si inrfflffliifi ; 1. r. -y r v-r. AN INDEPENDENT FAMILY NEWSPAPER. j' 'aT"-'' Vol. VIII. New Uloomlield, Xn., Tuesday, Juno O, 1874:. . IVo. S3. 0 IS PUBLISHED EVEIiY Tl'EsnAT MORNISO, 1IT FKANE MOETBIES & CO., At New BloomfleW, Terry Co., Ya. Belnp: provided with Steam Tower, anil larpe Cylinder and doL-Presses. we are prepared todoall kinds of ,lob Printing In good style and at Low 1'rlees. ADVERTISING HATKSI Tramlent 8 Cents per Uno for one insertion 12 " " two insertions 15 ' " "three Insertions Business Notices in Local Column 10 Cents per line. MFor longer yearly adv'ts terms will be Riven upon application. THE UNFAITHFUL GUARDIAN. CONTINUED. SHE looked at the speaker onrnegtly for a momentvthen with a look of unutterable tenderness best down took up the hand of the dead man which lay outside the snowy covering laid it softly upon the pulseless bosom drew the folds of linen over the face, and went away. She met na one in the hall, and passed down the -staircase, walked out of the house in which she had no longer a place. Mr. James was standing at a window and saw the carriage drive away bo made a sign to the coachman but the man did not perceive it and drove rapidly on, so that be had no opportunity of addressing Mrs. Lennox, if that was bis intention. . He, too, walked slowly through the bouse, even as that hapless lady bad done, but there was no shadow of. care or regret upon his face ; be might have Won reflect ing on some topic entirely disconnected with the sad scene in which he found him self an actor, so unmoved was his counte nance and manner. He walked on through the dark drawing-rooms, where the rich furniture and decorations looked strangely out of plaoe at that time, and ascended to the upper story where the dead man lay. But be did not enter that chamber be nev er went there again ! Ho paused at the door of the room which bad witnessed the scene that bad desolated that family for ever. Ho entered, an looked around saw the broken writing-desk upon the floor with the papers lying near it. He moved forward and began looking them over, one might almost have thought that bo was seeking among thera for something, but that could not have been, for he laid them all back without any shade of disappoint ment in his face. He examined the room, perhaps idly, but if with any purpose, all in vain, for tbero was nothing to reward bis search. ' At length, he, too, descended the stairs, leaving those rooms to their solitary mag nificence, and never once looked toward the gloomy chamber where lay the motion less form of that man who, so short a time before, bad trod those galleries with the hurried footsteps cf passion and despair. The housekeeper was standing in the hall below as he passed through. He ad dressed some remark to her in his easy, dignified way, passed on to his carriage which waited before the entrance, and drove calmly down the avenue along which that wretched woman had been borne, stunned by a knowledge of her helpless. mess and desolation. CHAPTER IV. Aftor that hastily terminated interview with Mr. James, William Sears returned to lus hotel, restless and annoyed that ho had found no oourage to give utterance to the thousand wishes and devices which bad so long haunted him. The unquiet memories of a lonely child hood came back ; the hopes that had flash ed up like stars Into the horizon of his boy hood, only to flicker and die out like frag lie torcnes ; tne wnu dreams, too vague and undefined to took an aim, which had filled bis soul with unrest, like deep waters broken and troubled with the moonlight, all returned with added bitterness, and left him exhausted beneath that strife of pain ful thought, , , . 1 ' It Is ah error to say that the season of youth is always a happy one. To an Im aginative mind, at least, it is full of unrest and wearing suspense, or of delusive hopes which - reach no fruition, and cast their blighting Influence into the coming lifts. William! Bears had reached that painful era in tho life of. genius when there comes the first consciousness of ' mental power without the faculty of giving it free utter ance. The visions wuicn started up in uis soul woro palpable to his gaze and full of entrancing beauty, but when be strove to retain and clothe them iu language, they eluded his grasp, and loft him with only a mocking gleam to mark the course of that inspiration which had seemed bo glowing and so real. Faint, broken images were there, but crude and imperfect; full of strength and vigor in tho idoa, but so weak aud inartistic in expression that they only foreshadowed the force and originality which would come with riper years. He wrote much for one so young, but that only made him despair the more ; yearning that he bad deceived himself, and that the gift he had deemed his own would never reach a higher level. He was that most wretched of all created beings a boy, whose soul bad forced itself to a quick development through suffering and restraint ; who bad no childhood and no youth ; a thirst with longings that no draught could quench. His early years bad been spent in a lone ly house, with only an invalid mother for a companion, a woman who bad been chilled and crushed by previous sorrow, and whose life had grown to he only a funeral hymn over the vanished past. Perhaps the in fluence of this