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: .." ..... , , '. "' 1 "". , . iii iii i i i, irimmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm I i m ip n i mi .. m '! ' .... ' .. f m.T. Out of the Wreck try. ' - N BY MRS. ELLEN FRIZELK WYCKOIT - Author' of tony and theTwins,' 'TryWg'- of4 the -McAUUters, Etc 11 - CHA1TEB i; " ' ' ' ; . , 'A Bag of Money.' " ' i " "Thla is a nlgy to' make a man long for.hla own flreuide,'? . John Austin shivered , In hla great " Shaggy overcoat, an ho spoke, . and drew liimBelf . farther Into the- corner of the, stage coach. - " ' 1 . "Yea, a little of ltf goes a longvway," ald th man who sat bealde him. 'A long way toward making a man t thankful for the blessings, of hla life, '' Tom," John laughed, good naturedly. "I didn't flaean that," Tom . safld. "Some lives have little enough of ; blessing In them, useless It be of the J dlsgtiisad sort; and what good that " does only he that send it know." "Come Tom, don't let's be Irrever ent But that reminds me, I wonder if v; J forgot. that bundle for little Dolly ' Merritt? Hot here It. is. Now, she has ' few enough blessings .Tom, since 'her ' eld father died four years ago." , -11 believe it That old miser ought i to be lynched. I hear he nearly starves the girl,", - ' ' i ' ' Tom straightened up in his earn a estness. ; . . . ' ,' ' ' ' ' r ' "I'm afraid so. There was a dreadful time this morning when she asked for ' the, money' to. buy, , this dress. . I thought he would have struck , her, J ipQor child," John said In his quiet way. '- 1 ' v "And with dead" loads . of . gold pure gold!" Tom said, angrily. "Yes; the girl, works, faithfully, ' too," John added, a sorrowful tone in ' tils usually cheery voice. - "He won't even let .the world get . Its Just deserts from his- wealth "' keeps it locked up in that old abl net in his room.". ' At Tom's words the 'third passen ger lifted his muffled head, and John noticed his eyes gleam in ther dim : light He was a stranger. -very quiet , and unsocial. After, an effort at con is versatlon in the beginning of the Jour ney, John Austin had left the moody ? . stranger to his own. reflections. Mow the man listened intently, to the conversation between . his fellow passengers, though until now neither 'v' lhad.beea able to interest him. ' The light was too -dim to. clearly - how the expression lot the strang ; er'a face, under his drooping hat brim which almost met, the mufllings about Ills neck. " "Yes," said John, "he keeps It all . there. If he lived in a different com- - munity he'd doubtless bff relieved' of J the responsibility of some Of ltv" :. i"The .old house is lonely enough iSr anything," Tom said, "but Strang - rs would not think of it, and our v' people are honest Will it all be Dol- Jys when the old man la dead?" "I don't know, There is talk, or . there used to be, of a son, though so far as anybody here knows the old man Merritt never married. Maybe he knows the son and intend to do him justice at last But it isn't likely. The old man may live a long time yet . Death loves a shining mark." Tom laughed. The stranger's face was ghastly in : the dim light. ' The stage rattled on over the frozen mad. Now and then the driver shout ; d to the horses, evidently under the impression that the faithful creatures were deaf. " Tom nodded, John whistled a merry tun; the stranger sat stiff and pale. : A "How far arc we from .Maysvllle?? ho' asked, after a time. . m Jnhn ft flit whistling and pre! his heard d fjee Against the window. "It's too dark to make out the land marks,. , and I -have no- timepiece.' The stage ought to be Hhfere-.abouty twelve It, must be that nearly: now,", he an swered, .looking with 'his honest, wide open" eyes Into 'the pale; half-hidden face.,if...f:iv , At'last the stage stopped. - ,v ' "We are here, Tom. Anything I can do for you, stranger 1" called John's hearty voice, J ' ! "Nothing,"' the stranger said, short ly, while Tom rubbed his sleepy eyes, and tumbled out of the coach. ' . Resuming his whistling, John start ed oft. briskly down the quiet village street. The stranger