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About The North Platte tribune. (North Platte, Neb.) 1890-1894 | View Entire Issue (Nov. 15, 1893)
it Cite VOL. IX. NORTH PLATTE, NEBRASKA, RBPNESDAY, NOVEMBER 15, 1893. N0.-45. PANIC We have bought at panic prices goods for SPOT CASH at the lowest prices, thereby giving our customers and friends the benefit. NOW IS YOUR TIME TO BUY FOR CASH Clothing, : Boots, : Shoes, Hats and Caps and Gents' Furnishing Goods FOR LESS MONEY THAN YOU EVER HAVE HERETOFORE OR YOU WILL AT ANY TIME HEREAFTER: Do not DELAY the GOLDEN OPPORTUNITY now offered to YOU, but come at ONCE and see the n-nncoir'-Ea: stock of goods, see our prices, examine the quality and con vince yourself. MODEL CLOTHING OUSE LEADERS OF LOW PRICES. 3vazg .Einstein, .Proprietor. North Platte National Bank,. NORTH PLATTE, NEBRASKA. !Paid up Caipital, 75,000. C. F. IDDIXOH, a. r. tmtxrrz. DIRECTORS: O. II. CARTER, M. 0. LINDSAY, H. OTTEX, D. W. BAKER. M. OBERST, A. D. DUCKWORTH. All business uitrusted to us handled promptly, caret uHy, and at lowest'rates. C. P. IDDINQS, ! LUMBER, j j ! j COAL, I i , ' Order by telephone from Newton's Book Store. Dr.-N. MoCABE, Prop. J. E. BUSH, Manager. NORTH PLATTE PHARMACY, Successor to J. Q. Thacker.J ISTOHTfl PLATTE, NEBRASKA, WE AIM TO HANDLE THE BEST GRADE OF GOODS, JELL THEM AT REASONABLE PRICES, AND WARRANT , , , - " EVERYTHING AS REPRESENTED. ardors from the country and along the line of the Union Pacific Railway Solicited. IT. J. BROEKE !R, Merchant Tailor, LARGE STOCK OF PIECE GOODS, embracing all the new designs, kept on hand and made to order. PERFECT ijlT GUARANTEED. PRICES LOWER THAN EVER BEFORE Spruce Street, between Fifth and Sixth. THE CASINO BILLIARD HALL, J. E. GRACE, Proprietor. SUPERIOR BILLIARD and POOL TABLES. Bar Stocked with the Finest of Liquors. A QUIET AND ORDERLY RESORT Where gentlemen will receive courteous treatment at all times and where they will always be welcome. Our billiard and pool hall is not surpassed in the city and lovers of these games can be accommodated at all times. A Transferred Identity, By EDITH SBB8I0H8 TUPPEB, Copyright, UN. by American Frees Assoc! tlon. CHAPTER I. THE CRT 15 THE NIGHT. The night had grown very dark- Black clouds were drifting over the moon and fast blotting out the somber light of the cold stars. As I leaned from the carriage and with straining eyes vainly sought to pierce the gloom of the night the soughing of the wind through the great pines fore told the oncoming storm. A feeling of intense depression seized me. Why had 1 come?. At this moment I wished myself miles away. What a senseless qnest this upon which I had entered! Suppose I were to find my old friend; would she be glad to see me? Was it not an nnpardoname intrusion to arrive thus, unheralded, at dead of night? Was there, in fact, any greater imbecile ou earth than I, driving here, near-mid night, over miles of rough country road in search of Portia Vane? Ten years had gone by since Portia and I were graduated from the Canadian convent in which we had spent four hauuv. uneventful years. During that time we were as inseparable as any schoolgirl friends. Ibad idolized the beau tiful, amiable southern girl, whose tales of plantation life in all its tropical color and indolence had completely captivated me. Born and brought up m a rigid northern atmosphere, the glimpses I got through her conversation and letters of Portia's home life were visions of fairy land. Portia was stately, clever and talented. I was poor, inferior and plain. But the loveliest and wealthiest girl in the convent singled me out as her friend, and my gratitude and devotion to her were unbounded. After pur graduation we corresponded for two years, during which time I was employed in teaching and laying by money, for I intended some day to visit Portia in her southern home. She wrote me of her approaching marriage, urging me to be oner of her bridesmaids, which pleasure I was forced to forego. I received a few letters after her mar riage, in which she spoke in glowing terms of her new life. Then I heard no more. We drifted apart, as all school friends invariably do. It is always the unexpected which happens. Whoever would have fancied that from his numerous train of rela tives my uncle, John Mason, would have selected me, poor Prudence Mason, as the heir to his great property? When I had finished gasping over the announce ment his lawyers made me, my first thought -was of Portia, and that I would seek her at once to tell her the good news. Perhaps we might travel togeth er; perhaps she was poor and needed as sistance. Possibly there were children for whom I might do something. Re member an obscure plain teacher has few trends, and never in all my desolate, colorless existenco had I so clung to any human being as to Portia Vane. I thought of her now as the carriage went jolting through this wilderness over the uneven roads, occasionally banging against a stump or the root of a tree. I saw her sweet face and heard again her gentle voice and remembered all her gracious and kindly acts. 