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Mmik
"BBI
o. WILLIHMS,
MANUFACTURER OF
HOME-MADE CANDIES
NORTH "PLATTE, JftBRASK-WEDKESDAY, DECEMBER 6, 1893.
NO. 48.
MODEL
ATTHTJ
Ml Ml
Li
Great Clearing Sale !
FOR CASH ONLY.
forth
of
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Model : Clothing : House,
Ea,:s: ZEirLsteixi, Proprietor.
North Platte National Bank,
NORTH PLATTE, NEBRASKA.
3?aid up Capital,
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w.w Brnon,
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J. W. RAKER.
51. OUEKST,
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! COAL, i
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"Dr. N. McOABE, Prop. J. E. BUSH, Manager.
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oii:
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tion.1
COKTIXUED.
' Without a word ho confrontea ner.
She stared at him for an instant with
dilating eyes; then, evidently realizing
her helplessness, with a gasp fell for
ward. He caught her in his arms and
carried her np the stairs. I heard the
door of the room open and in another
moment shut. Then a key softly clicked
in a lock, and presently Maurice came
down the stairs again.
He camo into the drawing room.
"Prudence,"' he said in a low voice, "are
you here?'
"Yes," I responded, going toward him.
"Are you ready?''
"Yes." , K
"Give me your hqrnd. Ah! Pulse all
right, nerves steady. Good. Come."
"But Portia"
"Well, what of her?'
"She is ill. I ought to go to her."
"She will soon be better. It is nothing
serious. You can help her more by going
to the swamp than in any other way."
He drew me out upon the piazza,
wrapped my shawl closer about mo, and
tucking my hand under his arm led the
way down the path toward the swamp.
There was no conversation! We
walked in utter silence. Once or twice
he turned and looked back. I had a
ucy that he was looking to see if we
ore followed.
Fast as we came, to the wall and the
closed gate a dark figure rose suddenly
up, it seemed to me, from the earth.
I suppressed a faint shriek.
"Don't be alarmed," said Maurice.
"Jake, is that you?''
"Yes," answered the big overseer.
"You have your rifle?''
"Yes, sir."
"Are the boys at hand?'
"Yes, sir; here they are," as two
brawny negroes stepped out of the dark
ness. "That's all right. Now, I don't appre
hend any trouble; still there may be
some. I wish the lady to be protected
in any ovent. You remain hero close by
the gate. If yon hear my pistol, come;
otherwise wait for us."
"All right, sir," replied Jake.
Mr. Eaymond drew a key from his
pocket and opened the gate.
He held out his hand.
"Come, Prudence,' ho said.
We stepped through the gate. He did
not lock it behind us. .
"Remember, Jake," ho said in a low
tone, "if j'ou hear my pistol, loss no
time."
"Yes, sir."
Black, slimy
morass about
Man's swamp.
and
us.
filthy stretched the
We were in Dead
'CHAPTER XV.
THE FRIGHTFUL TROTH.
The path was so narrow we were
obliged to go in Indian file for a part of
the way, but as the forest grew thicker
and denser about U3 the path broadened.
Huge cypresses barred our way; long,
drifting moss dangled in our faces; brack
ish pools wet our feet, but on, on wo
went. Through clusters of huge fern,
over logs rising like reptiles from the
water, our road lay. Around us
stretched those sullen solitudes, oppress
ive and hideous. To my excited fancy
it seemed that ghostly hands wero reach
ing out to impede our progress or to trip
us as we walked. Closer I clung to
Maurice's sido, and tighter his hand
gripped mine.
And now, as on the first night I had
seen this desolate place, I was conscious
of a strange impulse urging me on.
Who was it calling me? What was it
that beckoned me? I could not go fast
enough, but longed for wings to fly.
"Oh, what is it?' I whispered to Man
rice. 4 'What does it mean? We are los
ing time. Let ns hasten."
"Hush!" he gently said. "Yes, time
has been lost, but we aro not too late."
Suddenly a mournful sound was borne
through the forest a monotonous dron
ing wail, horrid, harsh and threatening.
And then at a quick turn in the path a
bright light glowed through a rift in the
black foliage, and I saw a sight I can
never forget.
In a little clearing was a bonfire.
