SONS AND FATHERS.

Press, Volume LV, Issue 10042, 21 May 1898, Page 2

SONS AND FATHERS.

Br Harey Stillwell Edwards. CHAPTER XLV. The startling news had been discussed in all in the little parlour, Mary taking no part. She sat with averted face listening, but ever and anon when Edward's indignation bepame unrestrainable she turned and looked at him. She did not know that the paper contained a reference to her. The astounding revelation, aside from the accusation, was the wound. Strange that he had not discovered it. Who could have murdered poor Rita? Positively the only persons on the immediate premises were Virdow, Evan, and Gerald. Virdow was, of course, out of the question, and the other three were in tifae room. It was the blow that had driven her head through the glass. What enemy could the woman have had? So far as he was concerned, the charge could amount to nothing; Evan was in the room willh him; the.General would surely remember that. But the horror, the mortification—he, Edward Morgan, charged with murder, and the centre of a scandal in which the name of Mary Montjoy was mentioned. The passion left him; depressed and sick from re-action, he sat alone in the little parlour, long after the ladies had retired, and then came the climax. A cablegram reached the house and was handed in to him. It was signed by Evan, and read: — "You hays been indicted. Return.' - -"lndicted," uid for murder, of course. It Save him no" uneasiness, but it thrust all ght and sweetness from life. The dream was over. There could now be no search for Marion Evan. That must pass, and with it hope. He had builded upon that idea castles whose minarets wore the colours of sunrise. They had fallen, and his life lay among the ruins. He heard the clocks of Paris ring out the hours. The street had ceased to echo with the deep rumble of the vehicles and the footfall of late wanderers. The city slept. He could hear only the deep, lessening sigh, the murmur that is never separate from sleeping cities, the note of rest. But no rest for him! He looked once into the little room; how small arid close. He would die in there. The thought came to him that it was a cell!. Not for a fortune would he have gone in and put out the light. How long he sat in the little parlour he had no idea; he was startled out of his thoughts by the opening of an opposite door. A woman stood there in her sleeping robe, holding a tiny nighfc lamp in her hand. Shutting the door and looking straight ahead, she came slowly to him. The apparition, so sudden, so ghost-like and noiseless, terrified him for the instant. . Then he saw it was Mary and realised that she was asleep. He could have touched her a»* she passed; she did not see him. At the open door of his room she paused and softly called his name, hesitated, and then entered. He crept to the door and gazed in; she had placed the lamp upon the table, taken a seat by the bed, and was intently gazing upon the pillows. He drew back and tried to decide what to do; how to. save her from herself. He thought once of going out into the street, but then the elder woman might awake and would surely miss and call to her. Then he thought to awaken Mrs Montjoy and explain the situation; but would not that also betray a secret? If he could get her back into the sitting-room he would open the mother's door and close his. When she awoke there, there would be a moment or two of confusion, a hurried retreat, and all would be well. Something must be done. He glanced in again; her head had sunk upon her arm, she was unconscious again. Going to her side he knelt, and placing his arms gently under the chair, lifted it without a tremor. Her soft, brown hair was against his cheek, one hand was upon his shoulder, but he held his breath and softly, with absolute silence, passed into the other room and placed the chair by the table to which he brought the little lamp. The sleeper had not stirred. Then, with a motion of his hand, he extinguished the gas. The scene now fascinated him; he was alone with the woman he loved. A moment only he gazed upon thfe little figure; the brown hair swung loosely about her face and almost concealed it; he took the mother's scissors from the table and, selecting a little ringlet, noiselessly severed it from the shapely head, opened her door slightly, and passed quickly into hjs room. It was* no longer a cell. He threw himself upon the bed to sleep, but the grey of the dawn was already over the city; there came a rumbling vehicle in the street; he heard the sound of a softly closing door—.and then he arose and went out. Paris was deserted except where a belated reveller in dress coat went unsteadily home, or men of the early trades made uieir appearance. The incident of the somnambulist had changed the current of his thoughts; the early morning air and exercise Drought back his physical equipoise, lie returned for breakfast, with a good appetite, and though grave was tranquil again. • Copyright-—This story—out of 516 competing was awarded the FIRST PRIZE—IO.OOOdoIs (£2000)— in the Chicago Becor&e "30,000d01a to Authors" Competition, for ttu best" stone* of mystery"

