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Bruce Herald, Volume XXVI, Issue 2646, 3 May 1895, Page 1 (Supplement)

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BY EDITH SESSIONS TUPPER. Concluded. We obeyed instructions and left the rick chamber. At the head of the stairs Colonel Marchmont paused and said: "You can act now, Maurice. Only there must be no scene, no outcry. Get her out of the 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 seeing Jake and George come up the stairs; of Maurice's unlocking the door of the room in which the woman was imprisoned; of seeing them bring her out, her hair disheveled, her drass torn, her hands chained and a white bandage over her mouth to prevent her screaming. The men half dragged, half carried her down the stairs. I supposed they were taking her to jail, and ran to the window to see them depart. But there was no carriage waiting. 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? Jake waved the negroes out of his way, and with George's assistance carried tho half insensible creature down the path leading toward the swamp. "What is it?" I cried, turning wildly to Maurice. "What are they going to do with her? Why are they going that way?" "They are taking her where she belongs — to the swamp," he said indifferently. "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 men half dragged, h<ilf carried her down stairs. she has imprisoned Portia for two long years. There she will stay, watched day and nig"ht, until we know whether my cousiu will recover. If Portia live, sl.e will simply be confined there for the re.-t of her life. 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 law 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 nic "Why— why" "Shall I tell you why? Simply this: The woman who has been masquerading here as mistress is a chattel — a piece of property — a slave."

CHAPTER XVII.

SI DOME. "A slave!" I echoed, "a, slave! But the likeness to Portia:" "Ah, j r es," said Maurice sadly, '"that likeness to Portia broke my aunt's heart. I wish you eoulil have known Portia's mother, Prudence. A sweeter, daintier, better woman never lived, but her lovely 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. 1 will tell you the story later." "I cannot sleep,"' l cried. ''Let us go for a walk in the garden, and you 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 we entered the rustic arbor where I had sat with Daphne on that eventful night. Here ; and there the birds were rousing, shaking out their wings and voices. The , dew yet sparkled on the grass. The fountains near X>y were splashing softly. ■ The air was delightfully fresh and invigorating after the hours passed in the sickroom. -'Does it seem possible that oulya fi-vv ] hours ago we were searching that ghast- < ly place yonder?" suddenly asked Mau- ( rice. ] "No," I replied earnestly. "I seem to i have lived a lifetime since midnight. t But teli me, how did you discover the ] truth? And Sidonie — tell me about her. \ Oh, hegin, begin! My curiosity is de- { vouring me." i Mr. Raymond smiled. "Whoever would fancy to look at you 1 — strong, plain, stanch little body — that f you would admit so feminine a weak- j ness? And yet you are thoroughly worn- g aniy." j ■ "Never mind whether lam womanly a or weak. I didn't come out here to be 1 analyzed, but to hear about Portia the j real and Portia the pretender. Come, p

make haste, for I must soon return to I see how our sufferer is faring." "Sit down here then," returned Maurice, "and I will tell you all I can. I There are several links in the story ■which Portia alone can supply. To he--1 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 profession has made me acute in that reBpect. Our hostess was nervous, flight) 7 , 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

We iccnt out into the fresh morning air. that up to the time Marchrnont went to England his wife was a superb specimen of physical strength and endurance. Then this woman's remarkable loss of memory set me thinking. The search for the tattoo mark on her arm confirmed all my suspicions. When I recognized the mark I had put on Sidonie, the slave girl, I knew directly there had been foul play. "What I feared was that ray cousin had been murdered. "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 Vane plantation. My mother died when I was very young, and my aunt became my second mother. My earliest recollections circle round my sweet little 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 one day, rolling and tumbling about like two graceful kittens. My aunt and uncle were sitting on the piazza, and I was on the steps repairing a kite. Suddenly my aunt called the children to her. They came 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 dismissed 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. Present!}" he went on; "The children grew into lovely young girls. Portia was finely educated as you know, and iv 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 attached, but I had forgotten the name." "So Sidonie was taught music and language and dancing and painting. She came to be almost as accomplished as her mistress. Porli.i- sang divinely, but Sidonie had no voice. You understand now why the latter would not sing for us. But one. thing she could never acquire, and that was Portia's lovely and amiable- disposition. From her creole mother Sidonie had inherited vanity, love of dress and a, fiery temper. She was so petted 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 j-ee- that Jermyu and Portia, were boy and girl lovers. But Sidonie's lace always grew dark when she s;i\v them together. 1 v.-< dto taunt her with being jealous ut' Portia, never dreaming h:/\v closely I hit her. I left home several years before Portia was married and cannot speak definitely of the events of the tune. 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 made everywhere, all to no purpose. There is a gap here of several years 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. "Now, about this old nigger, Jezebel, and her cohort of followers. I can remember when I was a more lad thinking the old hag. soothsayer and fortune teller was a century old. I don'fc believe, any one fciimv.-s just iiow 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 future 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 ihose days Jezebel was popularly supposed to be in league with satan. 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 lilments. Jermyn tells me that for the ; last two years she has not slept on this ; plantation, but has lived in that wretch.*A hut in the swamp.