followed him at some distance. It was quite dark, but far ahead one could see a tall house, grim and dark against the clouded sky. ' ' v In one window a tiny light burned, and threw ' sickly rays out into the night i f v - Before this bouse John stopped. He lifted the heavy knocker and let it fall. Then he waited. "Is it you. Mr. Austin" ' T '.V h "Yes, Dolly, and the new frock, too. I saw- the light and knew you: were awake, and- thought I'd save myself awalk In the morning." Dolly had unbarred the door and saw John, standing in the dimly-lighted halL ' '. i.A ' She sat the candle on a -table and took th1 bundle he handed her. , ",. "How kind of youlT th girl said, lifting her blue eyes to bis good-natured, homely face, "I thank you."r .. "Not much. , I-hope, for. it's -no trouble to do things for you, Dolly. You see, when I remember how good you've been tq my little wife and ba bies, anything I do for you seems very small. ; Did the old man get In a bet ter humor, Dolly?" - . : "No," she safid, shaking her yel low, curly head.- "I'm. afraid X can't endure much more, Mr. Austin. My life is being thrown away, - I have borne a good deal." - "Ah, you have that, Dolly. Well, if the worst comes, there s room, for you in our shanty. You won't forget that?" v"No, and I thank you. Qood-by. My love to the homef oiks." She held out her hand to. htm, and then watched - the darkness swallow him tip. Closing the door- she went slowly up the creaking stairs. - - v In her own room she sat down, a look of deep thought on her fair .face. The -parcel lay .unopened on he bed beside her. ' i "I believe I will do it! Why should I waste my life here? Surely not for any reward, for he told me-1 should have none. ThftwOrld is: bright and full of happiness. Why not go out Into it and claim my share? He will never let me go, but I could run away, only I have no money. ' i. , She started -violently and -.a dull flush covered her face.- i "It would only be my Just wages'. What I have honestly earned by wait ing on him day and night- He pays the cook, why . not pay his waiting maid also? And if he doesn't pay me, why not pay myself?" ,. She closed ; her -lips firmly, and ' a determined look hardened her lovely "I wilt do lt!r she said aloud. A little later she crept like a shad ow Into the room where her uncle lay asleep. The clock down in the old empty hall struck 1. Dolly shivered, and stood quite still In the darkness. V The moon had risen now, asd be tween the banks of clouds It shone throuaih the window and lighted dim ly ike corner of'thrroom-lfr which the hlrh old bedstead stood, . Dolly could see her uncle's pale, sleeping face. It was hard and grim even npw, , , ' ene wonaerea u even aeatn useu would be- abl- to-smooth, out those hard lines and make the faCe tender, r In the corner opposite the bed stood the heavy oaken cabinet Dolly knew that the keys to it hung behind the headboard.s .- She had seen' her uncle unlock the many, doors with -their .queer fasten ings and -come 'at last to the. yellow gold-he so dearly 'loved. , " - Clouds drifted across- the room and Dolly, waited, patiently for the dim light.. It was all she could have to work by. . . - . .The clock struck 3 when, pale and ghastly,1. Dolly staggered out into the hall and crept, to' her room. At the door she stopped. . . , ' - ' -. Surely that was the creaking of the stairs. she had heard!'.,. , . - But hows could it' be? - Her - uncle suffered no one except herself to sleep in the house. Every i door, and window was barred securely . i . "It must have been a mouse, or one of the strange, unaccountable sounds we hear Jn old -houses at night," Dol ly said,') shivering. "He trusted me." she said, sorrowfully, setting a bag of money on her. bed. . . , , "But it was .too hard; . I could not bear it any longer," - .-, She put on the Warmest clothes she could find, and therrremptylng the bag of money, into her. little Batchel, stole from the house.