THE POLK
COUNTY NEWS, TEYON, N. C.
luslhaiioixs
COPYRIGHT 1914- &
CHAPTER XVIII Continued. .
It had an overwhelming effect upon
me. I had been very near death. Sui
cide must have ended the struggle in
which I was engaged, had not this
knowledge of actual and unpunished
crime come to ease my conscience.
John Scoville was worthy of death,
and. being so, should receive the full
reward of his deed. I need hesitate
no longer. -
ThatTiight I slept. But there came
night when I did not. After the pen
alty had been paid and to most mens
yes that episode was over, 1 turned
the first page of that volume of slow
retribution which is the doom of the
man who sins from impulse, and has
the recoil of his own nature to face
relentlessly to the end of his days.
Scoville was in his grave. I was alive.
"Scoville had shot a man for his money.
I had struck a man down in my wrath.
Scovtlle's widow and little child must
face a cold and unsympathetic world,
with small means and disgrace rising,
like a wall, between them and social
sympathy, if not between them and
the actual means of living.
Oliver's future faced him untouched
No shadow lay across his path to hin
der his happiness or to mar his
chances.
The results were unequal. I began
to see them so, and feel the gnawing
of that deathless worm whose rav
ages lay waste the breast, while hand
and brain fulfill their routine of work,
as though all were well and the foun
dations of life unshaken.
I suffered as only cowards suffer. I
held oh to honor; I held on to home;
I held on to Oliver, but with misery
lor my companion and a self-contempt
which nothing could abate. Each time
I mounted the bench I felt a tug at
xxxj arm as of a visible, restraining
jpresence. Each time I returned to my
Home and met the clear eye of Oliver
beamliig apon me with its evergrow
promise of future comradeship, I
-experienced a rebellion against my
own happiness which opened my eyes
to my own nature and its inevitable
demand. I must give up Oliver, or
.yield my honors, make a full confes
Ioti and accept whatever consc
iences it might bring. I am a proud
xnaa, and the latter alternative was be
TcmA me. I could forego pleasure,
travel, social intercourse, and even
the companionship of the one being in
wliom all my hopes centered, but I
could not, of my own volition, pass
from the judge's bench to the felon's
cell. T&ere I struck the immovable
the Impassable.
I decided In one awful night of re
nunciation that I would send Oliver
out of my. life.
The next day I told him abruptly
. , - trailing him to spare myself . . .
that I had decided after long and ma
ture thought to yield to his desire for
Journalism, and that I would start him
In his career and maintain him in it
Cor three years if he would subscribe
to the. following conditions:
They were the hardest a loving fa
ther ever Imposed upon a dutiful and
loving son.
First, he was to leave home immedi
ately ' . . . within a few hours, in
fact.
Second, he was to regard all rela
tions between us as finished; we were
to be strangers henceforth In every
particular save that of the money ob
ligation already mentioned.
Third, he was never to acknowledge
this compact, or to cast any slur upoii
the father whose reasons for this ap
parently unnatural conduct were quite
disconnected with any fault of his or
any desire to punish or reprove.
Fourth, he was to pray for his fa
ther every night of his life before he
slept
Was this last a confession?, Had I
meant it to be such? If so it missed
Its point It awed but did not frighten
him.
I had to contend with his-compunctions,
as well as with grief and dis
may. It was an hour of struggle on
his part and of implacable resolution
on mine. Nothing but such hardness
on my part would have served me.
Had I faltered once he would have
won me over, and the tale of my sleep
less nights been repeated. I did not
falter, and when the midnight stroke
rang through the house that night
It separated by its peal a sin-beclouded
oat human past from a future arid
with solitude and bereft of the one
possession to retain which my sin had
been hidden.
I became a father without a son as
lonely and as desolate as though the
separation between us were : that of
the grave I had merited and so weakly
shunned.
But I was not yet satisfied. How
could I insure for myself the extreme
punishment which my peace demand
ed, without bringing down upon me
the full consequences I refused to
accept
uu ua eceu uuw i ultimate
ly answered this question. A convict's
toed! a convict's Isolation!