'Will we Boon be there?" I asked my driver. He was a typical specimen of the southern "cracker," and in the monoto nous, mellow accents borrowed from the negroes drawled out: "Putty soon, ma'am. It ah 'bout tu mile. Boon's we uns git by Dead Man's Bwamp ye kin see the lights down yon dah." "Dead Man's swampl" I repeated in voluntarily, "What a horrible a dis mal name." "Dismal place, tu," he replied, "thah hain't white noh niggah dah go in thah at night. All sorts o' curus an awful goin's on thah." "What do you mean?" I asked. "Waal," ho droned, "I hardly know myself what I du mean. Thet's it. You know, ma'am, thct it's the mystery, thet's what skahs. Now, if ye knows what's happened, it takes half the scab off, but if thah's only stories an nobody willin to find out it's kind o' awful. Anyway, I Inn tell yo this much thah's lights seen in thah at midnight and ter rible sounds heard. An some says, an they don't hahdly like to whispah the word, thet thah's whah the voodoos meet." "The voodoos?" I said. "Yes, niggahs, ye know, what do un earthly things eat dead babies, tali out folks' hearts an play with sahpents" "Oh, don't tell me anything more!" I exclaimed. 'Tve road of them." "Waal, ma'am, it is somethin disgustiu an awful to think on. I'm alius powah ful glad when I'm past the place." A few rods farther the great forest broke away a little, and in the pallid t ugot i coma aisccrn under the scattered trees stretches of morass, black, slimy and filthy. From the gaunt trees the long gray moss hung like lifeless figures dangling and dipping in the sullen sur face of the stagnant pools. Tho swamp seemed interminable, reaching away in endless gloom under the low hanging branches. The moon came out from the clouds for one moment and sent a cheerless light down on the forbidding scene, but quickly withdrew, as if alarmed at what she saw. It was a frightful place weird and uncanny. The wind shuddered through the trees, and ghostly shadows seemed to lurk beneath their swaying, writhing branches. "What a horrible place!" I exclaimed.. "Horrible? Yes, this hyah is Dead Man's swampr whispered my compan ion. Though I was oppressed by these hid eous EurroundingB, yet I was at the same time unaccountably fascinated, and lean ing out I looked as far into the black vistas as the waning moonlight would permit. It seemed to my excited fancy that the trees beckoned me, and that the moaning wind muttered that this awful place held secrets for me. I was con scious of a strange mental exaltation almost a clairvoyaucy. Away, away in the depths of that melancholy swamp was there not something calling me? Hark! What was that? With a frantic grasp I clutched my companion's arm as out of the night, out of this dismal swamp, trembled and shrilled an awful cry like the wail of the judgment day. It reverberated through those black mysterious avenues and was caught up by a hundred mocking echoes, then slowly died away. "My God! what is it?' T cried. They're at it' whispered my driver, 1 JteD .ti?sllt1 Portif 88 a mother. and he struck the tired horses a smart blow, which sent them flying over sticks, stones and roots of trees. On, on we dashed in our wild flight from a cry. It was not-repeated. The dead silence that followed by its contrast made the remembrance more appalling. We were both, relieved when we turn ed into a broad avenue lined on either, side by a donble row of pines, at the end of which lights could be seen. I clutched my companion's arm. "Thah is Swamplands, KunnelMahch mont's place," said tho driver, "an thah hain't a finahjibuitation in Georgah. Lord! I can't go back to town tonight nohow. I'll ask Jake to put my team up an let me sleep nyah some human crit- tah. An I reckon, ma'am, yeah "powelr ful glad to be at yob. jouhney's end." I did not answer. Before me rose the great corinthian pillars and broad porti coes of the house of Portia Marchmont. I was trembling from apprehension. What if she were not at home? Would we be obliged to return over the dismal road we had come? Should I again hear that doleful cry? My nerves were stretched to their utmost tension as we drew up in front of the great house. : I looked at my watch. Half past 11 o'clock. w Tho hall door was wide open, and a flood of light poured out upon the broad piazza. As I looked a shadow moved from out a dra&eener.