I "I heard whispers and rumors among i the negroes here of these midnight or- ! gies and determined to witness one for myself. I went out night before last, and having easily found the path came plunip 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 when I saw our hostess let herself through this gate I resolved to follow her. I easily scaled the wall and took the path she was pursuing and presently i found myself where we were last night. ! This imposter mingled with those naked niggers, and while she did not dance herself encouraged them in their debanch. After the}' were stupefied from their frenzy, she and old Jezebel entered the hut. "I hastened to the window and peered in. I heard a faint moan and saw something move on that filthy pallet. Then the old woman brewed some diabolical mess and forced poor Portia to drink it while this Sidom'e stood by looking on with a triumphant smile. "I saw it all in an 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 the poor mistress was a captive in the 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 confidence. I told him to guard the gate and not to permit any one to pass through it savo you and me, and if Mrs. Marchmont attempted to open it to summon the colonel or me at once, that foul play was being done, and I would be responsible for any consequences. Jake is a singularly reliable man, and having been told just enough did his duty. "I know Sidonie could not leave the house without my knowledge. I was confident sho would tr} r and waited for that attempt which you know was made. "When sho fainted, I carried her into her room, locked that pair of handcuffs on her soft, pretty wrists and .secured the door behind me. Tho rest you know. When Portia recovers, she will tell us moro which will doubtless supply all the missing details. A terrible story, is it not 1 .-' 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. She will live. Those iiends did not succeed in killing her, and the good God will restore her to her husband and child." As we rose to return to tho house Jake, the overseer, camo running up the path from the swamp. Ho was greatly excited. '■Sir, Mr. Raymond," he cried, waving his hat as he camo on, '-what do you think has happened now?'' "For God's sake, don't tell me you have let that creature escape!"' shouted Maurice angrily. "No, no, sir. She's fast in tho hut and George on guard, but the old woman, sir, irf stone dead." '•Dead!'' we cried. "Yes, lying there on her throne dead. An awful sight, sir. Do you know I'm thinking t!. ■ : uake sho was playing with may Iwvo bitten her. Anyway she has gono to the devil, -where she belonged." CHAPTER XVI U. A DISAITr.AK.VNCK. The sudden death of old Jezebel broko up the voodoo performances in the swamp. All the planters in the neighborhood bestirred themselves and gave strict orders to their slaves 1o keep away from the accursed place. If these practices were continued, it was secretly and in some other locality. Xo 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 (old another 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 tho punishment meted out to Sidonie, to suffer as she 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 he bade her eat and drink. Not a dissenting word was raised againstthisretribuiion. Colonel Marchmont. humane and kindly master, had endeared himself to bis slaves, but their love for Portia amounted to a reverence. Had Sidonie fallen into their hands she would have fared far less gently. During her short reign her arrogance and natural cruelty had engendered a feeling 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," declare 1 one. "Ef 1 wux i. ;irs, I'd flay her alive," was the gen ■•:•.:! opinion delivered on the matter. As the days went by, and Portia hovered 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 appointecl to wjitflj Siilonio went in a.nd out. I sometimes strolled in that direction and looked down into the melancholy 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 animal — was existing. What anguish, what despair must be hersJ No hope, no ray of light! '' At such times I pitied her. I remembered 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 I Her ] sin had been that sho loved too well. Then, whenl returned to the sickroom i and looked at my friend, when I heard