Neither of the ladies brought up the painful subject; they went with him to see the learned oculist, and came back silent and oppressed. There was no hope. The diagnosis corresponded with Dr. Campbell's; the blind eye might have been saved years ago, but an operation would not have. Been judicious under the circumstances. Continued sight must depend upon her general healtto. The scenes of European travel could not be gained now; the cablegram said, "Return.' There was a good reason for it, as they found later; there could be uo bail giveu under the circumstances. If the court adjourned before their return the accused might have to remain in prison until the next term of court. . All their pleasures and hopes buried m one brief day, they turned their backs on Paris, and started "homeward. Edward saw Cambia no more; Mrs Montjoy called alone and said farewell. The next day they sailed from Havre. In New York Norton met them, grave and embarrassed for once in his life, and assisted in their hurried departure for the fair southern home. There was no exchange of views between the two men. The paper Norton had sent was acknowledged; that was all. The subject was too painful for discussion. And so they arrived in Georgia. They were met by* the Montjoy carnage at a little station near the city. It was the 11.20 p.m. train. General Evan was waiting for Edward. The handshaking over, they rapidly left the station. Evan had secured from the sheriff, by his large personal influence, a temporary exemption from arrest for Edward, but it was understood that he was to remain out of sight. A man coming home from Europe to face a trial would hardly attempt to escape, and the trial was to be immediate. It was tacitly agreed between the two men that night that the one subject of vital interest should not be broached upon the road; and so Edward gave himself up to quiet details 6? their journey and the visit to Moreau. General Evan heard the decision with inexpressible sorrow. Nor was the subject of Marion Evan reached; that, too, was among the impossibles. They had arrived within a couple of miles of the Cedars, when a negro stopped them. In the distance they heard a hound trailing. "Boss, kin air one er you gentlemen gi' mc a match? I los , my light back yonder, and hit's too putty 'er night ter go back without a 'possum." Evan drew rein. He was a born sportsman and sympathetic. "I reckon so," he said; "and—well, I can't," he concluded, having tried all pockets. "Mr Morgan, have you a match?" Edward had one, and one only. He drew all the little articles of his pocket into his hands to find it. "Now, hold," said the General; " let's} light our cigars, if it's to be the last chance." The negro touched the blazing match to splinters of lightwood, as the southern pitch pine is called when dry, and instantly he stood in a circle of light, his features revealed in every detail. Edward gazed into it curiously. Where had he seen , that face? It came back like the lines of some unpleasant dream —the thick lips, the flat nose, the retreating forehead, full eyes, and heavy eyelids, and over a look of infinite stupidity. The negro had fixed his eyes a moment upon j the articles in Edward's hand, and stepped ' back quickly. But he recovered himself, and with clumsy thanks, holding up the flaming torch, went away, leaving only the uncertain shadows dancing across the road. At home, General Evans threw aside all reserve. He drew their chairs up into the sheltered corner of the porch. "I have some matters to talk over," he said, "and our time is short. Yours is not a bailable case, and we must have a speedy trial. The law winks at your freedom to- ! night; it will not do to compromise our friends in the court-house by unnecessary delay. Edward, where was I when you discovered the body of the woman, Rita Morgan ?" Edward looking through the darkness at his friend, who was gazing straight "You were standing by Gerald's bed, looking upon him." "How did you discover her? It never occurred to mc to ask; were you not in the room also?" "I certainly was. She broke the glass by pressing against it,-as I thought at the time, but now I'see she was struck. I rushed out and picked her up, and you came when I called." ' , ■ "Exactly. And you both talked loudly out there?" "Why do you ask?" "Because,"said Evan, slowly, "therein lies the defect in our defence. I cannot swear you were in the room, upon my own knowledge. I had been astounded by the likeness of Gerald to those who had been dear to mc —I was absorbed. Then I heard..you cry out, and found you in the yard." There was a long pause. Edward's heart began to beat with