- - ' Swiftly she hurried along the road, dreading the daylight for the first time in her life.. - Sometimes she ran until she panted for breath. She : wanted to reach the station in time for the earliest .train. Newtown, she knew, was : only eight miles from Maysvllle, and there was a train at 6. If only she, could get there in time! No one n the town knew her; it wouia be too early for many persons to. be out. She might slip in , a car . unnoticed,, and be far away before any one - discovered the direction she had taken. ' "... , - Fear lent wings to her : feet She scarcely felt the dull November cold, but sped on like a tireless thing.. ; .. At last the station, light glimmered before t her, "The fc'tast was growing brighter. Night was fast disappearing; still It was not yet liht ,. Just as she reached the station the train came puffing in. Dolly walked quietly along the platform and step ped into a car. The. sleepy conductor swung his lantern; no one else was in sight It seemed an age to Dolly be fore the train started, on. ,-.' : - At o'clock Mr.. Merrltt's cook al ways rapped sharply at the back door. Who would go. down , to her - this morning? She would not know that no bajt or bar held the door against any who came! What would they do when they found her gone ? Suppose they were looking for her even now ? - Dolly had not noticed that the car was moving until the conductor stop ped beside her and called for her tick et She took a gold piece and held it cut to him. Her hand trembled, like a leaf in the wind.' , "You want to go to ' Philadelphia, do you?" h asked, looking at the coin. , - . ' "Yes," she said, faintly.- He gave her a silver piece from tils pocket andwalked on. . , . ' ' CHAPTER II. . ' , ; '' The Dream Girl.. Dolly dr$w a breath of relief. This trial was over, at least Pushing her veil to one side, she began to took about her. There were' only a few pas sengers in the car. and with one ex ception these were men, Just in front f her sat an elderly gentleman, and beside him a laly. Dolly watched the morning grow into day at they sped over fields and through bare gray woodlands. 1 , When thrun wee shining straight Into the window, the train stopped, and -a porter called out, "Twenty minutes for breakfast!" Dolly-felt no inclination to eat, so she sat still.- The gentleman ' who ' occupied the seat In front of her , left the coach, and a waiter came In with a breakfast tray.' t . ' - v - -5 ; Dolly was startled , to hear a 'soft voice at' her :' elbow. She had been watching the people; outside, r , ' V 4i"I . have come to share ray break fast: with you, as I see you are quite alone." , ' - - ' Dolly pushed her ' ve)l ;away from her face and turned to the speaker. . They s looked at each 'Other for an Instant without speaking. ' "How strange! It is as if I looked in a mirror. You are my doublet" "You see it then?" Dolly asked, looking up at the speaker's fair young face. . '' , "Indeed I do. Why, we are exactly like each other. I never saw such a likeness. We might be twins. Will you tell me your name? Mine is Leslie Carter." , ' ' . ' . Dolly "told her name,' adding, "I hope you are much happier than I am-Khat we are alike only in f ea tures.1 . - "And I hope you wrHeoon be just as happy as, you wanto be. And now make room for me, and . let's r eat breakfast." 1 'Tm afraid I ought not" said Dolly, a flush spreading over her face. -.w "And why?. Pray tell me." , "I may look like you, but I'm. not like you,, all .the same. ..You won't speak of it, "but I am leaving home.-1 know I can trust you, and . perhaps you could tell me where to" go. I know nothing of the world.;,;;', , " "Leaving home!" are you running away?", the girl asked, taking a seat by Dolly. "Why, that la like a story, isn't it?" -"A very sad ' sort of a- story," Dotty said. ;"I was sorry to do it, but my uncle was so cruel to' me, and I suf fered In so many ways that 'I felt 2 ought not submit to it" "And you were right. Only are you hot afraid he will find you?" , "Dreadfully, for- , -!"For what? Do trust" me. I am in terested.',' the, stranger pleaded. "I will trust you.-What I have done seems tight sometimes, and then, In a moment so' terribly wrong.1 1, worked hard for him,' and he rarely gave me a penny, so .when I left I- I helped myself." 