the moans of pain and 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 disaster. I now come to an event so awful, so frightful that even the remembrance, dimmed as it is by the mists of years, causes a wave of terror to roll again i over my being. I sometimes live it over in my dreams and wake screaming and i Bobbing, and if I should live to be a hundred years old I can never efface that terrible scene. ; Let me tell it as calmly as possible. It i was one dull November afternoon, when a ghostly mist was settling down over ; the landscape and fine spatters of rain i were beating irregularly against tho . window panes, that George, Sidonie's ; jailer, rushed into the library, where ! the colonel, Maurice and I were sitting, 1 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?" "'Deed, mars," cried the man, rolling his eyes in terror, "it miis' be de debbil hisself holpher. Wen I lef'herto come up fer her suppah, she was chained all right. Allus look de las' ting 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, Maurice, we must not lose a moment. Think of that creature free to do further mischief!" Presently the plantation was astir. Negroes ran hither and (hither, the bay of tho bloodhounds was heard, and Jake, Maurice and the colonel, 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

"Esc(X]H'<J"' crit'd Colnnel Murclimimt. 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 yourself. Lie down; he down." "I heard tho dogs baying — 1 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 check. "I must know. There is trouble, is there not? A slave has run away — who is it?" I conlil not speak. "Ali, I know!" she cried. "I know — I feel — it is Sidoiiio?" I bowed my head. "Where are (hey? In tho swamp? Ah, yes, beating tho place with dugs and guns. She will be taken, shot, perhaps torn to pieces. Oh, my poor Sidonie! 1 have forgiven her. Let her go. Prudence," wildly, "go quickly. I can trust you. Follow them to the swamp. Find Jermyn and tell him that I, Portia, beg Inn- to let Sidonie go — tell him it distresses me. I cannot bear it. 1 forgive her with all my heart," and she fell back exhausted on the pillows. I summoned the nurse as quickly as possible, and as Porlia still urged and insisted I should carry her sublime message to her husband I set out through the mist and the rain to Dead Man's swamp.

CHAPTER XIX.

oi;litkkat[on. I ran down the path, through the gate, nor even stopped till 1 was under the widespreading shade of thu moss laden trees. The mist wrapped me about: the rain beat against my face. Afar in thu distance 1 heard the sullen bay of the bloodhounds and the .shouts of the j-ur-sners. I did not realize my dangei', never thinking that one false step might plungo me into thu morass, from which it would be almost impossible to extricate myself, but stumbled on, hoping to eonio up with thu others. But their voices receded farther and farther. I called, but received no answer. Blindly I struggled on, groping' and feeling my way, until at last the appalling truth burst upon me that I was lost in that awful place! I stopped and reflected upon the gravity of the situation. It was nearly night, and there was a dense fog shutting me in. Portia and the servants at the house would believe me to be with Colonel Marehmont, and of course the latter and Maurice, if they gave me a thought, supposed I was with Portia. If the fog did not lift, or if I could not summon relief by calling, I should be forced perhaps to spend the night in the swamp. I dared not move. I pxit out my hand and caught at the branch of a ti - ee. Faintl} 7 through the fog I could discern bits of the ugly morass stretching everywhere about me. The only thing for me to do -was to stand still and cry aloud for help. This I did again and again, but there was no response. At length, frightened and unnerved, I leaned against the tree near ■which I stood and burst into tears. "What shall I do?" I moaned aloud. "What shall I do? Must I spend the night in this fearful place?" Did ray senses deceive me? Had I gone mad, or did there come from out the thick fog close by me a burst of laughter, shrill, harsh and mocking. \ My heart stood still as I listened.