sledge-hammer violence. "Then," he said, with a strange voice, "as the case wotild be presented, I was found with the body of the woman; she had been murdered, and I was the only one who had a motive. Is that it?" "That is it." The young man arose and walked the porch in silence. "But that is not all,"' said General Evan. "If it were, I would have cabledjyou to go east from Paris. There is more. Is there anyone on eartli who would be interested in your disgrace or death?" "None that*l know of—that is, well, no, none that I know of. You remember Royson, we fought that out. He cannot cherish enmity against a man who fought him in an open field." "Perhaps you are mistaken?" "From what do you speak?" "You had been in Paris but a few days, when one night as I sat here your friend Barksdale—great man that Barksdale; a trifle heady and confident, but time as steel —Barksdale came flying on his sorrel up the avenue and landed here. " 'General,' said he, 'I have discovered the most damnable plot that a man ever faced. All this scandal about Morgan is not newspaper sensation, as you suppose, it is the first step in a great tragedy.' And then he went on to tell mc that Gerald had invaded his room and- showed him pictures of an open grave, the face of a dead woman, and also the face of the man who opened the gave, drawn with every detail perfect, erald declared that he witnessed the disinterment, and drew the scene from memory "Hold a minute," said Edward; he was now on his feet, his hand uplifted begin a statement; "and then —and then " "The object of that disinterment was to inflict the false wound, and charge you with murder." "And the man who did it —who made that wound —was the man who begged a match from us on the road. I will swear it, if art is true. I have seen the picture." Evan paused a moment to take in the vital fact. Then there rung out from him a half-shout — "Thank God! Thank God!" The chairs that stood between him and the door were simply hurled out of the way. His stentorian voice called for his factotum, "John!" and John did not wait to dress, but came. "Get my horse and a mule saddled, and bring that puppy Carlo. Quick, John, quick!" John fled toward the stable. "Edward, we win if we get that negro—we win!" he exclaimed, coming back through the wreck of his furniture. "But why should the negro have disinterred the body, and have made a wound upon her head? There can be no motive." "Heavens, man, no motive! Do you know that you have'come between two men and Mary Montjoy?" "I, no, indeed! I have never suspected it, even." "Two have sought her with all the energy of manhood," said Evan. "Two men as different as the east from the west. Royson hates you, and will leave no stone unturned to effect your rain; Barksdale loves her, and will leave no stone unturned to protect her happiness! There you have it aIL Only one man in the world can have put that black devil up to his infamous deed—and that man is Royson. Only one man in the world could have grasped the situation, and have read the riddle correctly—and that man is Barksdale." Barksdale." Edward was dazed. Gradually the depth and villainy of the conspiracy grew clear. "But to prove it " "The negro." "Will he testify?" "Will he? If I get my hands on him, young man, he will testify! Or, he will hang cry the neck from a limb as his 'possum hangs by the tail." "You propose to capture him?' "I am going to capture him."* He disappeared in the house, and whea he&ame out he had on his army belt, with sword and

pistol. The mounts were at the door, and, for the first time in his life, Edward was astride a mule. To his surprise, the animal bounded along after the gray horse, with a smooth and even gait, and kept up without difficulty. Evan rode as a cavalry man and carried across his saddle the puppy. With unerring skill he halted at the exact spot where the niajch had been struck, and lowered the dog gently to the ground. The intelligent, excited animal at once took up the trail of man or dogs, and opening loudly glided into the darkness. I There was nothing to guide them but sound; the night was dark, and the way led through woods. It took infinite skill and auickness to avoid the limbs, and keep in ie saddles, but they succeeded. Several miles had been covered, when they saw in the distance a glimmer of light among the trees and Evan drew rein. "It will not do," he said, "to ride upon him. At the sound of horses , feet he will extinguish his light and escape. The dog, he will suppose, is a stray one, led off by his own, and will not alarm him." They tied their animals and pressed on. The dog ahead had opened, and Carlo's voice could be heard with the rest, as they trailed the fleeing 'possum. The General was exhausted. "I can't do it, Edward, my boy—go on. I will follow as fast as possible.' Without a word Edward obeyed. The dogs were now furious, the man himself running. In