Round about this fire circled slowly,
with lugubrious cries, a ring of half
naked black men and women. Back of
the circle on a rough throne built of
boxes and logs sat the horrible old ne
gress Jezebel. Her rags fluttered in the
night wind; her scanty locks were tossed
over her bare, skinny shoulders. In one
hand she held a forked stick, and in the
other, dreadful to relate, a writhing,
wriggling snake. As wo looked, rising
from her throne she held the serpent
aloft and waved her forked scepter slow
ly three times. It was the signal for a
wild, unlicensed dance, an abandoned,
lascivious measure, in which I was hor
rified to trace resemblances to Portia's
audacious outburst in the hall a few
nights before.
"Those are Portia's friends," whis
pered my guide. "What do you think
of them?"
"Ob, is it not terrible?" I murmured.
4 4 We must we must save her!"
Old Jezebel shook her serpent. The
negroes leaped and bounded in frenzy.
Many fell exhausted on the ground,
foaming at the mouth and clutching at
the fire.
It was the most awful sight I had ever
seen. "Oh, let us go back!" I moaned.
"What can we do here?"
"Our work is only begun," said Mau
rice. "Nerve yourself now, little Bun
ker Hill, for what is coming."
By this time the negroes had fallen
down and lay insensible here and there.
Old Jezebel shook her serpent.
The old woman sank back upon her
throne in a stupor. She held the snake
pressed to her withered breast. I was !
eickened, terrified "int.
"Do you see that wretched hut, yon
der?' said Maurice. "That is old Jeze
bel's home. We must enter it."
"Oh, why?" I asked in a terrifiedwhU
per. 4 'Because there only is the talisman
which will save Portia," he answered.
Creeping stealthily forward, we passed
the stupid voodoos, worn, out with their
disgusting orgies. The hut, quite over
grown with trailing vines, was scarcely
fit for swine to inhabit. Through the
half open door the red gleam of the fire
darted, lighting up the miserable room.
In one corner was a wretched pallet of
straw and rags, and on it something lay.
"Come here," said Maurice solemnly,
taking off his hat as if in the presence of
death; "come here, Prudence.
I looked and, oh, God! Oh, God!
What was this?
Worn and wasted to a skeleton, clad
in "filthy rags, pale as marble; insensible,
dead .perhaps, lay Portia!
Yes,, the. reaj..,Portia not the hand
some, bold p:retenderup at the great
house yonder, but my Portia my Por
tia, the friend of my girlhood, the cousin
of my Maurice..
I flung my arms about tho wasted
form. I kissed the pallid brow. I wept
and moaned as a mother might over a
dead child.
44 You recognize her?' said Maurice.
"Oh, my Portia, my dear friend, who
has done this cruel thing? Let us take
her away," I sobbed.
Maurice bent down and lifted her in
his arms. As he did so a faint moan
escaped from her lips.
"She is alive!'' I cried joyfully.
Slowly she opened her eye3 and looked
straight in Maurice's face.
"Oh, home, home!'' was all she
moaned.
4 'Yes, dearest," said Maiirico tenderly,
"you are going home."
Gathering her closer, he strode from
the hut. I followed moro dead than
alive.
Past tho sodden voodoos, back through
the night and the noisomo swamp, we
fled with our precious burden; back to
the gate guarded by the faithful serv
ants. Jake flung it open when he heard
our footsteps.
44 Are you all right, Mr. Raymond?"
he cried, advaucing to meet us. "You
wero so long I was afraid something
had happened. My God, what is it?"
"Strike a match, Jake," said Maurice.
The man obeyed.
"Come closer, and you, Tom, and you,
George," he added, "and tell mo who ii
this."
The men bent their rugged faces.
"Great God!" said Jake, "Mrs March
mont." "It's missus," cried the others. "Den
who?'
"Yes. Who who is the other?' cried
Maurice, white with rage. "I know
who it is. You were all blind to what
was" going on, but I knew her from the
first. Lock tho gate, Jake, and you men
come up to the .house with me. I've
work for you yet tonight." :
Up to tho great silent mansion we hur
ried the steps, the piazza, the hall and
now tho libraiy.
Colonel Marchmont had risen at tho
sound of our footsteps and stood facing
the door.
"Jermyn," said Maurice in a voice
choked with emotion, 4 4 Jermyn, I have
brought homo your poor wife."
He laid her tenderly in her husband's
arms. Colonel Marchmont stared at
Portia as ho might at a specter.