But after some weeks of this, fresh
fears arose. An accident was possible.
For all Bela's precautions, someone
might gain access to, this room: This
PCS V
VODD.AEAD 4?
would mean the discovery of my se
cret. And this fence was built.
This should have been enough. But
guilt has terrors unknown to Inno
cence. One day I . caught a small boy
peering through an infinitesimal crack
in the fence, and, remembering the
window grilled with iron with whicn
Bela had replaced the cheerful case
ment in my den of punishrnent, I real
ized how easily an opening might be
made between the boards for the con
venience of a curious eye anxious to
penetrate the mystery of my seclusion.,
And so it came about that the inner
fence was put up. This settled my po
sition in the tpwn.. No more visits.
All social life was over. It was meet.
I was satisfied at last. I could now
give my whole mind to my one remain
ing duty.: I lived only while on the
bench
March 5, 1898.
There is a dream -which comes to
me often a vision which I often see.
It is that of two broken and irregu
lar walls standing apart against a
background of roseate sky. ' Between
these walls the figures of a woman
and child, turning about to go.
The bridge i never see, nor the face
of the man who died for my sin; but
this I see always the gaunt ruins of
Spencer's Folly and the figure of a
woman leading away a little child.
That woman lives. I know now who
she Is Her testimony was uttered be
fore me in court and was not one to
rouse my apprehensions. My crime
was unwitnessed by her. and for years
she has been a stranger to this town.
But I have a superstitious horror of
seeing her again, while believing that
the day will come when I shall do so.
When this occurs vrhen I look up and
find her in my path, I shall know that
my sin has found me out and that the
end is near
1909
0 shade of Algernon Etheridge, un
forgetting and unforgiving! The wom
an has appeared! She stood in this
room today Verily, years are noth
ing with God.
Added later.
1 thought I knew what awaited me
if my hour ever came. But who can
understand the ways of Providence or
where the finger of retributive justice
will point. It is Oliver's name and not
mine ' which has become the sport of
calumny. Oliver's! Could the Irony
of life go further! Oliver's!
There is nothing against him, and
such folly must soon die out; but to
see doubt in Mrs. Scoville's eyes is
horrible in Itself and to eliminate it
I may have to show her Oliver's ac
count of that long-forgotten night of
crimer in Spencer's Folly. It is naively
written and reveals a clean, if reticent,
nature; but that Its effect may be
unquestionable I will insert a few
lines to cover any possible misinter
pretation of his manner and conduct
There is an open space, and our hand
writings were always strangely alike.
Only our e's differed, and I will be
careful with the e's. .
Her confidence must be restored at
all hazards. r
My last foolish attempt has undone
me. Nothing remains now but that
sacrifice of self which should have
been made twelve years ago.
CHAPTER XIX.
Sunset.
"I do not wish to seem selfish, Oli
ver, but sit a little nearer the window
where I can see you whenever I open
my eyes. Twelve years Is a long time
to make up, and I have such a little
while In which to do it."
Oliver moved. The moisture sprang
to his eyes as he did so. He had caught
a glimpse of the face on the pillow'
and the changes made In a week were
very apparent. Always erect, his fa
ther had towered above' them then
even in his self-abasement but he
looked now as though twenty years,
instead of a few days, had passed over
his stately head and bowedhis In
comparable figure. And not that
alone. His expression was different
Had Oliver not seen him in his old
likeness for that one terrible half hour,
he would not know these features, so
sunken, yet so eloquent with the peace
of one for whom all struggle is over,
and the haven of his long rest near.
Had he been able at this moment to
look beyond the fence? which his fear
had reared, he would have seen at
either gate a silent figure guarding the
walk, and recalled, perhaps, the hor
ror of other days when at the contem
plation of such a prospect, his spirit
recoiled upon Itself in unimaginable
horror and revolt And yet who
knows! Life's passions fade when the
heart Is at peace. And Archibald Os
trander's heart Was at peace. Why.
his next words will show.