1 . . , v Lesiiet Carter's eye epened wide with horror. - . '. - . "Did you? Were you not afraid?" "Yes;. and now, I am sorry.-1 can see' his pale face on the pillow, and hetr his loud breathing," Dolly said, with a shiver. , "It is just like a story," Leslie said, half afraid of. her companion, , "I wish I was at home again. There must oave been some right way, if I only, had waited for it, but I was des perate." . " 4 "Did jroo-run away all alone f i- "Yes. I shall never forget the awful night; the wind in my face; the cold; the cramping" .fear at my heart. But I ought not to frighten you." . . ."I'm not frightened. You Interest mo. It Is so different from .anything I ever knew In real life. I think you will write to your uncle, and he will forgive you and come after you. "I am Just from the stupidest school, St Mary's, at B., you know. It is fearfully select and that means a lot of snobbish girls, of course. Do you like a boarding school?" . ... "I was never at one,"; Dolly said, simply. ,' ; .. , "Then you have 'missed t some mis ery, at least. i "It Is good to know that 1 -have been spared something," Dolly said, with a short laugh. "Yes; I dare sa hone oFtis get a taste of it all. My. sorrow U that I have no peopl no one at ail that I know, I wish something might turn up to prove that you are my twin stater.'. Leslie sa44.,njJUog. Dolly laughed. . (., , "No. no." she aM. "then T should claim half of your' fortune, you know, upf course, there is one. . , inere a oe plenty leu 105 me. Can't we manage it?" "' 'Tm- afraid not" Dolly saidVJaugh Ihg again. , - "T . 1 "I shall be lonely, I dare 'say, at Orantly Hall, with a stiff old aunt I never saw and now and then a. visit from my guardian. I wish I could have you with me." , "There will be . other friends.", no doubt,'. "Dolly said. " :'; ' ; "Yes, plenty 1 of tnem, but they are strangers to me, ail of them. You see, I was never South, and am going now to my aunt whose heiress I am to be. My mother was my aunt's half sister, but for some reason they never visited. ' "But. forgive me, , these family af fairs' must be tiresome when, you are so troubled on your own account." "You are ' mistaken," Dolly ' said. "You help me to forget my wicked ness; I am glad you came to me." The waiter' returned for the un touched tray, the gentlman came in. and the train moved on. Dolly pulled down her veil. "You must not go on being so un happy. Write , to your uncle;, he will forgive you." "I will Yes, I Will," Dolly said, and then there was a jar a tremor, Men screamed, . and7 pTayedT anarp called for help, v . , The sun shone down in Its pitiless, cheerful way upon the wreck, and the shrieking,; dying, suffering, help less human beings. f . The train had fallen from a trestle over a deep gorge, along the bottom of which a little river wended , its way,--i -few w 4:- :-y:- The water seemed i to hesitate for an instant when It reached the strange obstruction, then, resuming its song, It found an outlet and hurried, on as if nothing unusual had, happened. ' Human shrieks rent ; the air, and people gathered about in horror stricken groups. r ; - 1 r All was done that, could be done, before the sun went down, on the dreadful scene. . 4 - On a bed In a neighboring farm house they laid a pale, fainting girl.' There had been" only two women on the train, and one, had been taken, the other left , - i Y . " At last the girl struggled out of the awful blackness Into which she had fallen, and opened her eyes. She heard ' a voice speaking. The sound seemed to come from a great way, .. "I think she will do nicely. Jt Is 6n!y in a swoon.- I am glad, sir, that your 'ward is saved. The other poor thing is burned past all recognition. She .died before we could extricate her. Ah, your ward is awake." . . The girl looked up at the speaker wonderlngly., 11 I ehe began faintly1. "'Hush, Miss Carter, I can't allow you to talkvlt isn't best, Won't you please Nmember ? Here, little " girl, you drink this for me. You will be better after . awhile. No, don't speak to her, Mr, Oraham. Let's leave her alone with the nurse; she- will go to sleep." 