4 'Is it true?" he whispered hoarsely.
"Is it true? Have you come back from
the grave, darling?'
His pathetic words moved ns all, and
George, one of the biggest, blackest ne
groes on the place, suddenly burst out
crying like a baby.
Possibly that act saved his master's
reason, for he, too, wept then, laying his
face close to the hollow, sunken cheek
of the woman ho held to his heart.
CHAPTER XVI.
A FIGHT FOR LIFE.
What a night that was!
As I recall it now it was a shifting
panorama of action end tumult. There
were ringing of bells, rousing of serv
ants, lighting of fires, preparation of
baths and cordials and a hurried sum
mons of the physician from the neigh
boring town, who sat by the bed till day
break fanning the feeble flame of life
which threatened to go out forever.
"She has been dosed and drugged so
long," Dr. Spencer said, "that I greatly
fear it will not be possible to save her.
However, I'm going to make a fight'for
the poor lady's life."
OK, it was pitiful to see her, a mere
wreck of herself, helpless as a baby, at
times moaning in distress and only say
ing feebly over and over, "Home, home!"
Her arms were one mass of scars. The
doctor examined them gravely. "Here
is where they have injected their poi
son," he said. "It's a marvel she is alive.
This has been going on for two years.
She has been starved and drugged. I
cannot understand why they didn't kill
her outright. It would have been infi
nitely more humane."
"Do you see?' said Maurice to Colonel
Marchmont, lifting one of the thin arms
and pointing to a mark, "Do you see,
Jermyn? There is the little tattoo mark
I gavo her when a boy. I had tattooed
my hand here," and he showed the place,
"and when she saw it she begged I should
tattoo her arm. Then nothing would
do but Sidonie must have one too. How
ever, I made a different mark on that
devil."
"Don't, my dear boy," said the colonel
gently. "Don't speak about her now."
The scene in the drawing room when
Maurice forcibly tore back the sleeve of
our hostess suddenly came to me. I knew
now for what he was looking.
But who and what was this other
woman this Sidonie, who was the exact
counterpart of Portia, and who had for
some wicked reason brought all this mis
ery on a happy home?
Beyond this mention of her, she seemed
to be forgotten that night. I knew she
was locked in her room and that Mau
rice had the key which would release
her. What would be done with her? If
Portia were to die, she, that beautiful,
graceful, accomplished creature would
bo her murderer!
I recalled many things the wonder
ful instinct which had caused Colonel
Marchmont to despise and hold at arm's
length this pretender to his affections
oh, love after all has a language of its
own the wiles of this sorceress, this
priestess of voodooism, had never lured
him from the memory of a gentle, pure
womanhood. Thank God, he had been
true to his ideal.
And little Daphne's'piteous cry, "Oh,
mamma, mamma," recurred to me. Had
she, too, in some occult fashion caught
the intimation from her guardian angel
that this woman was not her mother?
I recollected my own unaccountable
distrust of this creature. Why had I
not persisted in folio wing up those vague
suspicions which so tormented meea
my arrival? It was maddening to think
that while we were idly eating and
drinking and dawdling life away that
Portia was being slowly tortured to:
death in that place of horrors.
Just before dawn, at the hour when
the 'first faint rays of light crept like
phantoms across the floor, the sufferer
opened her eyes andlooked straight into
those of her husband. Though she did
not speak, it was evident that she rec
ognized him, for a faint smile lighted up
the wan face.
"That.is good," said the doctor. "She
knows you, coioncl. Now, let every
body, save the nurse, get out. Go and
get some sleep, you people. I will watch
until Hopn.' I do not wish to leave her."
We obeyed instructions and left the
sick chamber. At the head of the stairs.
Colonel MarcTunont paused and said:
" You can act now, Maurice. Only
there must be no scene, no outer'. Get
her out'of tho house and don't let me
see her, for I would not be responsible
for what I might do."
Then he hurried into his room and
shut and locked the door behind him.
What followed seems too awful to
tell. I have a dim remembrance of see
ing Jake and George come up tho stairs;
of Muurice's unlocking the door of tho
room in which the woman was impris
oned; of seeing them bring her out, her
hair disheveled, her dress torn, her hands
chained and a white bandage over lier
mouth to prevent her screaming. The
men half dragged,-half carried her down
the stairs.