"Oliver" his voice was low but
very distinct "never have a secret:
never hide; within your bosom a
thought you fear the world to know if
you've done wrong if you have dis
obeyed the law either of God or man
seek not to-hide what can never be
hidden so long as God reigns or men
make laws I have suffered, as few
men have suffered and kept their rea
son Intact Now that my, wickedness
is known, the whole page of my life
defaced, content has come again. I
am no longer a deceiver, my very
worst is Jmown."
"Oliver?" This some minutes later.
"Are we alone?" -
"Quite alone, father. Mrs. Scoville
is busy and Reuther Reuther is in
the room above. I can hear her light
step overhead."
The judge was silent. He waslgaz
ing wistfully at the wall where hung
the portrait of his young wife. He was
no longer in his room, but in the
cheery front parlor. This Deborah had
insisted upon. There was, therefore,
nothing to distract him from the con
templation I have mentioned.
"There are things I wantto say to
you. Not many; you already know my
story. But ' I do not know yours, and
I cannot die till 1 do. What took you
into the ravine that evening, Oliver,
and why, having picked up the stick,
did you fling it from you and fly back
to the highway? For the reason I
ascribed to Scoville? Tell me. that
no cloud may remain between us. Let
me know your heart as well as you
now know mine.",
The reply brought the blood back
info his fading cheek.
"Father, I have already explained
all this to Mr. Andrews, and now I will
explain it to you. I never liked Mr.
Etheridge as well as you did, and I
brooded incessantly in those days
over the influence which he seemed to
exert over you in regard to my future
career I :But I never dreamed of do
ing him a harm, and never supposed
that I could so much as attempt any
argument with him on my own behalf
till that very night of infernal compli
cations and coincidences. The cause
of this change was as follows:- I had
gone ustairs, you remember, leaving
you alone with him as I knaw you de
sired. How I came to be in the room
above I don't remember, but I was
there and leaning out of the window
directly over the porch when you and
Mr. Etheridge came out and stood in
some final debate on the steps be
low. He was talking and you were lis
tening. and never shall I forget the ef
fect his words and tones had upon me.
I had supposed him devoted to you.
and here he was addressing you tartly
and in an ungracious manner which
bespoke a man very different from the
one I had been taught to look upon as
superior. The awe of years yielded
before this display, and finding him
just human like the rest of us, the
courage which I had always lacked In
approaching him took instant posses
sion of me, and I determined with a
boy's unreasoning impulse to subject
him to a personal appeal not to add
his influence to the distaste you at
present felt for the career upon which
I had set my heart. Nothing could
have been more foolish and nothing
more natural, perhaps, than the act
which followed. I ran down into the
ravine with the wild intention, so
strangely duplicated in yourself a few
minutes later, of meeting and pleading
my cause with him at the bridge, but
unlike you, I took the middle of the
ravine for my road and not the se
cluded path at the side. It was this
which determined our fate, father, for
here I saw the stick and, catching it
up without further thought than of the
facility it offered for whittling, started
with it down the ravine. Scoville was
not in sight The moment was the
one when he had quit looking for Reu
ther and wandered away up the ra
vine. I have thought since that per
haps the glimpse he had got of his lit
tle 'one peering from the scene of his
crime may have stirred even his guilty
conscience and sent him off on his
purposeless ramble; but, however this
was. I did not see him or anybody
else as I took my way leisurely down
towards the bridge,, whittling at the
-it.l. . J A 1 1 1 1 . ' . F . . .
ijBuun auu imuiuiig oi waai l snouid
any iu air. cjiuenuge wnen 1 mei mm.
And now for fate's final and most fatal
touch! Nothing which came Into my
mind struck me quite favorably. The
encounter which seemed such a very
simple matter when I first contem
plated it, began to assume quite a dif
ferent aspect as the moment for it ap
proached. By theXtime I had come
abreast of the hollow. I was tired of
the whole business, and hearing his
whistle and knowing by it that he was
very near, I plunged up the slope to
avoid him. and hurried straight away
into town. That is my story, father.