-'-A-figure drift ed into the doorway. It was a woman, tall, graceful, dressed in white. Some thing in hor graceful, languorous move ment set the wheels of memory rolling.. I forgot my doubts, my fears, my ter-- ror. r' "Portia!" I cried. tai--aw CHAPTER H. PORTIA. Thero was no answer. "" The woman stood "motionless carved from stone. IfTl A" T 1 " Slowlv she moved across ihn ma. "Who calls me." she asked. "Portia, it is I your old friend," dence .Mason. ,.Oh,.do net- you nave torgotton mer-that you are Dot glad to see me. Ihavecome so far," and choked with my emotion I hurried up the steps, holding out my arms to her. The light from the huge bronze lamp in the hall shone straight upon my host ess. 1 saw the-face of which I had so often thought the'face of my old friend. T. L. :ao - U) , Willi b WilS Hi I stopped, dazed and bewildered. This was not Portia! I had prepared myself for a great change m my friend. I had not lookdd to see the girl. I remembered the morn ing we bade each other farewell, but had anticipated seeing anolder, a lna- turer Portia, in whose features I yet might trace the lines and expression of my friend of Ipng ago But this cold, proud ves, insolent faced woman, wherejwero the amiabili ty, the sweetness and the tenderness I remembered? Vanished all and in their stead I remarked only disdain and vexation She saw my surprise, my hesitation yes, my alarm and a singular expression crept in her face, an expreesion of min gled cunning and dread. "Why, you are not Portia!" I stam mered. "Oh, yes, I am," she replied, with a light laugh "yes, and very glad to see you. Prudence. It was good of you to come so far. Yon think I have changed? So I have. But lara Portia," and she bent and kissed rae. The ;aress was intolerable. I could have icreamed when her cold lips touched mine. Ah, how different a re ception I had pictured! What did it mean? Was it she who was changed or I? She led me in, with many polite in quiries, uttered in perfunctory and me chanical fashion. Servants were sum moned; tea was brewed: my bags and wraps taken; everything that the most punctilious hostess could do for a guest was done for mo. And yet through all these kindly offices I was conscious of a vague feeling of uneasiness and distrust. Under tho glow of the great drawing room chandelier I studied Portia's face closely. What was it? Where was the great change which seemed to separate the friend of my youth from me as by a gulf. There was the same lustrous hair, untinged by a thread of silver; there were the great almond shaped liquid eyes, like black velvet; the same faultless ly faultless features; the same ivorylike complexion. But the soul was gone from the face; the essence of an exquisite nature no longer looked out from the eyes. It was Portia and yet not Portia. She caught my intent scrutiny. "I have grown old, Prudence," she said in answer to my inquiring looks, "and our southern climate has not im proved my complexion. Then, too, 1 have lived a monotonous life, have been very much alone, and that, you know, is not good for one," and then she laughed. I recalled Portia's laugh mirth pro voking, contagious, hearty. I could hear again its silvery sweetness ringing through the leafy avenues of the old con vent gardens. My hostess' laugh was hollow, sinister and harsh, like the crack- How tender, loving and womanly she . would be in that relation! I had pic tured her holding a baby on her breast and looking down at it with that divine .expression only to be seen in a young mother's eyes, and I had fancied her surrounded by merry, romping, happy children. Her scarcely veiled distaste for maternitv shocked me. "You must be very weary, Prudence," she said after a little. "If you like, I will show you to your room." As I was only too anxious to be alone, I signified my wish to retire at once. Rising, my hostess' took from the man tel a tall silver candlestick and led the way through tho wide -hall and up the old time winding stairs. I followed, with a strange sinking at myjheart. My reception, though cour teous, had been, utterly mechanical. I saw my blunder in having thrust an un solicited, visit upon an old friend who, 1 . M . - . - - aiasi was not tne menu of old. I re- fjjifed, however, that it was not neces sity to prolong my stay and decided that as Boon as possible I would return north with my stock of disillusions, which now weighed upon me like the burden on Pilgrim's shoulders. The room into which Portia led me was large and gloomy. Thero were a vast four posted bed and a huge ward robe with carved panels. A fireplace withancient andirons, mahogany table, cbiirs and old fashioned lounge, made upuraniain furnishings of the apart ment. Thero wore quaint gilt candelabra on the marble mantle.and a few portraits of dead and gona Marchinonts adorned thevalls. The only modern piece of furniture