grief was upon ber in all its early force at that child's birth, aud the anguish and unrest which wrung ber soul had been transmitted as a heritage to ber offspring, and this it was which had forced his mind to an unnatural precocity that wrought its own misery 1 He was a peculiar child, with no play mates, and none of the enjoyments of his age day aftor day passed in the seclusion of that shrouded chamber where the pale woman sat, watched by the eager eyes of the boy, until its gloom cast a twilight over his whole beiug which would never be wholly swept away. Child as he was, ho understood that his mother suffered with out comprehending it ; but he felt it none the less, nor did it diminish his power of sympathizing with that unspoken woe. She died while he was still young, and since then his life had been spent amid books, and in the ambitious training of schools and college. Mr. James had been bis nearest friend and protector, but he bad been little with him beyond brief, hurried visits in Uie intervals of school duties ; and the boy hod never been able to conquer the restraint which the presenco of that man had caused him since thoir first meeting. All these reflections aud memories were upon his soul during tho troubled hours of that long night, and when ho arose the next morning they followed him out into the suushine and dimmed its brightness by their presence. Mr. James had not returned to tho city, the servant told him, when he called at the house, and be wandored fur a time about tho streets, avoiding every acquaintance that he chanced to encounter, and unable to shake off the depression upon bis spirits. A borse was always at his disposal, during his visit to town ; and late iu the afternoon, he gave orders to tho man to saddle it. He mounted, and rode away, glad to find him self free from the bustle of tho crowded streets. The sunlight had fadod from the sky leaving it leaden and cold, and the cheerless aspect of everything around would have boen sufficient of itself to sadden, so great was bis susceptibility to every exte rior influence. Ho had ridden on for many miles, audit was growing quite dark, when he was aroused from his reflections by a sudden pause his horse made at a water-trough, near the roadside "Poor Fire-fly!" he said, patting tho animal on the neck, and loosening the reins that he might drink at ease ; " I had quito forgotten you might be tired, and bless me, it is almost night, we must go home 1" Ho smiled with mournful bitterness as he said it, , and repeated the word half aloud, .I'r . " Home ! You have one, Fire-fly ; but mine well, well, the world is wide, who knows what it may afford mo yet?" , He gathered up tho bridle, and turned to retrace the road be had been traveling. A small farm bouse stood a little farther back, and the farmer was leaning on the fence in front, quietly smoking his pipe. He bowed to tho youth, who felt, for an instant, a confused sort of envy for bis lowly station aud quiet, and in his absorption allowed his whip to fall heavily upon the neck of his horse. The spirited creature boundod down the rapid descent, and striking sud denly against some obstacle, stumbled and foil, throwing his rider to the ground. , " Are you hurt?" said a voice, as Sears sprang to bis feet, and the farmer leaped over the rail fence in front of the house, and stood beside him. " I say, there, aro you hurt?" he continued, catching the horse by the bridle a he struggled up again. "My arm is hurt a little, I believe." "Notbroko, is it?" asked the fanner, touching it with his disengaged hand. "Only sprained slightly ; but my horso is lamed. What the douce am I to do? hero it is night already." " Yes, and eight good miles back to the city that beast never can do it." "Poor thing!" said William, patting the horse again ! " Is there no place near where I could get some sort of convey ance ?" " I should guess not ; mine's the only house within a mile, and my horses have been out to work all day ; they shouldn't quit the stable agin to-night for tho ProBi dont himself." " An agreeable situation, upon my word 1" muttered William, looking around. " Rayther so," returned the man, coolly, puffing out a great volume of smoko, and evidently enjoying the young man's irrita tion, " but as long as you aren't hurt much, 'tisn't so bad. I'll tell you how we'll man age it. Here's my house close by, go in and stay all night, my old woman 'ill give you a first-rate supper, and doctor up your arm, and to-morrow morning you oan get back in the stage." " I am much obliged to you for your kind offer, but I must return to the city to-night," persisted Sears, with bis usual wilful impatience. " You must, hey ? Wall, then, I guess you'll have to try them long legs and shiny boots of your'n." " Confound it all !" exclaimed William, laughing in spite of himself. " Wall, I vow you take it so kind o good natured, considering your sprained wrist, that I've half a mind, if the horses wasn't so tired, to hitch one and take you myself." "I'll pay you your own price if you will." - " I ain't a talking about tho money," returned the man, with the trne spirit of his class, " if you seemed a bit stuck up I wouldn't do it for your money nor fine clothes neither." ' ' ' "I should say I was rather thrown down," said William, laughing again. " Come, try and do it." Before the farmer could answer, there was the sound of wheels, and a carriage came in sight, driving rapidly toward the city. "Mebby there's a chance," said the man and before Scars could interpose, he called out to the coachman, " Say, you, stop a minute ; seems to me you're in a dreadful hurry !" 