If I heard your steps approaching as I
plunged across the path into which I
had thrown the stick in my anger a
having broken the point of my knife
blade upon it. I thought nothing, of
them then Afterwards 1 believed
them to be Scoville's, which may ac
count to you for my silence about this
whole matter both before and during
the trial. I was afraid of the witness
stand and of what might be elicited
from me if I once got into the hands of
the lawyers. My abominable reticence
in regard to his former crime would
be brought iip against me, and I was
too young, too shy and uninformed to
face such an ordeal of my own voli
tion. Unhappily, I was not forced Into
it and But we will not talk of that,
father."
"Son," a long silence had inter
vened "there is one thing more: When
how did you first learn my real rea
son for sending you from home? I
saw that my position was understood
by you when our eyes first met In "this
room. But twelve years had passed
since you left this house in ignorance
of all but my unnatural attitude to
wards you. When. Oliver, when?"
"That I cannot answer, father; it
was Just a conviction which dawned
gradually upon me. Now, it seens as
if I bad known it always; but that
isn't so, A boy doesn't reason; and'
it took reasoning' for me to to ac
cept " - ;
"Yes. I understand. Arfd that was
your secret? Oh. Oliver. I shall never
ask for your forciveness. I am not
worthy of it , I only as inat you will
not let pride or any other evil , pas
sion stand in the war of ..the happi
ness I see in the future for you. I
cannot take from you the shame of mj
crime and long deception, but spare
me this final sorrow! There is noth
ing to part you from Reuther now
Alike unhappy in your parentage, you
can start on equal terms, and love
will do the rest Say that you will
marry her, Oliver, and let me see her
smile before I die."
"Marry her? Oh. father, will such
an angel marry me?"
"No, but such a woman might"
Oliver came near, and stooped over
his' father's bed.
"Father, if love and attention to my
profession can make a success of the
life you prize, they shall have their
opportunity."
The father smiled. If it fell to oth
ers to remember him as he appeared
in his mysterious prime, to Oliver it
was given to recall him as he looked
then with the light on his face and the
"This Is My Story. Father."
last tear he was ever to shed glitter
ing in his fading eye.
"God is good," came from the bed;
then the solemnity of death settled
over the room.
The soft footfalls overhead ceased.
The -long hush had brought the two
women to the door where they stood
sobbing. Oliver was on his knees be
side the bed, his head buried in his
arms. On the face so near him there
rested a ray from the westering sun;
but the glitter was gone from the eye
and the unrest from the heart No
more weary vigils in a room dedi
cated to remose and self-punishment
No more weary circling of the house
in the dark lane whose fences barred
out the hurrying figure within, from
every eye but that of heaven. Peace
for him; and for Reuther and Oliver,
hope!
(THE END.)
Gems That Brought Misery.
The history of diamonds and the
many other precioui stones, ruby, tur
quoise, emerald, opal, topaz, sapphire,
chrysolite, sardonyx, amethyst nearly
all of which are mentioned in the
Scriptures, goes far back- of historic
times, and is lost in a maze of religion,
superstition and legend. It has been
intermingled with intrigue, politics
and diplomacy; murders galore: scan
dals unnumbered; imprisonments and
beheadings. The story of the "Dia
mond Necklace," which, possible inno
cently on her part smirched th fame
of Marie Antoinette was oneof the
factors in agitation that led to the
great French revolution. The Bagtile
opened to several of the actors in the
scandal, one of them Cardinal de Ro
han, who was arrested in his robes in
the midst of his court. Cagliostro, the
famous magician swindlerUwas anoth
er of the Bastile prisoners, und Coun
tess Lamotte-Valois of royal lineage,
who was the chief conspirator, for pe
cuniary gain, escaped from the prison
to London, where she died in penury.
Live as in Olden Times.
In eastern Palestine and Arabia are
to be found the most picturesque race
in the East, those strange, nomadic
tribes, the Bedouins.
Their mode of life has not greatly
changed since Biblical times, and to
day they steal cattle and camels, and
their young men steal wives, as was
their wont in Old Testament days
Indeed, the purloining of cattle and
camels is considered lawful among
them, and the more a tribe or an in
dividual' can enrich himself in this
manner the more their prowess comes
to be recognized.
