then the Sergeant bought bis life with the
letter tbat he bad refused to sell to Mrs. Army
tage. He pulled it from bis pocket and held It
up. Oliver recognized it and comprehended
the offer. He clutched the crumpled, scorched
pacer, and permitted the Sergeant to get up.
Here the story of one August night ends
with the rescuers and the rescued starting for
the near stream, where boats were ready for
tbem, witn the soldiers cowed and practically
unarmed, gaziw: irresolutely at the retiring
victors; and with Old Judee's reputation as a
propnetess urxuiy cautujiaucu m uuuiwwra
Missouri. The reader may believe that her
foresight of the marching Unionists, with
Oliver as their prisoner, was a conceit inspired
by ber war sympathies, for she might reason
ably have wished for the capture of any Con
federate officer. Having thus disposed ration
ally of tbat matter, it is easy to regard Mrs.
Armytage's ride as merely as circumstance
caused by the piediction. Bnt the third vision
alleged by the woman, tbat in which Oliver fell
before the discharge of musketry, and Mrs.
Armytage fainted at the spectacle well, it is
left in this plain story for anybody to ascribe to
either singular coincidence or veritable
witchery, as he pleases.
THE EOT).
Copyrighted, 18S9. All rights reserved.
OrcnnUt nnd Preacher Blind.
Bridgton (Me.) Mews. J
The organist at the Congregational church
last Sabbath was John Burnham, who, like
the aged preacher that day, is totally blind.
has so home in the wide world, save the
South Boston, Perkins Institute for the
Blind, where he passes a greater part of his
time.
A Tnll, Unfolded.
Punxsutawney Spirit,
"I will a plain, unvarnished tail nnfbld,"
remarked the blacksaake as it unwound it
self from the limb of a sapling and started
JLia pursuit of a chipaajik tor its diaser.
'fi?
Pretty little insa's Bm& leftro 1
AadieHce of Tteuudg.
A TABLEAU HOT 05 THE BILIaI
Tsmilta of ippkwe HUmdj C!tUfJ
to Criw of lerrfH. , -
IBJNA'S LAST KEQDEST PAPA 18 1
rwarrrer job th nmrxTQB.1
Circus dar had arrived. After week ot-
adverMemg, the great ForejUBgfe shew w
in town.
The citLBoas of and vkiaitv hadi
turned oat in large numbers, aadtfcehoge''
pavilion was pasted from top tobetteo.
DIED ; Iff-THE
Little Ireoa, the okild bareback; rider, . '
tares of whoa h& Jer days deooroiadlfcs ie
walls and windows, was goisg to appear, -and
the vast audience was las high state of.
excitement. The clowns were fa despair; 1
vain theyexertedtbeaselves; AeieiesteH
flat The principal riders aad gymnasts
were at their best, bat their defebreogfci
but slight recognition frees fAe andfanee..
Little Irena was the atiraeiiea Aer"id
come to see, and for ker tfefcj reserved aH '
their applause, Vif-jt
At last the ring-master announees .Iter?
the arums roll out a graad triamfet
frntre, the curtains separating the dreasiajr!
teat irom the great pavilfea arepalieA
aside, and with one bound a kae MaekJ
horse, bearing upon his back a tiay figure'
in white, springs into the arena. As the
star of the evening appears a wave ol ap
piause, mingled with murmurs of admira
tion and surprise, burst from the great
audience. The rare, spiritual beauty of.
the child, for she is sot above 10 years of,
age, -'
TAKES ALL HZABT9 BT ST0E3C
As the horse hears the applause his eyes
sparkle wickedly aad he rears slightly, bat
is quickly brought down by the whip of
his small mistress. "Sella is w one of his
tantrums to-night," whispers tie olown to
the ring-Hiaskr. "Yes; God ferhW that
anything should happen," the latter re
turns. Twirling asd throwing kisses frsa
her tiny hand, the little artist dashes amend,
the ring. The ordinary sets, joaspteg, baa
ners asd dartisg tbroBgh heaps, ae geae
through with, and bow; comes the groad
closing act of his performance, the eseape ef
a Circassian girl from her Turkish eaptersj
Lying close to the bone's baek, the efcild
urges him to a swift galop. As she passes
the second time around the riag, frees, the
dressing tent dashes a rider, habited as art
Oriental. He beholds the flying figure and,
with a yell of triumph, be sweeps la swift
Irarsait. Then begins tee aepareai rase for
ife and liberty, With vuioas of the slave
life that awaits her, the sapeesed. fsgiliva
urges on her animal. "With the iastiact of
rare dramatic talent the child enters heart
ily in to the play. Ber sweet faee grows
pale, her eyes take on a haaated. vet de
termined expression:- wife jwhip aad ea
tess she encourages
THE JT.LX.LN Q SZEED.