I supposed they were talcing her to
jail, and ran to tho window to see them
depart. But there was no carriage wait
ing. The servants stood about in little
groups whispering in terror. All drew
back when the men appeared with their
prisoner. What were they about to do?
Jakewaved the negroes out of his way,
and with George's assistance carried the
half insensible creature, down tho path
leading toward tho swamp.
"What is it?' I cried, turning wildly
to Maurice. 4 'What aro they going to
do with her? Why aro they going that
way?"
"They are taking her where sho be
longsto tho swamp," he said indiffer
ently. "To the swamp! To the swamp!" I
stammered. "But why? Of course she
is a very wicked woman and a criminal.
But why do you not send her to jail? It
would be more merciful, and, besides,
what right have you to put her there?
Will it not make more trouble? And
then, too, will she not escape?'
"She will not escape," said Maurice
confidently. "Shall I tell you her fate?
You talk of mercy. Has she shown any?
She is banished to that foul hut in which
The mm half dragged, half carried her
down stairs.
she has imprisoned Portia for two long
years. There she will stay, watched day
and night, until we know whether my
cousin will recover. If Portia live, she
will simply be confined there for the rest
of her lite. If she die" He broke off.
His silence was ominous.
"But I do not yet see why you do not
put her in prison. Let the Jiw deal with
her," I cried excitedly.
"Let the law deal with her? Why,
Prudence, that creature has no standing
in the eyes of the law."
The horrible truth was breaking on me.
"Why why"
"Shall I tell you why? Simply this:
The woman who has been masquerading
here as" mistress is a chattel a pieco of
property a slave."
CHAPTER XVII.
SIDONIE.
"Asjavel" I echoed, "a slave! But the
likeness to Portia?'
"Ah, yes," said Maurice sadly, "that
likeness to Portia broke my aunt's heart.
I wish you could have known Portia's
mother, Prudence. A sweeter, daintier,
better woman never lived, but her love
ly life was clouded by the shadow of a
sin. She died early, wasting away after
she discovered that cruel secret. But
you must rest now, little Bunker Hill. I
will tell you the story later."
"I cannot sleep," I cried. "Let us go
for a walk in the garden, and yon shall
unravel this mystery for me. After that
I will think about rest."
He saw that I was determined to hear
the story at once, and so after we had
been served with coffee we went out
into the fresh morning air and strolled
up and down while he smoked in silence.
He was not quite ready to tell the
strange tale. But I was patient.
It was just sunrise when wo entered
the rustic arbor whero I had sat with
Daphne on 'that eventful night. Here
and there the birds were rousing, shak
ing out their wings and voices. Tho
dew yet sparkled on the grass. Tho
fountains near by were splashing softly.
The air was delightfully fresh and in
vigorating after the hours passed in the
sickroom.
"Does it seem possible that only a few
hours ago we were searching that ghast
ly place yonder?' suddenly asked Mau
rice. "No,'' I replied earnestly. "I seem to
have, lived a lifetime since midnight.
But tell me, how did you discover the
truth? And Sidonie tell me about her.
Oh, begin, begin! My curiosity is de
vouring me."
Mr. Raymond smiled.
4 'Whoever would fancy to look at you
strong, plain, stanch little body that
you would admit so feminine a weak
ness? And yet you are thoroughly wom
anly." "Never mind whether I am womanly
or weak. I didn't come out here to be
-analyzed, but to hear about Portia the
real' and Portia the pretender. Come,
make haste, for I must soon return to
lee how our sufferer is faring."
4 'Sit down here then," returned Mau
rice, "and I will tall von all I can.
There re several links in thestory
Which Portia alone can" supply. To be
gin with, I suspected mischief from the
moment I first saw the woman who was
posing as my consin. Physically she is
very like Portia, or as the latter might
be if in robust health. But I have a
keen scent for crime. I reckon my pro
fession has made me acute in that re
spect. Our hostess was nervous, flighty,
passionate and suspicious. Portia Vano
was none of these. Of course I made
all necessary allowances for poor health
until, by judicious inquiries, I discovered
Wewcnt out into the fresh viorning air.
that up to the time Marchmont went to
England his wife was a superb specimen
of physical strength and endnrance.