the din and clamour he Could hear nothing of pursuit. The first intimation he had of danger was a grip on his collar, and a man's voice, exclaiming excitedly— "Halt! You are my prisoner!" The torch fell to the ground and lay spluttering. The negro was terrified for the moment, but his quick eye pierced the gloom ■ and measured his antagonist. He made a fierce effort to break away, and, failing, threw himself with immense force upon Edward. Then began a frightful struggle. No word was spoken. The negro was powerful, ' but the white man was inspired by a memory and a consciousness of his wrongs. They fell and writhed, and rose and fell again. Slippery Dick had got his hand upon Edward's throat. The issue was doubtful, but suddenly his grasp relaxed, and he lay with tlie white of Tris eyes rolled upward. The muzzle of a cavalry pistol was against his head, and the stern face of the veteran was above him. "Get up," said the General, briefly. : "Cert'nly, boss," was the reply, and breathless the two men arose. The defence bad its witness. "Ef he had'n conjured mc," soid the negro doggedly, "he couldn't 'er done it." He had recognised among the little things that Edward drew from his pocket on the road the voodoo's charm. CHAPTER XLVL— What the Sheet Hid. The negro stood with sullen face gazing upon his captors. Edward, breathless, took up the torch, and looked into Dick's countenance. "I am not mistaken, General, this is the man.' Slippery Dick was puzzled as well as frightened. He knew General Evan by sight, and his terror lost some of its wildness; the General was not likely to be out upon a lynching expedition. Whatever happened, he would nave fair play. But for what was he wanted? He could not pro l test until he knew that, and in his past were many dark deeds, for which somebody was wanted. So he was silent. His attention was chiefly directed to Edward; he could not account for him, nor could he remember to have seen him. He was l not a deputy nor a sheriff; his dress and manner were different. ■ Royson had long since trained him to silence; most men convict themselves while under arrest. Evan stood in deep thought, but presently he prepared for action. "What is your name, boy?" llhe negro j answered promptly: "Dick, sah." "Dick who?" "Just Dick, sah." "Your other name?" "Slippery Dick" 'iue general was interested instantly. "Oh, Slippery Dick." The career of the notorious negro was partially known to him. Dick had been the reporter's friend for many years, and in dull times more than the truth had been told of Slippery Dick. '"Wβ!!, this begins to look probable, Edward; I begin to think you may be right." "I am not mistaken, General. If there is a mistake, it is not mine." Dick's bewilderment was complete. "What dey want mc for, Marse Evan? I ain't done nothin , ." The General looked at him sternly. "A house has been broken into, Dick., and you ars the man who did it." "Who, mc? Fo' Gawd, Marse Evan, I ain't broke into no man's house! I ain't broke into no man's house! Hit warn't me—no, sah; no, sah." "We will see about that. Now, I will give you your choice, Dick; you can go with mc, General Evan, and I will protect you. If the person who accuses you says you are innocent I will turn you loose; if you are not willing to go there I vrili take you to jail; but, willing or unwilling, if you make a motion to escape, I will put a bullet through you before you can take three steps." 'Til go with you, Marse Evan; I ain't de man. I'll go whar you want mc to go.' "Get your dogs together and rtake the road to town. I will show yott when we get there." They -went with him to where nis dogs, great and small, #were loudly baying at the foot of a small persimmon tree. Dick looked up wistfully: "Marse Evan, deir be sots; you don't spec , mc ter leave dat 'possum up dereV" The old man laughed silently. "The ruling passion strong in death," he quoted to Edward, and then sternly to Dick: "Get him and be quick about it." Dick swung himself up and secured bis prize, and then there was more embarrassment; he needed an axe to cut a stick on which to cany the 'possum. It was a delicate point. The General knew tie desperate character of negro criminals, and he knew also that his pistol had cot been fired in ten years. But Dick did not know that. The axe was surrendered and Edward watched with interest the next move. Dick cat down a pine sapling as large as his arm, split it at the end deftly, and, holding open the split, inserted the 'possum's tail, w uen he shouldered the stick, the 'possum crawled up and held on to relieve the pinched member of the weight of his body. A moment more and they were on the way to the horses. "I had an object," said Evan, "in permitting this. As we pass through the city, we present the appearance of a hunting party. Turn up your coat collar and turn down your hat to avoid the possibility of recogni- j tioa."