1 "What do you want?" said the man, checking his horses. " I don't want nothing, myself j 1 but hore's a young chap that's lamed his horse, and says he must go back to the city to night" : " Sorry for it, but I've got a lady in. side." " Wall, I guess she'd be glad of a lift if she found herself in sich a hobble," said the farmer. . At that moment the glass of the carriage wot lot down and a lady loaned out. "Why have you stopped?" she said, quickly, " I must get back to the city !" " If ever I see folks' in suoh a hurry 1' inutterod the farmer, taking his pipe out of his mouth, "you're just like this young man, ma'am," he continued, with the ut most composure. ' , She turned toward the speakor, and the beams of the rising moon full full upon her face. There was something in tho expres sion of those pallid features, and wild, sad eyes which startled Soars. ' He moved for ward, for the first time, and touching' 1 his hat oourteously, said, ' ; " Excuse mo, madam, I had no thought of stopping you in this rudo way pray, let jour coachman drive on." 'I . " 'Taint no such thing,- ma'am, he's hurt his arm iu the fall be got from his horse you'd hotter give him a lift !" ' "Hurt," she said, hastily looking toward him, "get in if yon choose, sir." ." I beg ten- thousand pardons 1" ex claimed the young man ; " I can very well i ide on the box." " " No, you carft," interposed tho farmer, " you're growing whiter and whiter ; . jist get in there, and send over to seo about your horse in the morning my name's John Wilson, and he'll be safe enough (n my barn till theu.v Mind and, have a doc tor take a look at that wrist of your'n when you get borne I" .. . . . , t Ho almost pushed Sean into the car riage, drowning his confused apologies In a torrent of explanations which the lady did not even hear. She had thrown herself back in her seat, her face shrouded in her thick veil, silont, and unoonsclous of every thing passing around her. The farmer closed the door, and tho coachmaixdrove on before the young man recovered from the astonishment into which the whole scene bad thrown him. The lady did not move or speak, and hor face was so completely concealed by her veil that ho could not catch another glimpse of her features. They drove on for somo time in utter silence, at length, the ludicrousness of the scene struck his quick fancy so vividly that ho could with difficulty restrain a langh. . " I cannot thank you, madam, for your kindnoss," he said, "but " She gavo a sudden start at the sound of his voice, as if she had forgotten his pres ence. William paused, fearful that bis attempt to converso had offended her ; but after a little she said, in a low, hurried tone. "Did they not say you were hurt?" " It is nothing, madam, my horse fell with me and hurt my' arm somewhat, but I can vory well bear the pain." She returned no answer, but Sears caught the repetition of the word in a slow undortone. She spoke no more, and he would not again intrude upon her medita tion. He longed for another view of that pale countenance contracted with some terrible suffering, and marveled who the woman could be with whom ho found him self so unexpectedly thrown. The silence, and the remembrance of those wild eyes brought back the sorrowful feelings of the morning, minglod with bis curiosity and aroused compassion. That face reminded him of something, but he could not tell what ; be knew no one who resombled it, and yet the likeness was there. Then came a thought, it was like a book that he had read, yes, a book which bad inspired him with an interest no talo had ever done before. It was a story of vague suffering like bis own, a record of patient ondurance breaking at last from its passive misery to the sharp agonies of de spair. Such was the expression of that face his poet glance bad read it in that momentary view he could almost have believed her akin to one of its characters. Then he smiled at his own folly -and strove to think about something else, but the .idea would recur with a pertinacity which wearied him. His unknown companion sat there, silent and immovablo, and after a time the pain in his arm caused Sears to descend from his . poetio romance to the commonplace reality of physical suffering. : The coachman drove rapidly on, and they reached the outskirts of the city before William was aware. Then he forgot his discomfort in the desire to hear that voice once more, and impress it firmly upon his mind. He tried to frame some expression of thanks and regret, - but the ' words re mained unuttored, not from a feeling of timidity, but the knowledgo of the suffer ing which that woman endured, and how harshly commonplace would jar npon hor strained nerves..'