These people,' however, who live by
thieving and move by stealth, are inva
ribly hospitality Itself to the stranger
within their , gates.
He Knew.
A teacher in a children's Institution
was giving the geography class a les
son on the cattle ranches. She spoke
of their beef all coming from the
West, and. wishing to test the chil
dren's observation. 'she asked:
"And what else comes to us froc
these ranches?"
This was a poser. She looked at
her shoes, but no one took the hint.
She tried again:
"What , do we get from the cattle
besides beef?
. One boy eagerly raised his hand.
"I know what it -Is, it's tripe," be
announced triumphantly.
Th Cmin i
I SJvation I
? . By REV. B B. SUTCLflFTE X
X Ainitaat Sapenntaedent of Mat . Moody Bibb 2
lattitatoofGacMOT ;
TEXT The common salvation. Jude 3.
wart, word of this text is important
Let us think of them, taking the last
one first
1. Salvation.
We have space to
mention o n 1 y
three things sug
gested by t h i s
word. Salvation
means a saving
from a .sickness
and restoration
to hea th; for sin
is a disease. A
common biblical
synvboi uf sin is
leprosy, an incur
able and loath
s o n e disease.
There is much
similai 'ty between
this and sin. For instance; there are
many so-called remedies for leprosy
but none can be found to really stop
its spread. The sinner too has many
remedies for his sin but nothing that
men can do can arrest its progress.
Again, leprosy becomes painful and
distressing.- Sin acts the same way.
Hence we are told that "the wicked
are like the troubled sea when it can
not rest, whose waters cast up mire
and dirt. There is no peace saith my
God to the wicked." ' Sin begins quiet
ly but ends, like leprosy, with bitter
pain and distress. Again, leprosy is
fatal to the one afflicted. It might
well be called a living death. It is
thus with sin. Many are today well
and sound of body, but sorely afflicted
by sin. As far as their souls are con
cerned they are in a living death. The
difference between the leper and the
sinner is that the former gets rid of
his trouble at death, but the latter
must take his pain and distress with
him. But salvation means the saving
from sin to perfect health. Man alone
can find no cure for his sin but Christ
can and has. It is found in his own
blood which "cleanseth us from all
sin."
In the second place salvation means
a saving from punishment; for sin is
a crime as well as a disease. Salva
tion brings to the sinner a full and
free pardon for every crime against
the law of God; such a pardon that
every trace of the evil committed is
wiped from the sinner's record. Wlthf
out such salvation the punishment tor
each sin must fall upon the sinner.
And the punishment of sin is an awful
thing; described as being torment and
anguish and that eternal. But in this
common salvation there is found relief
from all the guilt, and pardon for ev
ery crime. "Let the sinner forsake
his' way and the unrighteous man his
thoughts and let him return unto the
Lord and he will have mercy upon him
and to our God for he will abundantly
pardon." ' ;"
In the third place salvation means
the saving from death which is the re
sult of the disease and the reward of
the crime. It means the exchan sins
of eternal death tor eternal life. "The
wages of sin is- death, but the eift of
God is eternal life through Jpshs
Christ our Lord." If any should en
quire how this health instead of sick-
ness, this pardon instead of guilt, and
this life instead of death can be ob
tained, the apostle answers, "Believe
on the Lord Jesus Christ and thou
shalt be saved."
2. Common. The "common" salva
tion suggests its wideness and means
that it is shared by all alike. God is
no respecter of -persons and when he
provided the common salvation he pro
vided it to be shared by all alike
Whether white or black, moral or im
moral, learned or illiterate, cultured
or vulgar, all share alike in this "com
mon salvation. Again, this word
means that the salvation is a univer
sal thing. It is provided for everv
member of the human race. This is
what the apostle means when he says.
wnosoever will call unon the nam nf
ine LjOtcl shall be saved." And, the
last chapter of the Bible says, "Who
soever will; let him take of the water
of life freely." The common salva
tion means that which is needed by
all, provided for all, brought to all and
offered to all, including the reader of
these lines.