The negro uttered no word; he was con-' scious of innocence, so far as house-breaking j in recent years was concerned ; the shortest' way out was to go quietly, and every step I carried him nearer home. They reached the city, passed through the deserted streets, the negro carrying his 'possum and surrounded by the dogs preceding the riders, and without attracting more than the careless notice of a policeman or two, tuey reached the limits beyond. Still Dick was not suspicious; the road was yet his own way home; but when finally he was ordered to turn up the long route to Ilexhurst, he stopped. This was anticipated ; the General spurred his ITSrse almost against him. "Go on!" he said, sternly, "or by the Eternal you are a dead man! Edward, if he makes a break, you have the axe " "Marse Evan, you said breakin , in 'er house." Dick still hesitated. "I did; but it was the house of the dead." The 'possum and stick came suddenly to the ground, and away went Dick into an open iield, the expectation of a bulet lending speed to his legs. But he was not in the slightest danger from bullets; he was the last man, almost, that either of his captors would have slain, nor was it necessary. The great roan came thundering upon him: he lifted his arm to ward off the expected blow, and looked up terrified. The next instant a hand was on his coat collar* and he was lifted off his feet. Dragging his prisoner into fJhe road, Evan held iiis pistol over his wet forehead, while, with the rein, Edward lashed his elbows behind his back. The dogs were fighting over the remains of the unfortunate possum. They left them there. The three men arrived at Ilexhurst thoroughly tired; the white men more so than the negro. Tying their animals, Edward led the way around to the glass-room, where a light was burning, but, to his disappointment, on entering he found no occupant. Slippery Dick was placed in a chair and the door locked. Evan stood guard over him, while Edward searched the house. The wing-room was dark, and Gerald was not to be found. From the door of the Professor's room came the cadenced breathing of a profound sleeper. Returning, J^αward communicated these facts to his companion. They discussed the situation. Evan, oppressed by the memory of his last 1 two visits to these scenes, was silent and distrait: The eyes of the negro were moving restlessly from point to point, taking in every detail of his surroundings, lie, in common with all the negroes of the neighbourhood, had a superstitious dread of this house: its loneliness, the strange occupant, stories of queer beings, the moving lights and apparitions seen about the yard —all - these had gone forth and found ready believers. The southern negro is superstitious to the last degree; that is, he will not even talk of his superstitions. Though greatly enlightened since 1867, he is to-day, in and out of cities, more subject to fear of tile supernatural than the people of any civilised country. There are communities in the country and plantations everywhere whose protection is Tbased upon the good will of "doctors," as the old women professing voodoo powers are called, and property hopelessly lost to detective skill is often recovered through their efforts. It is well kribwn that negroes are subject to death from pure imagination. "Hoodooing" is simply hypnotism in its wildest form. The scene, the hour, the situation, and the memory of that shivelled face in its coffin all combined to reduce Dick to a state of abject terror. Had he not been tied he would have plunged through the glass into the night; the piatol in the hands of the old man standing over him would have been forgotten. What was to be done? Edward went into the wing-room, and lighted the lamps, preparatory to making better arrangements for all parties. Suddenly his eyes fell upon the lounge. Extended upon it was a form, outlined through a sheet that covered it from head to foot. So still, so immovable, and breathless it seemed, he drew back in horror. An indefinable fear seized him. If his life had depended upon it, he could not at that moment, alone in that presence, have lifted the sheet. White, with unexpressed horror, he stood in the door of the glass-room, and beckoned to the General. The silence of his appearance, the inexpressible feeling that shone in face and manner, sent a thrill to the old man's heart, and set the negro trembling. Driving the negro before him, Evan entered. At sight of the covered form Dick make a violent effort to break away, but, with nerves now at their highest tension, and muscles drawn responsive, the General successfully resisted. Enraged at last he