was a tall cheval glass stand ing directly opposite the enormous win daifohich, by the way, opened on a balcony running the entire side of the The room oppressed me quite as much as Portia. Dismal forebodings seized me as F looked at the somber hangings of the bed' and windows. Tired and unnerved from my long, tedious night ride, as well Paraii I taw the. reflection of a face. my disappointment, I was on the of giving way. However, I man- to control myself and receive my &Hfti!)srigidrgood- night kiss. -I, listened to the sound of her retreat ing footsteps as-they died along the cor ridoY. I heard a distant door open and shut. , At last I was alone. Conscious of my relief, I yet experi enced half defined sensations of terror quite-new to me. I bad always been a .singularly self reliant and courageous woman. But for tho first time in my life I felt the presence of mystery. Mys tery seemed written on the doors of this gloomy room and on tho icy face of the woman who had just left me. "Well," I said aloud, and my voice sounded thin and strango in tho lonely room, "well, I don't know what it means. Never did a human being change as she has changed. I was an idiot to come, and I'll go as soon as I can make an excuse." The air of the room was oppressive and musty, and I opened the shutters to allow the frssh night wind to creep in. Xthen unpacked my bag and proceeded to make myself as comfortablo as possi ble for the night. Back and forth across tho.room 1 walked, each time passing the tall cheval glass. It was during one of these turns that, chancing to glance in the mirror, I saw something which caused my heart to 6top beating and my blood to freeze. I have already said that tho glass stood opposite the windows. In its glit tering depths I saw the reflection of a face. But what a face! Malignant, crafty and yet with a lurking trace of terror, it surveyed me through tho window Por tia'aface! It was but a momentary glimpse, and then' as my heart slowly beat once more I heard a soft, catlike tread on tho bal cony. She was gone! CHAPTER HL PORTIA'S CHILD. Frozen with terror, I listened for are turn of thoso velvet footsteps, but no sound was heard. I threw myself dressed as I was on the bed. I did not dare sleep. The can dles in their vast gilt sticks burned lower and lower. I watched them with strain ing eyes, shuddering as I thought of the darkness which would come. At last they went out. I was alone in the pro found and awful silenco of night. Toward morning I slept from utter exhaustion, and when I wakened the sun was shining full in my eyes. I turned drowsily. Then, sitting upright, Hooked at my dusty, travel stained gown in which I had slept. Suddenly the occur rence of the night before returned to me. What did it .mean? Why was Por tia spying upon me? What possible ex planation could there be of that stealthy survey through the window? "She must be mad, I said as I weari ly rose. ."Yes, that must be it She has had poor health, and possibly her brain may be turned a trifle. Dear me, I don't relish the idea of being watched like that. Well, I must get away as soon as possible. I wonder if it would do to go today?' There was a knock at the door, and a trim Quadroon maid entered with hot ling of thorns under a pot. Had the ' water She explained that her mistress years wrought a complete revolution in her character as well as her face? "I am sorry Colonel Marchmont is not at home," sho said after she had gra ciously pressed a second cup of tea upon me. "He went to Atlanta last week. I expect him back very, soon possibly to morrow." "You have children, Portia?' "One," she replied coldly, as if the subject were obnoxious "a little girl 6 years old a headstrong little creature, lean do nothing with her. Pm glad I have but one."" I looked at her in amazement. I had had delegated her to wait upon me dur ing my stay. "W'y, you all dressed already?" she cried in surprise. Without thinking, I carelessly an swered, "Yes, I slept in my clothes." The girl gave me a quick glance. "I was so tired," I said, "that I must have dropped to sleep before knowing it." "Yes'm,"she glibly replied, but there was a aueer expression on her face. j Presently she went over to the window as if -to open it wider. "Wy.you slep wid y.ou'ah shuttahs open!" she exclaimed. "Wouldn't do dat ef I.wnz you, miss." "Why?" I demanded. "Waal," she answered in some confu sion, "I doan' no, but sometimes folks gits kinder skeery. Wouldn't sleep wid my shuttahs open, 'deed I wouldn't. I'd like to keep my winders shet, but den rm on de swamp side dat s worse." "Why is it worse?" I asked. "Waal, miss, we ain't 'lowed to speak Txrat it missus dat mad w'ensho hyahs us sayin anythin. But I tell ye some times de goin s on in dat swamp just