4 -The fussy little doctor and Mr. Ora ham left the' room. The sick girl was too weak and confused to know ex actly what It all meant She could re member nothing but - the Jblackness out of which she had just come. She sighed wearily and felt asleep. Strange dream came to," her. Some times she was bending over a pale old man as he lay in his bed, and then again she was one of the school girls at St. Man s.- -"c, ' v '" ' f: ; 1 Sometimes she was going home to her aunt in the South and gaaln she was fleeing from some threatening danger. - .. 5 From these dreams she awoke to And herself , in a tiny whlte-walled A quiet .woman sat' bestJe her or THE MKB:POSS&50:OPA t; tt " r.. APPRWfL- M PON' W U JJ , the little doctor fluttered about One day a sweet-faced woman with oft blue eyes- and smooth silver hair bent over the bed when the sick girl opened her fever-bright eyes. - ' "Who am I?" asked the low faint voice. 1 "You are my own little niece, Les lie. I am Aunt Rachel. Qo to-sleep, now.! "I dont like to sleep. I dream such queer . things, andand I can't re member. There were two of us, she and V. Which one am 1?" the girl whispered. ;," v "You are - just) Leslie, dear. You've been dreaming, that's ail," "No, that' isn't all. There Is some thing, but I can't remember." . "You1 mustn't talk to her, ma'am, the doctor don't allow it. She la full of suck fancies, and her fever rises when she worries. Here, swallow this, dear." , The nurse held a gloss to her lips and she drank the mixture greedily. Days grew into weeks, and still the wild, strange dreams haunted the burning brain. "Are you sure I am Leslie?" she asked one day, suddenly opening her blue eyes." - ; - - - - "Yes, child." "I feel more like the other one, only I have forgotten her name. I knew, but I can't think," tha girl said. It was only a dream. -Tak Aunt achel's word for it, dear. You are just like your mother; I should know you anywhere," said the sweet-faced woman, trying to satisfy the puistled girl. - . "But there were two of us. I saw the. other - one, and X am not sure which was'I."' ' . " ' "I wouldn't worry about It, dear. Sick people often- take strange, un accountable" fancies, . Let. that explain all that distresses youswind. try to be happy. There Is nothing to trouble yon except these Imaginary shadows. 1 "Believe that my child, and try to get well You are growing stronger and the" fever; Is quite gone. You are onlyweak now,. You sleep beautiful ly," Aunt " Rachel said,; stroking;; the thin- hand., .'' ' -.--:;.;;i--V ; ?i .-';' . "But I can't recall anything. There are only, shadowy -fragments. Just let me tll you ones, Aunt Rachel; only one time," she pleaded, for any allu sion to the old,. feverish pussies an noyed tna patient woman who rarely left her, - , . v , ' "Just once, Leslie.;!, will listen, just one time If you will promise never to talk about these fancies, and try and not think of them, ever again." , "I will" the girl said, "only help me , to .understand.: I; seem to; have been at school at St Mary's.-and I did not like it and I was glad to be going home to you. , , "Then I seem to have taken some money from a pale, sleeping old man, and I was trying to run away. And after that there was two of me, and 1 ran't remember which of the two was myself." "Leslie," said the old lady very gravely, "I am going to tell you some thing: that 1 think you ought to know. Sometimes when people are hurt, or shocked, . or very sick, i they lose all memory o the past. Sometimes a tiny, memory of the past Sometimes a tiny, past is really gone. . This has happened ' to you. It is more than likely that, after awhile, it wilt all come back. If It does not," you will have to take our word for It "You were really at St Mary's and I dare say you were glad to be coming to me, I hop so. But the other fancy Is the veriest dream. It Is something that you have read or heard. There Is no reality about it, positively none. Let it pass, and take your life as you And it. - "Very . 