stilled his captive by a savage blow with his weapon. Edward now approached the apparition, and lifted the clotn. Prepared as he was for the worst, he could not reetrain the cry of horror that rose to his lips. Before him was the faceiof Geraid, white with the hue of death, the long lashes drooped over halfclosed eyes, the black hair drawn back from the white forehead, and clustering about hiq, neck and shoulders. He fell almost fainting against the outstretched arm of his friend, who, pale and shocked, stood with eyes riveted upon the fatal beauty of the dead face. It was but an instant; then the General was jerked witn irresistible force, and fell backwards into the room, Edward going nearly prostrate over him. There was the sound of shattered glass, and the negro was gone. ' Stunned and hurt, the old man. rose to his feet and rushed to the door of the glass-room. Then a pain seized him; he drew his bruised limb from the floor and caught the linteL "Stop that man! Stop that man!" he said in a stentorian voice; "he is your only witness now!" Edward looked into his face a moment, and comprehended. For the third tune that night he plunged into the darkness after Slippery Dick. But where? Carlo was telling! Down the hill his shrill voice was breaking the night. Abandoned by the negro's dogs, accustomed-to seek their home and that not far away, he had followed the master's, footsteps with unerring instinct, and whined about the glass door. The bursting glass, the fleeing form of a strange negro, were enough for his excitable nature; he gave voice and took the trail. Edward followed the sound; runner though he had been, hampered as was the bound negro, it was wind and muscle against superstitious fear, the most powerful of all incentives! Once or twice he heard upon the hill behind him a familiar voice shouting to Carlo, followed by an indescribable cry. " The desperate effort of the negro might have succeeded, but the human arms were made for, many things; when ft "man stumbles he needs them in the air and overhead or extended. Slippery Dick went down 'with a crash in a mass of blackberry bushes, and when Edward reached him he was kicking wildly at the excited puppy, prevented from rising by Mβ efforts and Jus bonds, The ex-

ciled and enraged white man dragged him out of the bushes by his collar, and brought reason to her throne by savage kicks. The prisoner gave up and begged for mercy. He was inarched back all breathless, to the General, who had limped to the gate to meet him. ..' Edward was now excited beyond control • he forced the prisoner, shivering with horror' into the presence of the corpse, and with the axe in hand confronted him. "You infamous villain!" he cried; "tell mc here, in the presence of my dead friend who it was that put you up to opening the grave of Rita Morgan and breaking her skull, or I will brain you! You have ten secondi to speak!" He meant it, and the axe flashed in the air. General Evan caught the upraised nrm. "Softly, softly, Edward; this won't d<H this won't do! You defeat your own purpose !" It was timely; the blow might haw. descended, for the reckless man was in earnest and the negro was by this time dumb.' "Dick," said the General, " I promised to protect you on conditions, and I will. Bnfc you have done this gentleman ah injury and endangered his life. You opened Rita Morgan's grave and broke her skull—an act for which the law has no adequate punishment; but my young friend hero is desperate. You can save yourself, but I cannot savo you except in one way. If you value your life tell him and tell mc who put you up to that job. If you tell I give you my word and honour as a gentleman that no man shall harm you except over my dead body. If you refuse I will stand aside, and when I do you are a dead man." He was, during this hurried speech, still struggling with the young man. "I'll tell, Marse Evan! Hold *im, I'U tell!" i "Who, then?" said Edward, white with his passion; "who was the infamous villain that paid you for the deed?" "Mr Royson, Mr Royson, he hired mc." The men looked at each other. A revulsion came over Edwivrd; a horror, a hatred of the' human race, of anything that bore the shape of man—but no; the kind, sad face of the old gentleman was beaming iin triumph upon him. And then from somewhere into the scene came the half-dressed form of Virdow, hie face careworn and weary, amazed and alarmed. ■• > Virdow wrote »ue confession in all its details, and the General witnessed the rude cross made by the trembling hand of the negro. And therj they* stood sorrowful and silent before the still,* dead face of Gerald Morgan. (To be continued.)