orfel." "Look here," I said, with a consider able show of asperity. "What do you mean by 'goin's onr " waai, sue hesitated, "screams an hollerin an de debble's own noise some times. Dey say dat whah do voodoos go!" "Why doesn't Colonel Marchmont put a stop to itf ye, miss, he doan' care A lot ob drunken nig- nuffin 'bout it. gahs, he says. Ho jest gives ordahs none ob de niggahs off his plantation go dah. An dey doan' dast go. But we hyahs de awfulest noises, an Sue Some seen lights, an ole Pete tole me las' night he wah down by de marsh, an he declah he done see somepin comiu out de swamp, wid horns an tail an pitchfork." "Nonsense," I said severely; "don't let me hear anv more of such superstitious stuff." "All light, miss," Lizzie said meekly, and as my toilet was now completed I told her she might go. I laughed hearti ly when I was alono. "I am tasting some of the delights of southern life." I said. "Portia used to tell me about these superstitious slaves, but I don't remember that she said anv- thing about voodooism. I must speak to her about it. It should be quite an interesting study. Of course that hide ous scream I heard last night must have come from some of their horrid orgies." Musing thus, I wended my way down the corridor and stairs into the'lower hall. The great front doors were opened wide, and a flood of glorious sunshine was pouring across the tessellated floor. The sunlight cheered me. I banished all care and forgot my uneasiness of the night. "I must have been mistaken," I urged. "It was only my tired nerves and disor dered fancy. Of course Portia would never stoop to spying in that fashion. Absurd!" I stood in the door and looked down the noble avenue before tho house. The groinds of Swamplands were extensive and beautifully cared for. Great beds of brilliant blossoms, splashing foun tains, parterres of closely clipped box and spruce and winding paths combined to make the picture most attractive. Far in the distance I could see the cotton fields, yonder stretched Dead Man's swamp, and here on tho piazza, with her back turned to mo and evidently quite unaware of my presence, sat Portia. She was dressed in a filmy white gown. Her massive coils of hair revealed the shapely neck. Her head was bent. She was reading. Before I cculd speak a side door opened and a little girl about C years of age came out upon the piazza. She held a bunch of scarlet blossoms in her hand and approached Portia with a timid air which troubled me. She was a beautiful child, a miniature reproduction of tho Portia I remem bered. Long' black curls fell over her shoulders. Her eyes were large and dark, but had an appealing, frightened expression pitiful to see in ono so young. She was daintily dressed in white. "Mamma," sho murmured. Portia paid no attention. "Mamma," she said a little louder. Portia lifted her head and turned, her face toward the child. I could see tho mother's profile. Sho was frowning ominously. "Here are some beautiful flowers I picked for you, mamma," said the little girl, still with that air of timidity. Sho appeared to desire to placate her mother. I expected to seo Portia tako the flow ers, fasten them in her bodice and kiss the child for her sweet attention. Judge She held a bunch of scarlet blossoms in her hand. then of my dismay, when snatching tho verbenas from her hand with an angry gesture she cried: "How dare you, you little imp? How often have I told you not to pick the flowers? And theso scarlet verbenas, too, which I am saving to wear to Mrs. Redmond's ball tomorrow night. You deserve a good beating," and she sud denly boxed the child's ear. "Portia," I cried involuntarily. She turned and saw me. Yes, thero was no longer any doubt of it tho wom an was mad. Her face was like that of a fiend, but it suddenly changed, and an almost humble look took the place of her expression of fury. The poor, grieved little child was sob bing quietly. I held out my arms to her. With a baby's instinct sho came to me and crept close to my heart. She did not cry out as most children would under the circumstances, but moaned sadly, almost under her breath, "Oh, mamma, mamma!" "How could you, Portia?" I asked. "Well, she is such a torment. Come, now, Daphna, stop crying. You know I am sorry I boxed your ears. I al ways am." "I always am!" So then this treat ment of her lovely little daughter was not unusual. Decidedly my friend was mad. I held tho grieving littlo creature in my arms until her sobs had ceased, and then, still clinging to my hand as to some protecting power, she went into break fast with me. There was a pile of letters at Portia's plate. She glanced over them hurriedly and paused at one. "Here is a letter from Colonel March mont," she said. 