Then this woman's remarkable loss of
memory set me thinking. The search
for the tattoo mark on her arm con
firmed all my suspicions. When I rec
ognized the mark I had put on Sidonie,
the slave girl, I knew directly there had
been foul play. What I feared was that
my cousin had been 'murdered.
4 'But I am getting far ahead of my
story. Let me go back to my boyhood.
As you already know, I was born and
brought up on the Vano plantation. My
mother died when I was very young, and
my aunt became my second mother.
My earliest recollections circle round
my sweet littlo cousin Portia and her
playmate, Sidonie, the daughter of a
beautiful, accomplished creole, whom
my uncle bought in New Orleans as a
present for my aunt. I recall now a
scene I witnessed when a child, which I
did not of course then understand, but
which nevertheless impressed me deeply.
These little girls were romping across
the lawn ono day, rolling and tumbling
about like two graceful kittens. My
aunt and uncle were sitting on the pi
azza, and I was on the steps repairing a
kite. Suddenly my aunt called tho chil
dren to her. They camo flying up the
steps, black curls waving, eyes flashing,
cheeks glowing an exquisite picture of
happy, healthful childhood. My aunt
caused them to stand at her knee and
looked steadily for some time in their
faces. She was very pale when she dis
missed them, and as they ran shouting
back to their games she rose, tottered to
the hall door and fell senseless across
the threshold. She was never well after
that and drifted slowly out of life."
Mr. Raymond was silent a moment,
and a shadow settled across his face.
Presently he went on:
"The children grew into lovely young
girls. Portia was finely educated as you
know, and in addition to her convent
facilities had governesses and masters
at home. Nothing would do but that
Sidonie, 'my Sid,' she used to call her,
must have these advantages too."
"Yes," I said, interrupting him, "I
remember, she used to speak of a pretty
slave girl to whom she was greatly at
tached, but I had forgotten the name."
"So Sidonie wa3 taught music and
language and dancing and painting.
She came to be almost as accomplished
as her mistress. Portia sang divinely,
but Sidonie had no voice. You under
stand now why the latter would not
Sing for us. But one thing she could
never acqnire, and that was Portia's
lovely and amiable disposition. From
her creole mother Sidonie had inherited
vanity, love of dress and a fieri' temper.
She was so pette'd and favored by Portia
that she came to look upon herself as a
lady and to take on the airs of one. The
Marchmont plantation joined my uncle's,
and it was easy to see that Jermyn and
Portia were boy and girl lovers. But
Sidonie's face always grew dark when
she saw them together. I used to taunt
her with being jealous of Portia, never
dreaming how closely I hit her. I left
home several years before Portia was
married and cannot speak definitely of
the events of the time. However, Portia
used to write me often and tell me many
details of her daily life. Just before the
wedding there was a great hue and cry.
Sidonie had run away. She was hunted
high and low, a big reward offered for
her capture and search mado every
where, all to no purpose. There is a
gap here of several j'ears which I cannot
fill. She was seen in various cities, but
always escaped apprehension. What
her life was during this period one can
only surmise.
4 'Now, about this old nigger, Jezebel,
and her cohort of followers. I can re
member when I was a mere lad thinking
the old hag, soothsayer and fortune
teller was a century old. I don't be
lieve any one knows just how old she is.
Sidonie, for some reason, was always
crazy to be with her, and while she
looked down on all the other niggers
would slip away and spend hours in
Jezebel's hut. The old devil flattered
her vanity and prophesied a roseate fu
ture for the girl. 'You won't always be
a slave, honey,' she would tell her, and
inch by inch she turned her foolish head.
"Even in those days Jezebel was popu
larly supposed to be in league with sa
tan. She was said to have the evil eye
and to be able to work charms and cast
spells. The darkies applied to her for
potions and doses to cure all manner of
ailments. Jermj-n tells me that for the
last two years she has not slept on this
plantation, but has lived in that wretch
ed hut in the swamp.
"I heard whispers and rumors among
the negroes here of these midnight or
gies and determined to witness ono for
myself. I went out night before last,
and having easily found the path came
plump up against the wall and the closed
gate. While I was ruminating what
plan to pursue, I heard footsteps and
saw a woman approaching. I quickly
concealed myself in the thicket, and
nrhen I saw our hostess let herself
through this gate I resolved to follow
her. I easily scaled the wall and took
the path sho was pursuing and presently
found myself where we were last night.