3. The. This word speaks of the
narrowness as "common speaks of
the wideness. It is not "a" salvation,
but "the.' it is not provided by man,
nor can it be. . It is Just here that sin
ners go wrong and think they can
evolve some scheme whereby they
can cure themselves of the disease
and do enough good deSds to counter
balance the evil and so avoid the pun
ishment due to sin. But if we would
have the salvation that saves from the
disease of sin, and the pardon that
covers the crime of sin, we must come
to the Lord, with whom salvation n
to be found. "God so loved the world
that he gave his only begotten Son
that whosoever believeth on him
should not perish but have everlasting
life.'' , And when the Son came to be
Ae Savior of men "he gave himself
tor us, that he might redeem us from
ill iniquity- He took the sin and all
ts consequences, the crime and all
'ts punishment, and gives to all who
win receive it "the common salva
Mnn" in their place.
i
HOW to Trprf
Bub
ATM fl
b Tick'. Tap.0v
the throat IT?;B J
utee then
r
-then cover with llH
the covering lcflTaflW
so
that
ing
may
loosen the 7C
earn
Hon
L -"r ow, or si aa - rr I
Unofficial
i it, '
"Weil, how's thinES
un, so so." --u
"Got a circulating Ubrarv J
town? luy
'Mine is a sort of onp
I. dont get paid for
Journal. e
An Improved Quinine, Doesnoi
- w iMugwgmg.
ATIVBffiROMOQUINISE
in this form have a far better eSetH
ordinary Quinine. w v r:1 wutk.
one without affecting the head R. b,
call for the full name! Laxativ.'Rrn"1'!
Look for signature ffijJffK
Still a LeaSe on Life "
The Cook Sir ! si m ,
Zep'lin outside .and if vQU donvll
m.,j j yjL LUC UUcir
1. 1 i
eHall!l
iu in neaven in a
utes!
couple of mj
The Curate-rGod forbid '-r J
RHEUMATISM ITS CAUSE AND
incHiivitNT,
The cause nf T?Vio,,i: .
" - ""uuianam lg ej
of uric acid and no real relief can bt
oiijccieu untu this is piimi.4.,
,Many chronic sufferers find pe
UBUl rtJ"e arier taking Rheumacidi
nn aula of Trmi a . .
The milkman is about the only out
slder who ever sees a woman Rta
without the Ud of scenic investiture.
Dr. Pierce's Pp119 oro Knot t f
- - , W01' llJr UTB
bowels and stomach. JDne little Pellet for
uiauvc mice lor a . catnartic Ady.
Some men outlive their usefulnpw
they kve to he a day over twenty-one,
Cuts clear to the bone hare been
healed by Hanford's Balsam. Ady
Clubs are places where men go when
they want to get rid of themselves.
For Spavin
curb, splint, sweeny, wounds,
swellings, galls, sprains, scratch
es, collar boils, etc. Yager's
Liniment gives the most satis
factory results. It dispels the
pain and stiffness and absorbs
the swellings very quickly.
mom
Recommended by Drive and Traintf
' .Mr. B. L. Tuft, Salem, N. J;,
writes: "Yager s Liniment is
the most wonderful horse lini
ment I ever used. Have been
handling and training horses
for speed for 20 years and have
had hundreds of different
brands of so-called horse rem
edies. I wish your liniment
the large sale it deserves ana
recommend it most highly."
Driver ana I raraer,
W.Penn,Record2:12.
Put tip in large bottles
containing eight ounce.
At all detlen.'
25c a bottle.
Prepared by
GILBERT BROS. A CO
Inc.
BALTIMORE, MD.
TRY THE OLD RELIABI
CHILL TONIC
ForMALARIA
A FINE UtNtJUU Bi.jtt.iw
The flrrt doae often J'VcV o
" VAWgtQT ON.
- m m mm
lIir '
The external Vpor BemOT
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4-
ton
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full count andp an wd.w
W.yi do. v. irw- -
4
' JfateS oe-
WILL BUY OLD U. S.
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Pills
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NO
VY. N. CHARLOTTE-