'Now I shall know when he is coming." As she read, her face became trans figured. The hard, stern lines softened; a flush crept to her cheek. She looked more like the old Portia than at any nrevious time. PRICE'S Bci kin Powder: The only Pure Cream of Tartar I'owdcr. No Ammonia; No A!u:t:. Used in Millions of Homes 40 Years the Standard. "He is coming," 6he cried, "coming tomorrow. Thank God! I haven't lived since he went. I have simply existed. Prudence, you will see him my hus band, my love, my god." Her passionate tones amazed and de lighted me. "She has at least kept her love for her husband pure and fresh," I said to my self. "That is a good sign. But if she loves him so intensely, why is she so ir ritable to his child?' "He will be in time for the ball," she rattled on, "and you, Prudence, must go with us. It's a ball at thenext planta tion. We have so little gaj-ety in this forsaken country that we appreciate every opportunity for pleasure." "Oh, you will excuse me," I said. "I would cut a sorry figure at a ball. Let me staj at home with Daphne." The littlo one's hand stole into my lap. I pressed the tiny fingers warmly. "As yon please," cried Portia. "What's this?" A shadow crossed her face. She bit her lip and stared desperately at the letter sho still held in her haud. "What shall I do?" I heard her mut ter. "What shall I do?" Then without one word of apology Mrs. Marchmont abruptly rose from the table and left the room. CHAPTER IV. THE CLOSED GATE. When Portia rejoined me, two hours later, her eyes were heavy and swollen from weeping. "Pardon me, my friend," she said sad ly, "for leaving you so unceremoniously, but I had received a terrible blow. I felt I must get away by myself. Come, Prudence," she concluded, "come, let us walk. I cannot remain quiet." Puzzled by her looks and manner, I complied with her request. We left the honso and entered one of the broad, densely shaded and winding paths. For somo time we walked in silence. When I stole occasional glances at my compan ion, I could see she was far from com posed. Tho anxiety lurking in her eyes, the hard, despairing lines about the lips, betokened the inward conflict. At last I spoke: "I am really grieved, Portia, to see you suitenug so. Is there anything i can do for your' "No, nothing," she broke out wildly. "No, there is nothing- you can do, or, for that matter, that any ono can do. I tell you, Prudence," and stopping short at a turn in the path she seized my arm in a convulsive grasp, "God him self could not help me. I am in awful danger." "Danger!" I cried. "Hush!" sho exclaimed, looking ap- preheusivelj' about. Hush! Yea, in dan ger. "My dear, my dear." 1 said soothingly patting her arm as I might a child's your nerves are in a bad stato. on need rest. Why, Portia, what danger can there be to you in your own home and with your husband's protecting Iovo to guard 3'ou? Why, these are the idlest fancies. Dismiss them at once.'" "My husband ! sho cried in agonized tones. "Ah! it is through him that dan ger threatens me. ant what am 1 say ing? Oh, Prudence! Sometimes I fear I am going mad," and she bowed her head upon my shoulder and wept. My distrust, my dislike, faded instant ly. This cold, liarsih woman I had been condemning was my Portia after all- racked by disease perhaps, crazed by fancied terrors. Poor, suffering girl! I put my arms about her and comforted her as best i could. When she had growu calmer, we walked on, nud rcaclung a rustic arbor sat down. Portia still sighed mournful ly and wiped tho straggling tears from her cheeks. "A charming visit you will have," she said, with a forced attempt at gayety. 1 am ashamed of my weakness, but when these frightful fits of depression seizo me 1 cannot possihiy control myself." "Are you subject to these moods, Por tia?" "Oh, yes," sho sighed. "For two years 1 have either been torn with feverish panics or plunged into the depths of fore boding. Dut today today" "There, there, never mind. Don't think of it." I murmured: "think of something pleasant. Look at the glorious sky, the sunlight, tho trees, tho flowers. Think of some happy event of your life. Think, Portia, of thoso dear, peaceful days of long ago our schooldays when life had not a care" I stopped abruptly. Portia's face bad onco again assumed that inexplicable; expression a look of mingled cunning and alarm; tho same awful glance 1 had seen through tho window the night be fore I received now. But I floundered on. "Do you remember, dear girl, what Sister Agatha said to you tho morning of our graduation? I can see her now, as sho laid her hand upon your shoul der" "Oh, j-es!" interrupted Portia, "Dear Sister Agatha, she was always so lovely and gentle, and her precepts so sound and wise." I stared at her in amazement. "Why, Portia, you must bo dreaming. Sister Agatha was anything but gentle. She was the terror of tho school. No one was so feajred and dreaded next to Mother Patricia." "Why, of course," laughed Portia that same sinister, mocking laugh of last night "how stupid of me! I must have been thinking of some other sister." "Doubtless you were thinking of Sis ter Madeline." 