This imposter mingled with those naked
niggers, and while she did not danco
herself encouraged them in their de
bauch. After thej were -stupefied from
their frenzy, she and old Jezebel enter-
cSl tlm lint
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' "I hastened to the window and peered
in. I heard a faint moan and saw some-,
thing move on that filthy pallet. Then
the old woman brewed some diabolical
mess and forced poor Portia to drink it
while this Sidonie stood by looking on
with a triumphant smite.
"I saw it all in au instant how by her
wit and cunning she had caused the
transfer of identity while Jermyn was
in England. Tho slave had become
the mistress, and tho poor mistress was
a captive in tho hands of Sidonie's fellow
conspirator. I don't know how I kept
from rushing in then and denouncing
her, but I feared if I did Sidonie might
escape. And I was determined she should
not elude me.
"I took Jake partially into my confi
dence. I told him to guard tho gate and
not to permit any ono to pass through
it save you and me, and if Mrs. March
mont attempted to open it to summon
the colonel or me at once, that foul play
was being done, and I would bo respon
sible for any consequences. Jake is a
singularly reliable man, and having
been told just enough did his duty.
4 'I know Sidonie could not leave the
house without my knowledge. I was
confident she would try and waited for
that attempt which you know was
made.
4 4 When she fainted, I carried her into
her room, locked that pair of handcuffs
on her soft, pretty wrists and secured
the door behind me. The rest you
know. When Portia recovers, she will
tell U3 more which will doubtless sup
ply all the missing details. A terrible
story, is it not? No stranger, though,
than many a wild tale of tho south the
land of romance and revenge. But how
weary you are! Come, I insist you
shall go in and rest. Don't worry about
Portia. Sho will live. Those fiends did
not succeed in killing her, and the good
God will restore her to her husband and
child."
As we rose to return to the house Jake,
tho overseer, camo running up the path
from tho swamp. He was greatly ex
cited. "Sir, Mr. Raymond," he cried, waving
his hat as he came on, "what do you
think has happened now?'
"For God's sake, don't tell mo you have
let that creature escape!' shouted Mau
rice angrily.
' 'No, no, sir. She's fast in the hut and
George on guard, but the old woman,
sir, is stono dead."
"Dead!" we cried.
"Yes, lying there on her throne dead.
An awful sight, sir. Do you know I'm
thinking tho snake she was playing with
may have bitten her. Anyway she has
gone to the devil, where she belonged."
CHAPTER XVIII.
-V DISAPPEARANCE.
The sudden death of old Jezebel broke
up tho voodoo performance? in the
swamp. All the planters in the neigh
borhood bestirred themselves and gave
strict orders to their slaves to keep away
from the accursed place. If these prac
tices were continued, it was secretly and
in some other locality. No longer were
our ears disturbed by unearthly cries;
no longer were strange lights seen at
dead of night. A pall of silence settled
down upon the swamp, and the wind
that muttered among the pines told an
other story a tale of cruel wrong and
terrible justice, of a sullen prisoner
doomed to perpetual solitude within the
gloomy environments of this uncanny
swamp.
This was the punishment meted out to
Sidonie, to suffer a3 sho had caused her
gentle, amiable mistress to suffer; to see
no face save that of her dusky jailer; to
hear no voice save his thick accents as
ho bade her eat and drink.
Not a dissenting word was raised
against this retribution. Colonel March
mont, humane and kindly master, had
endeared himself to his slaves, but their
love for Portia amounted to a reverence.
Had Sidonie fallen into their hands she
would have fared far less gently. Dur
ing her short reign her arrogance and
natural cruelty had engendered a feel
ing of intense hatred among the slaves,
and when they learned the true state of
affairs they had no mercy for her.
"'Deed she oughter be tohn limb from
limb," declared one.
"Ef 1 wuz mars, I'd flay her alive,"
was the general opinion delivered on the
matter.
As the days went by, and Portia hov
ered between life and death, many were
the angry looks cast toward the swamp
and many the maledictions called down
on Sidonie's head by her fellow slaves.
The gate to the swamp stood open
now, but no one save the big negro ap
pointed to watch Sidonie went in and
out. I sometimes strolled in that direc
tion and looked down into the melan
choly vista of somber shade and desolate
bog, wondering how the criminal that
beautiful, intense, tropical creature,
stripped of her stolen finery, clad in the
coarsest raiment, fettered like an ani
mal was existing. What anguish, what
despair must be hers! No hope, no ray
of light!