Yes, there was no deception. Again that taunting, wicked laughter. | "Who — what is it?" I stammered, and | my tongue was thick and my lips parch- , ed as I faintly articulated the words. "It is I," answered a voice through the drifting fog, "it is I— your old friend Portia— or rather Sidonie." "Sidoniel" I cried, "where are } r ou?" "Not far away," came the taunting : voice, "but I shall soon be much far- } ther." ] "Oh, Sidonie," I implored, "come to | Sne. Let me take your hand. I have i good news for you. Portia has forgiven i you everything and sent me here to plead

/ snu- a white upturned face. with her husband on your behalf . Come. You know the swamp. Leaa me out, I beg, and I will hasten with her message to Colonel Marrhinont." Again that burst of fiendish laughter. "Come to you — take your hand — lead you out!" came the voice; "impossible, you poor little gray mouse. I cannot bother with you. I am going on another errand." "Oh, do not leave me, Sidonie," I implored. "Do not h-avo mo hero in this desolate place, alone." "I must" — Mow strange her voice! Was it dying away? "Coiuo back; come buck!" I cried in terror. "I cannot — I cannot — goodby — goodby" Scream after scream broke from my lips as I realized that she was leaving me. I was well nigh insane with fright. Just then the fog parted like a curtain before me, and there in the black morass at my feet I saw a white upturned face, which seemed to fling a defiant smile at me as it slowly sank from sight in the ooze and horrible slime. Then, as if clutched from beneath, the long black hair outstretched upon the filthy water was dragged down. One slim, white hand remained an instant, fluttering like a broken winged bird. Then it was gone!

CHAPTER XX.

LOVE. When they found mo lying against the tree staring like a dead woman at the fatal spot where a life had been obliterated, they lifted me tenderly and carried me like a child back to the house and my room. , I did not weep. 1 did not faint nor grow hysterical, but I was like stone. I seemed to have no Rendition or volition. Over and over I saw that fearful sight. Over and over I heard that burst of mocking laughter. The climax to the nervous strain under which I had been for weeks nearly dethroned my reasou. What saved me? Love. I was lying on the broad couch before the open fire in the library staring in the glowing coals, seeing there again that hideous picture, when the door gently opened and Maurice entered. He bent over me and said gently: "Poor little brave fighter! You had to succumb at last, didn't you? Courageous little Bunker Hill! When I consider the fortitude you have displayed for weeks, 1 am filled with admiration. To think of all the horrors you h a vo endured to lie capped by that fearful experience in the swamp — well, well," he paused as if unable to proceed. "But," lie continued after a moment's sileuce, "we can't have our crack warrior laid low. No, indeed. Just tell me how this plantation will be run, who

" Will you be m;/ uUfc?" will take care of Daphne, iinrs<> Portia well, look out for Jcnnyn's comfort and — occasionally give a kind httle smile to a fussy c.1,1 fallow Hko me?" I smiled faintly. "That's right. I like to see you smile, Prudence. It lights up your plain, severe little face and makes you beautiful in my sight." "Beautiful!" I said contemptuously. "Yes, beautiful!" he; retorted. "Not with the classic beauty of Portia's face nor the diabolical witchery of that poor creature whose beauty was her ruin, but the beauty of goodness, kindness, loyalty and bravery — the beauty of holiness, little woman. Prudence," gently lifting me in his arms and kissing me tenderly on the eyes, "do you know those clear, truthful eyes have looked down deep in my heart? I love you. Will you be , my wife?" i It is said joy never kills.

! , i The words I had longed to hear were a | balm to my sick and tired heart. I wept, . i and the tears did me good. ! I had never known love nor congenial companionship. I had never dreamed they could come into my colorless existence. And yet my heart was as young and fresh aa a girl's and responded to affection as a thirsty flower extends its ■ cup for a drop of dew. Love and happiness were mine at last. ! Heaven was in my hands. I When Colonel Marchmont unexpect- ; edly entered the room a few minutes ' later, he paused confusedly, murmured : an apology and turned to go, when i i Maurice drew me to my feet, and lead- I j ing me up to our host said in tones of | i mock solemnity: ■ i "Jermyn, a most astounding geograph- i | ical phenomenon will be witnessed some ' j time within the next six months. Bunker ! ! Hill is to be transported to the shores of 1 Lake Ponchartrain. Congratulate me!" '

; CHAPTER XXI. '