1 'Yes Sister .Madeline. It was she." "Sister Agatha said, if I recall it aright, 'Portia, you have every, prospect of hap piness. Wealth, youth, beauty; are yours. See to it, my child, that the avenue along which the beacons of this life are placed leads, to the heavenly city.' Portia, 1 have never forgotten that scene. The nun, with her white, ascetic face glow ing with spiritual fervor, one hand lifted as in benediction; you in the flush of beauty and expectancy listening to the farewell ef that so woman. What a picture it would have made!" "I cannot' remember it very well," Portia said, with a curious air of impa tience as if the subject bored her, "at all events I am convinced that I am not in spirit very near the pearly gates. I really think I am in tho neighborhood of the bottomless pit. But come. Prudence, how much longer are you going to daw dle here"' and springing up she hastily walked on, leaving me" to follow in a more perplexed state of mind than ever. ' I had hoped to touch Portia with the. remembrance of that convent goodby, but had only succeeded in annoying her. She appeared' vexed when I spoke of our school days, and now that I gave tho subject somo reflection I recollected that tho night before when I had once or twice referred to our convent life she had quickly changed the conversation. She had not asked once after any of our former associates and appeared abso lutely to have no interest in the old life. We pursued our way slowly and silently. The drip of the fountains, the rustle of the leaves and the shrill, sweet notes of the mocking birds broke the stillness. Occasionally Portia would bend over a bed of flowers, examine them intently, pick one or two, then aimlessly wander on. We came at last to a little slope which descended abruptly toward Dead Man's swamp. Here tho tangles of thicket and vine grew closer and denser. Birds rose in frightened flight at our coming. Once I saw a snake wriggle quickly across our path. "This is a gloomy part of the grounds," I returned. "It is near the swamp, is it not?" "Yes," said Portia, almost sullenly. "Yes. I hate it. I never walk here. 1 don't know why I have come today. Is it an omen, I wonder?' "An omen of what?" I asked lightly. "You surely do not expect to be voo dooed." Again I paused abruptly at sight of my friend's face. "Voodooed I" she cried angrily. "What do you mean? What do you know of voodooism?' "Only what I have read and heard," I retorted. "Oh!" she returned, as if relieved. "I didn't know but some of the servants had been chattering their abominable stuff to you. I don't allow it to be talked if Lknowit." "Well, is there nothing in it, Portia.'" I asked carelessly. "My driver was tell ing me that it was a common rumor in these parts that unholy rites are prac ticed in that swamp, and as we came by It last night I heard" "What did you hear?' she demanded, with distended eyes and quivering nos trils. "I heard an awful cry a fearful Bcream. Do you know I could only think of one thing." "And that?" "Murder!" I scarcely breathed Portia turned so pale I was alarmed. VOh, my dear girl, forgive me for speaking of these things when you are already so unstrung. But why did we come to this desolate spot.1 The very surroundings suggest all sorts of ghastly topics. Let us return." But Portia went on down the slope as if impelled by some unseen power. Straight toward the swamp she went. "Come back, dear," I urged; "come. "Come aicay," the hissed. A sudden quick turn in the path brought us up against a high wall com pletely overrun with creepers and other vines. "See!" whispered Portia. "See, beyond that wall lies the swamp. Yes, it is a gruesome place. I hate it! I fear it!" My eyes running along the wall caught the outlines of a door or gate half hid den under the luxuriant growth of tan gled and running vines. "Why, Portia!' I cried, "hero is a gate. Let us open it and have a peep into thi3 land of terror." As I pushed the vines away a cold hand the hand of a corpse was laid on mine. I turned in terror to seo Portia's maddened eyes burning like hot coals in her livid face. "Come away," she hissed in my ear; "come. Don't dare to try to open it. Come, come." TO BE CONTINUED. Are to your children subject rroup? If so, you should never without a bottle of Chamberlain's Cough Remedy. It is a certain cure for croup, and has nevr been known to fail. 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