'possibly you will recall everything, after a time. It will come gradually, or it may be suddenly. You will recollect the incidents of your srly life in Vermont with the mother wha died "years ago, your stay at St. . . . , 5 ! CAl J A?4 1 : Q F. V ' V.!. nt u.i.Hi.M i iim ' ' m ' 1 I I .. I III Mary's, the death of your father when you were half through school how he wrote to me about you, giving you, my duar sister's child, to me. ' visited my sister..! left you,, at St wary a until you 8nouia.be nnisnea. Then I sent Mr. Oraham, who la my lawyer and your guardian, after you. Now that is all If it would help you : I can write to Mrs, Noel, the principal of the school. Perhaps a letter front her would do you good." The sick girl shook1 her head. - - ' . "Ka. 1 will ho auttKflAri "1 M-ill aVift said, a pathetic look In her lovely blue eyes, - wi never speak or it again, but it la not o enav tn nut th iritno fancy away, It is so tearfully, real vne running sway irom nat wnite, sleenlnar face.'T can tnei 1hn nA nlrht air on my face, snd the 'fear that cram pea my nesri. it is , more real can't tell where the flight began or cuuru. .. v... "Just in your poor, fevered? little a.vwu, A ,n Ut .. JltlBIIICIIb If VIII ' some wild story." . "This is the last time I must speak Of it: let ma fnll vnu hnar ilsrlr nA kviu ii wan, nnu now i new irom inai ... . . . w J . . awrui race." - "Leslie, thflm n nn mnw tn tntt You have said it all too often now. When you are strong and welt you win laugh at it an. Do believe me." . "I will I won't struggle any more. I wll Just rest on "what you say,1 and be content. Aunt Rachel, I am Lealte, and not the Aram.rlrl vnhn lia. haunted me, I will forget her, and the i win jusi rest on what you saw,' and nuszia over It. Jtmt it it ,. n otih. what jpver else Is gone." ' , She lay back wearily on her pillow and closed her tired eyes. 1 Health and strength came nearer every day, but tho sorrowful shadow remained In the bin wmi ts. sweet mouth retained Its , pathetic , aroop. , t , i Tt was a lovely face in Spire of the sadness that never left It. , - inn avnuent nna ifn no msrft on the, fair, tender body of the girt, trnt the had awuntr iw fmM h iif. ,. completely, as if ,death had ttaim -f ner lor trs own. - ' (TO BE CONTINUED) -. . . Something In .Tlilffc : ' Statesville LapJmark.. , ' ' the State" and numerous . "first-cltlsens'V aw writing th. . pers urging somebody to -bl-. Auc ifor .penalties egatnst. the Soi rn railway, as' provided in he tm i .'f the LegiHlature redurtng ipafenger rates. It- ia J also- pointed out that solK-itors and grand juries should In dict the railroads -officials, for mi- deaneanor," aa provWed In the aot The Landmark has no objection to this -method of procedure fact we would like to see it trled-but what -we can't undents iw !) hj some of theso eminent lawyers, first citlxena and others. who ere urging the bringing of ha penalty suits don't ' an Kfli1 on .1 hplria. 'cm .i Ct.ial.. . . a " - " - . ....... i j ox.ii.cj, of them have occasion to ride on th Krmfhim. It thev lion't ihpv miVhf take a special trip for the purpose of getting tne evidence. , I'll stop your pan lr. to prov merit, samples of my Dr. Phoop's Rrtorat-v and my book on either Dyspepsia. Tha Heart or The Kidneys, Troubles of t Stomach, Hart or Kidneys, are nr symptoirs of a deeper ailment. 1, make th common rror if trating vn ,.. tpms only. Symptom treatment Is t:v..t Inc the result of your aliment, an I not the cause.. Weak stomach nerve-4h in gkl nerves mean siomneh weiVms"j, navn. Amt'ths Henrt, rd Kidnoy a ; well, have their controlling r ins nerves. Weaken thes npn-es. anj y , i l(,vHlbly hnv wk vital trtn. j: ... In, whefV lr. - Sin'op'S restorative i mft'Je tt'f.-m. r No ruber rm.lv . claim to treat tha "Inside nerves." , a for Moating,. WHlpus. bad bren" complexion, use !r. Slioon's R -ii Write m tv-d!iy for (unnT.t ,- i tifWl. Dr. Shti Haclne. Wis. 1 -HinrsHv is tohi by i.-urw! T!- ta.l tiort. V
The Charlotte Observer (Charlotte, N.C.)
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July 21, 1907, edition 1
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