Faster and faster arouad the ring sweep
pursuer aad pursued. Slowly bat sarely the
Turk gains upon the ofcild. Now cease
the climax. Glaneiag ever her shealder
the supposed Circassian beholds the near
approach ot the would-be captor. With
the recklessness of & last chance, she rises
to a stasdiBg position, aad drawiag a re
volver from herbelt she fires twice at the
pursuer. The Turk reels in hk saddle. For
a -moment he struggles to maintain his po
sition, and then with 'an imprecation he
slides from his animal's back aad lies pros
trate in the dust.
The play has been aa exeitiag one, aad
the audience has watched its dieret
phases with breathless interest. As the'
Turk falls a roar of delight rises to their '
lips, but It never.find vest, aad the next )
instant changes to a murmar of horror. -' ' J
To properly finish.the ait aad to illustrate
the tender forgiveness of woman, as the
Turk falls the girl is supposed to jump
from her saddle and bend over her toe, rais
ing bis bead to her lap and attempting to
relieve his sufferings, forming a pretty
tableau which always brought qaietreeeg'
nition from the audience. Hitherto the
black horse has always stopped at the re
port of the pistol, but to-night, with a snort
of rage he seizes the bit is his teeth'aad
continues his mad race around the traek. la
vain the child attempts to cheek him. Sad-
deuly he slackens his pace and spriaeine.
into the air, throws himself down aad rolls!
over.the tiny figure on his back, then jump-
ing up he rears and brings his fere feet
down upon the prostrate child, thea turns
ana aarts into tne dressing tent.
A SCZ3TE OP -WILD COXYVSlOZt.
The tumult that follows baffles descrip
tion. Women aad children faint, hundreds
of men spring to .their feet and start for the
ring, jc oremost in the rash is a stout, gray,
haired, middle-aged man, who throws aside
with unusual strength the men who stand
in his way. It is the old showman himself.
He kneels beside the little bruised form and
gently lifts the small head. The clustering
golden curls are damp with blood. The
She suffers terribly, yet as she feels the
touch of old Adam, the soft blue eyes open,
and mingled with the pain comes a look of
love unutterable, asd the little fcaad seeks
his.
Since the death of her father, a member
of an excellent English family, who had
been dis owned by his family for marrying
her mother, a circus rider, who died at the
birth of Irena, old Adam has been the being
upon which she had lavished all her affec
tion, and In turn the sweet adoration of the
childhas won heraplace in the old showman's
heart, and never had she seemed so dear as
now. Now as she lay dying, for little
Irena was dying, at the first glance the
old showman knows that the child is
doomed.
What a scence that wasl The dying
child lying in the thick sawdust for they
dared not move her her head resting on
old Adam's knee, surrounded by the mem
bers of the troupe, in their bright-colored
costumes, and hundreds of her late auditors.
HEB DYISO BEQUEST.
"Papa Ad," the sweet voice murmured;
between her sobs, "I'm so glad you came,
I wanted yon near when I die."
The tears spring to the old showman's
eyes, and his gruff voice assumes an almost
womanly tenderness, as he says, "Poor
little sunlight, don't talk of dying; yoa
must live little one." ..
"Ob, I .hate to leave you, the child're-
turns;" "yon have been so kind to meybut
I am going to my own dear paps', but I
waut yoa to promise me one tbing;iyoa
loved me as if I was your own little girl,
didn't you?"
"xes, darling, yes."
"Then promise me when I die yon will
bury beside me my own papa, won't you?
Don't put me with strangers."
Aloud wail from the clown, down whose
cheek the tears have made channels through
the paint, is answered by the sobs of the as
sembled auditors. Old Adam bends oret
thaxhild, his lips press her brow, bis utter
ance is cnosea, as ne says: "It shall oe as
yoa wish, little one." Low as his voice is,
the child hears the promise, and a sweet
smile for a moment wreaths the pallid lips.
The next instant a spasm shakes the little
form, the face crow's livid, the eyes open
and close rapidlv, the lips quiver.
lYon wnn'tLlM-tr-t mv nana." The
sweet voice stops, and little Irena is dead
An instant of utter silence, then tha
audience steal quietly away, and the old
showman asd his troupe are left alone withj
their dead idoL That sight the hugep3
vilion H in darkness, and in the parlor at
the hotel the company are congregated
around a little coffined body. tl
The child's wish was sacredly earned oat,1
and in thn ppmptrv at Braiaard. Miaa.r
stands a marble monument of exqaiette'de-'
sim. nam which is written "XiHtoflreM
aaa her owa paps," exeeated byjpaf'
"AB," .
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SM 4 Tii i 1tfeiili n" ' .J'r.j&si jtkt-'" '"--iiyL X