At such times I pitied her. I remem
bered her beauty, her gayety, her grace.
I recalled her words of tragic prophecy,
"Remember, Prudence, whatever comes,
that I loved him as few women love."
Poor, wretched, misguided Sidonie! Her
gin had been that she loved too well.
Then, when I returned to the sickroom
and looked at my friend, when I heard
the moans of pain nd witnessed the
struggle for life, all my pity for Sidonie
vanished, and every outraged instinct of
my nature cried out for revenge upon
the heartless, soulless, brazen creature
who had wrought this havoc and disas
ter. I now come to an event so awful, bo
frightful that even the remembrance,
dimmed as it is by the mists of years,
causes a wave of terror to roll again
over my being. I sometimes live it over
in my dreams and wake screaming and
sobbing, and if I should live to be a
hundred years old I can never efface
that terrible scene.
Xet mo tell it as calmly as possible. It
was one dull November afternoon, when
a ghostly mist was settling down over
the landscape and fino spatters of rain
were beating irregularly against . the
wiridow panes, that George, Sidonie's
jailer, rushed into the library, 'where
the colonel, Maurice and I weresitting,
and with trembling voice and shaking
hands implored his master's forgiveness,
for Sidonie had escaped.
"Escaped!" cried Colonel Marchmont
in a terrible voice. "You black rascal,
what does this mean?'
44 'Deed, mars," cried the man, rolling
his eyes in terror, 4 'it mus be de debbil
hisself holp her. Wen I lef her to come
up fer her suppah, she was chained all
right. Alius look de las' t'ing ter see
ef she's fastened. Wen I goes back jus'
now, she's gone, de chain broken in two."
"Send for Jake," interrupted Colonel
Marchmont imperatively. "Come, Mau
rice, we must not lose a moment. Think
of that creature free to do further mis
chief!" Presently tho plantation was astir.
Negrof-s ran hither and thither, the bay
of the bloodhounds was heard, and Jake,
Maurice and the colonol, with a crowd
of negroes, were hurrying toward the
swamp, intent upon recapturing the
fugitive.
I went to Portia's room to see if the
unusual tumult had annoyed or alarmed
her. She had roused from her sleep
fulfill
The latest jilan of the free silver
men to secure another considertiou
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This must appear as a complete
change of position for those silver
advocates who have all along
claimed that they desired no special
favor for the silver producers, but
merely an increase in the currency
in circulation. Tariff on silver, can
be nothing but a protective tariff.
Bee.
State of Ohio, City of Toledo,
Lccas County, ) .
Frank J. Cheney makes oath that ho
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Cheney & Co , doing business in thj
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TAnnuCruE. 'FRANK J. CHENEY.
Sworn to before me and subscribed in
my presence this Gth dav of December,
f --) A. D.18S6.
SEAL, t A. W. Gl.EASON,
( v -i ) Notary Public.
Hall's Catarrh Curp is taken internally
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i ' i j!
"EscapcdP' cried Colonel Marchmont.
and raised herself with difficulty on one
slender arm. Her great eyes questioned
me, and she feebly asked:
'What is it, Prudence?"
"Nothing, dear; do not distress your
self. Lie down; lie down."
"I heard the dogs baying I heard
angry voices. What is it? Tell me. I
will know."
I hesitated.
"Tell me," she repeated, and a faint
red spot appeared on either cheek. "I
must know. There is trouble, is there
not? A slave has run away who is it?'
I could not speak.
"Ah, I know!"' she cried. "I know I
feel it is Sidonie?'
I bowed my head.
"Whero aro they? In the swamp? Ah,
yes, beating the place with dogs and
guns. She will bo taken, shot, perhaps
torn to pieces. Oh, my poor Sidonie! 1
have forgiven her. Let her go. Pru
dence," wildly, 4 'go quickly. I can trust
you. Follow them to the swamp. Find
Jermyn and tell him that I, Portia, beg
him to let Sidonie go tell him it dis
tresses me. I cannot bear it. I forgive
her with all my heart," and she fell back
exhausted on tho pillows.
1 summoned the nurse as quickly as
possible, and as Portia still urged and
insisted I should carry her sublime mes
sage to her husband I set out through
the mist and the rain to Dead Man's
swamp.
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