■ BACK FROM THE DARK VALLEY. I Portia did not die. Slowly, laborious--1 I}-, she struggled buck from the valley of ! the shadow of death. For weeks her life ; hung by a thread, but tender care, dei votion and love snatched her from the ; verge of the grave. Only the ghost of herself she appeared when at last she was able to be dressed and carried down stairs to the library. Her feeble joy at being home once more, the pathetic happiness which shone in her great eyes — yes, even the tender little caresses she gave her favorite books , and cushions — were indescribably affect- ' ing. The meeting between herself and her child was sacred. I had prepared Daphne as best I could by telling her that mamma had been very ill indeed; that she must ask no troublesome questions, for some day when she was old enough to understand eveiything should be explained to her; that her mamma's heart was full of love for her, and she need never fear she would be scolded or slapped again, then took her to the door of her mother's chamber. Portia was bolstered up by a small army of pillows, her sunken cheeks lighted by a feverish glow, her languid eyes brimming with a mother's love. Colonel Marchmont sat by the bed, holding oue wasted hand. I opened the door for Daphne and drew back as the child crossed the threshold. I heard a half suppressed cry, a rapturous exclamation, a rush of tiny feet, and I knew that in that sickroom was a little bit of heaven. Strangely enough, Daphne at once said: "You'vo been away such a long time, mamma, I thought you were never coming back." She obeyed instructions and never asked any questions, but ever after referred to the time "when mamma was away." At first Portia did not seem to remember what had befallen her. She appeared conscious of having passed through some hideous experience with Sidonie, the details of which were veiled in obscurity. We pressed her as little as possible on the subject, trusting that with returned health she nii.vht bo able to recall the most important points of her long and cruel captivity. And so it came to pass as we had hoped. One radiantly lovely twilight we sat upon the piazza. Portia, pale, languid, but still beautiful, wrapped in soft filmy white shawls anil laces, was reclining in her great chair. Maurice lay in a hammock, idly puffing a cigar. Colonel Marchmont sat by Portia, carefully watching her every expression and anticipating her every want. The sun was just setting in royal pomp and splendor. Long banks of fleecy purple and crimson clouds were piled in the western sky. A mild breeze was springing up. milling the tall, nodding lilies standing in huge jars along the piazza ami lightly lifting the little rings of hair on the invalid's brow. She drank in the scene and the soft, delicious air. She sighed in ecstasy, ai:.l smiled at each of us in turn. Suddenly she spoke. "Oh, how good it i.s to be alive!"' Her husband lifted her hand and kissed it with intensity. "1 remember it all now," she said slowly. "Yrs — everything, it has been coming back to me little by little. I have pieced together all those dreadful episodes, and the whole- frightful story is before me. I know you are all long , ing to hear it" "Dearest, no!" interrupted her husband hastily, "not until you aro quite well ami strong. Don't agitate yourself. I bog." "1 am well enough now, Jerinyn," she gently replied. "I am well enough to tell you about it. I think it will bo a relief to me." "Very well then, dear one, if it is your wish." "Jermyn," she said solemnly, laying her hand upon his head, "I have known for years that Sidonie" worshiped you. I discovered this just before our marriage, when one evening I came upon her in the library passionately kissing a rose which had fallen from your coat. The discovery shocked me, and yet I pitied her and spoke kindly and tenderly to her. You know how I always loved Sidonie. I can never forget the agony and despair in her face and her voice as see cried out that 1 had all in life, she nothing; that she prayed and longed for death; that she cursed th& hour she was born. Oh, 1 pitied her — I pitied her," and Portia's voice shook with sublime compassion. There was silence for a few minutes. Then she resumed her story: "After that I was more indulgent and considerate than ever to Sidonie. She was given greater liberty. I intrusted her with many little commissions, hoping that a bus}' life and a certain amount of responsibility would be some com pen- . sation for her sad fate. But she seemed to grow more and more imbittered and ' despairing. At last, a few days before j our marriage, she disappeared. j "Do you know," she said, looking ear- . nestly at us, "I always hoped she would ] not be captured? While I shuddered at \ the thought of what her fate might be ' , with her fiery temper and her inordinate ]