. So they drove on until the coachman himself came to a halt, and tapped upon the glass baok of him to attract thoir at tention. ' , i "Ask tho lady -where I shall drivo her to," ho.suid, when William opened it. She did not appear to heed him, and Soars repeated the question , " Ho wishes to know where he shall set joudown, madam." She half rose and partially threw back her veil liko one amazed. " Whore?" she muttered, " where?" She sank back in ber seat in all that groat city was Mrs. Lennox, for she was the ocoupunt of the carriage, could think of no friend of whom she could claim protec tion 1 William felt rather than understood her hesitation, but the coachman called out, r ' . I . "I didn't understand, where shall drive to?" : . ,': . i The lady strove to recall her thoughts, and after another pause gave the address of a woman who had once been a servant in her bouse of all the many with whom ber station nnd wealth had given hor in. fluence, . that poor domestio was the only one to whom b1i could look in that terrible hour I :.. "! ! ' . , ( '..! . . : il. i They turned down the narrow street she indicated, and the carriage drew up before a house that looked dingy and dilapidated even In the light from the street. Sears opened the door, assisted the lady to do. scend, and gave ber bis arm up the broken steps. It was bis right arm, and even the stranger's touch gavo him exquisite pain, yet, folly as it was,he felt a sort of pleasure in the suffering. He knocked at the door, which was opened from within, and the lady would have entored without a word. " Farewell, madam," be said, with a re spect for which he could not account, "you have saved me much annoyance." She turned full toward him the glare from the smoky lamp showod his tace,ear- nest and full of sympathy. "I he says I have done it !" She passed him and disappeared up the narrow stairway before he could'speak, leaving him lost in astonishment. The coachman's voice recalled blm to himself. "You'd better get in, unless you're going to stop hero too in that case I'd like my pay." Sears went down the steps, but before the man could start on a little girl camo out, saying, " Wait a minute, the lady wanted me to give you your monoy." " Keep it for yourself, little one," re turned William, "and tell the lady it is all settled" He bade the driver go on, but as long as the old bouse was in sight he leaned out of the carriage, looking up at the windows as if endeavoring to catch another glance of the palo stranger. Ho found two or three young men ac- quaintances awaiting bis arrival at the. hotel, but be was in no mood to listen to their joyous conversation. His slight ac cident was excuse enough for his desire to be left alone, and when they bod gone and a physician in the house had applied some cooling remedy to bis arm, be sat down by the fire to recall with minute care every incident of that brief meeting. Sears was too fanciful not to indulge in a thousand visionary ideas concerning the stranger ; and her resemblance to something in that book still puzzled him. CHAPTER V, Mrs. Lennox received a warm greeting: from the poor woman whose protection she sought, and Janet was not backward in using harsh terms regarding those who bad so cruelly treated hor former mistress. But she was checked by Mrs. Lennox, who said " Don't, Janet ! Remember my husband is dead, do not say anything that reflects upon his memeory." 1 " It wasn't him oh, no, I'll never be lieve it ! Girl and woman I lived many years in that house, and I know that tho man who was so good to my lone mother fresh from the old countiy, couldn't do a thing like that. Ho was set on, I tell you, mistress, worked up to it by somebody ; there's a plot somewhere, but if ever I find it out, as sure as my name is Janet Brown" "He believed me innooent, they were tho last words he spoke I" " Bless him for that t He bad his faults, but he was a good man, was Mr. Lennox, and I know he couldn't long have had a doubt of you." 1 ' It was a low, scantily furnished bed room in an ' upper story of the old house, to which the homeless wife had been driven upon tho night succeeding her husband's death. . ' Tho appearance of the room betrayed the poverty of its owner, but everything was scrupulously neat, and there was a painful attempt to make the room look cheerful aud bright. 1 An old rocking-chair was drawn up near the fire, and in it sat. Mrs. Lennox sup ported by pillows, pale and exhausted, but with an eager expression in ber face, which betrayed the fever within that gave strength to her worn-out frame. Hor slen der hands were clasped over ber knee in an attitudo habitual with hor, and which gave a drooping, dosp ondent air to her whole person, more painful than any audible ex pression of suffering. "Mr. Morris does not come," she said at length, , "can he refuse me even that?" ' " Hark I there's a loud knock at the door down stairs I'll run and look." . She hurried out of the room, and Mrs. Lennox staggorod to her feet, and moved feebly toward the door. . "He's come, he's come," exclaimed Janet, rushing back, " I beard them tell him I lived up stairs. Just go out into the other room and see blm, I'll slip down the back way so as not to disturb you." Mrs. Lennox gathered up her feeble strength, and tottered into the outer cham ber just as the old man entered. She could not speak could only stretch out her arms with an imploring gesture, which Mr. Morris did not need. He looked sus piciously around the room, glanced at her dress, nnd unconsciously his heart hard ened a little. To be continued.
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