I vanity, still it was a relief to me not to see her, and I fancied that perhaps she would be happier under different environments. Her value aa a piece of property never occurred to me. "In uiy new home and my new life I Boon forgot Sidonie, though often a remembrance of her waywardness and her beauty would drift in my thoughts. I was often told of my folly in allowing so valuable a slave to slip out of my hands without greater endeavor to arrest ; her; but, as I said before, I was relieved 1 to have her out of my sight, i "When Jermyn was summoned to ■ England two years ago, it was with a 1 dull sensation of apprehension that I I saw him go. Ah! my dear husband, i never can I tell you my emotion as I ' watched your carriage disappear. It seemed to me that you were going out of my life forever. : "You had not been long away when 1 one morning Jake came to me and asked i me what he should do about old Jezebel. He said that she would not remain oa the plantation, but spent her time idling about in the swamp, occasionally presenting herself at the quarters for her ; rations, encouraging the negroes to shiftless and lazy ways and frightening them ' nearly out of their wits by weird practices and tales. He hesitated to punish her on account of her years and because to the other negroes she bore a charmed life. In fine, he did not want trouble if it could be avoided, and would I give him orders in the matter. I told him I would see Jezebel myself and directed that she be sent to me. "That evening — it was just such an evening as this — I was walking alone through the grounds. I came to the wall separating the plantation from the swamp. I had always known of this old gate, but having had no curiosity concerning the swamp had never opened it. Now, as I approached it, I thought of the old negress, and the audacious idea of exploring this unknown territory suddenly entered my head. In those days I did not know fear, and therefore without any reflection I pushed open the gate and sauntered along the path leading to the heart of the swamp. I decided to investigate old Jezebel's retreat for myself and see the hut I learned she had built for her use, declaring the cabin assigned to her at the quarters not good enough for an African princess, as she proudly claimed to be. "I wandered on, quite enjoying the novelty of my walk. The sun was setting, and the last rays darted across the pines as I entered the gloomy forest. On, on, farther I plunged into this wilderness and presently came out into the open space near Jezebel's hut. "The old woman was sitting on the ground before the hut crooning and muttering to herself. She looked not human as she peered up at me through the tangles of her coarse, matted gray hair. For the first time I felt a trifle afraid and glanced around nervously. But there was no one in sight. Absurd, I thought. How can this weak oldcrea-

/ opened the door for Daphne. tnre harm me? I spoke to her and asked her what she was doing there. She only stared lip at me with bleared eyes and demanded who I was. "'I am your mistress,' I said, 'and I am very much annoyed with you. I hear you will not stay at the quarters witli the other slaves, but insist upon living here alone. You cannot do this. You are too old and feeble. You must go back to the plantation. It is your home. I will see that you are made quite comfortable.' "A wicked glitter came in her eyes, and she answered that she would not go back. " 'Very weli,' I said, 'since you refuse to obey me, I shall send the overseer after you, and you will be taken back.' "During this brief parley I was conscions of a feeling that there was a listener to our conversation. I heard no sound, I saw nothing, but I could not banish that curious sensation of another presence near at hand. It was not a pleasant feeling by any means, and I turned to go. " 'Wait a moment, honey,' said the old woman suddenly. 'Como inside and see de lubbly little house I done got. I can't go fer ter leab it.' "Though nay judgment revolted, I nevertheless accepted her invitation, and stepping through the low door I stood within tho miserable hut. Again that feeling that there was some one near, so strong this time that it amounted to positive terror. I spoke. 'Who is here? I demanded. "Then suddenly there was a rush. I was seizr-il from behind in a strong grasp and thrown upon the bed. I shrieked for help, but the old woman quickly tied something over my mouth. As I was hying face down on the loathsome couch, I was almost suffocated. I knew that strong hands were securing mine, and presently, finding myself overcome and powerless, I lost consciousness. "When I came to myself, I was unable to rise, being fastened down to this pallet. I could not cry out, for my mouth was bandaged. Old Jezebel's hideous face was bent over me, and in the gloom I saw another face — Sidonie's! "I knew her instantly, though years had gone by since I had seen her. I noticed even in my pain and terror that she was more beautiful than ever, and then I remarked something else. It was this:

She was dressed in the gown I had worn into the swamp, and it seemed to have been made for her. "I conld not understand it. At first I fancied she had come to my assistance and smiled faintly and pleadingly up at her. But she stared stonily at me and made no move to release me. On the contrary, she bent down and whispered these terrible words in my ear: " 'Your day is done. Your identity is not destroyed, but transferred to me. Yon are no longer Portia. lam she. I return to Swamplands and rale there. You remain in Dead Man's swamp — to die,' "Again I fainted. And after that it is 811 like a terrible nightmare — a confusion of harsh words, of bitter drafts, of awful sounds. There were moments of consciousness when I could see through the half open door the glare of the red firelight and dusky forms leaping around it — a frightful sight; when, too, I saw the faces of my tormentors, Jezebel's like a fiend and that of Sidonie sardonic and triumphant. After many days Sidonie brought a little instrument with which they pierced my arms and injected their drugs and poisons. I begged feebly for mercy, but they showed me none. But my bodily sufferings were as nothing comparrd with those of my mind. When I could realize anything, , I thought of the wicked deception being practiced upon my husband, of my child. Oh, God! it was terrible — terrible." "My darling, my darling," cried her '■ husband, catching her to his heart, '"say j no more. You will only make yourself ! ill again. Stop, I beg you." "There is nothing more to say," said Portia feebly, smiling with brimming eyes and tremulous lips. "There is nothing more to say, only that I am safe and God is good." THE END.

The Curious Man. The curious man is a. queer individual. He it is who looks into guns that are not loaded and not only finds a, load, but has it inserted in his head. He also looks down elevator shafts, and the elevator approaches him from above while he is looking. He wants to know the - why and wherefore of everything. ■ Such a man became involved in a [ brisk poker game once in n western mining town. Curious men are not good . poker players, as they always want to see another man's bund. This particular curious man was an exception to the rule. He spent much money m the pursuit of knowledge in the game in question, and then he grew curious as to the origin of the phenomenal hands held by a swarthy party the fingers and thumb of whose right hand had been removed, leaving him only a stump. But he had a very clever left, and with this he shuffled and incidentally left ace.s and kings all over his person. At last the curious man caught him at it and boldly accused him of cheating. With a vicious oath the fellow kicked back his chair and reached toward his hip pocket with his right hand stump. "Hold on, there," cried the curious man, al\va\-s anxious for more knowledge. "How are you going to pull the trigger?" — Chicago Post.

Improving on Nature.

One of the cases in which the work of man is superior to that of nature is in the material now being employed by the builders of the walls of the elaborate batteries at Portland headlight. This '■■ is a combination of stone, broken fine by the steam crusher, and cement. The compound is blocked out in molds, and the slabs thus formed, 3 feet in length by 1 in width, are laid in the walla like bricks. This is expected to withstand any shot, and by actual tests is immeasurably superior for this purpose to the natural stone. Everj T stone (nature's) fort throughout the country has been condemned. It is proposed to erect besides a battery of heavy guns at White Head, Cushing's island, a mortar battery of 10 pieces at the southerly point of the island. It will have the new breech loading mortars, which have great accuracy as well as remarkable range. It is evident that the government regards this harbor asonoof the most important — a great strategic pomt — and as such to bo strongly fortified. — Bangor Commercial.

Twenty-five Cent Naps.

It was on the 2 o'clock up town elevated train on the Sixth avenue road yesterday morning. A fat, drowsy man stumbled into tlio car. He beckoned to the guard and handed him a quarter. "Seventy-second Pim.-t," he s;nd. "Right," said the guard. When the train reached Seventy-sec-ond street, the guard woke the fat man. and the latter sleepily left t lie train. "Do you get many .such patrons?'" was asked the guard. "Oh, yes, ' was the reply. "Some nights I make as much ;u; §i. Other nights I fall as low as a quarter. But I have regular customers, so I can count on about §1 that comes to mo on account of the drowsiness of mankind." — New York Sun.

Leathery Winged Bats.

Most curious in origin of all nocturnal insect hunters are t lie leathery winged bats, which may be regarded, practically speaking, as very tiny nionkpya, ' highly specialized for the task of catch- : ing nocturnal Hies ;iml midges. Few people know how nearly they are related to us. They belong to the self : same division of the higher mammals as > man and the apes. Their skeleton answers to ours, bone for bone and joint for joint, in an extraordinary manner. : Only the unessential fact that they have very long fingers with a web between as \ an organ of flight prevents us from in- ' stantly and instinctive!}' recognizing i them as remote cousins, once removed i from the gorilla. — Cornhill Magazine. i

A Wrong Start.

Toddles — Papa, winch are tho bestest, ! ladies or men? Papa — Ladies. my dear, Toddles — Then dcu't you fink you an mama ought to be patienter wif us bo3 T a 'canse we got a wrong start — don't you see? — New York Recorder.