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About The Hood River glacier. (Hood River, Or.) 1889-1933 | View Entire Issue (July 6, 1889)
3(ood Iiver Slacier. HOOD RIVER, OR.,. JULY 6, 1889. Her Rival's Valentine. Night at last, clear and bright It was dark until eight o clock, when the moon rose and shone upon field, wood, and moor. , In the camp all was bustle and excitement 1 - One of the men had an old fiddle, and could use It well enough in his way. He . could play some score jigs and lively tunes, and at an early hour began, ,. -. The women danced with their children, and the men lay on the turf smoking. He cate, looking on with her bleared eyes, en couraged them now and then with a croak. Bardolph went early to meet his bride, and walked ud and down lmDatientlv out side Uordonrells for two hours. Close upon midnight Vida, wrapped from head to foot In a cloak, came forth. : . "You are late," he said. ' "I hare been - here for hours. The night has crept along." "I could not got away bofore," she an swered, "and it was foolish of you to come. Let us hasten away." " He would have taken her hand to lead her through the wood, but she kept them wrapped up, and silently they hurried on. The camp was reached, and a shout greeted them, ringing far away over the fields. Vida threw back her cloak, and glanced at the band of gipsies in cold disdain. 1 ' "What has to be done," she said, "let It be done quickly.", . ' "It will soon be over," whispered Bar dolph, but she neither looked at nor answer ed him. . Two sticks, In the form of a cross, had to be stepped over, a blessing from Hecate to be received, and then the main ceremony was done with. Vida would have gone then, but the gipsies cried out for a dance. "It Is a custom that can't be put aside," said Bardolph. "Come then I" said Vida, "let us dance." The owner of the fiddle struck up a merry Jig, and Bardolph led Vida forward. "It Is easy," he said. "Dance how you please, only keep time." ' . .--,-', , With a strange light in her eyes she be gan, and with Infinite grace trod a measure with her gipsy husband. ; It was a won idrous picture to the rude men and women twho looked on, and they stared at her as slie glided to and fro, with, her eyes fixed, not looking at them, or Bardolph, or any thing near, but at things seemingly far .away. . .:.' .- "I don't like It," said one; of the women, turning aside. "It Is like a danco of death," said an other. - ' -' A.nd the men muttered to each other that they did not envy Bardolph his "luck." . Even the fiddler was affected, and present ly ceased. ' ' ; -' . . Then Vida asked if she could leave. ' '" "I must go with you a little way," . Bar dolph whispered., : ; , "Why?" ' . , ' ' ' "They think we ore leaving together. - In another hour the whole camp will be on the road." . . . "Let us go, then, In Heaven's name I" "Will you not say one word to them?", he pleaded. '.' ; ' I ' "Not one," she answered. "Why should I? I marry you, not the whole tribe." " . . With a proud disdainful gesture she turn ed aside and stood waiting there while he bade his friends adieu. - , ' - Not one wished him good fortune, and old Hecate moaned and wrung her hands "You have madeyour choice, bonnie boy," -'she said, "but the night Is very dark." , "Mother," he said, "there Is a full moon." "It will set soon, and never rise again up on us." ' V . ' ' ; .. ." And so he left her wailing. ; Silently he and Vida walked back through the wood until they came to the verge of the park. -V . ' ' '.'.';. There she paused and said: , . : , "We part here." ' " "Isuppose there is nothing else to be done," he said sullenly. -,. "Nothing else, unless you would ruin everything." " . ; ' .- "Well, I will bear with it this time, and skulk about all night like awild beast. You will Be at the belfry by noon?" '- "Earlier, If I can come," she said. '' ' And ere he could realise her intention she had glided from him and was swiftly hurry ing on. " . - - -"Ah well, my lady," he said with a savage frown, "by-and-by I will square matters with you." -:, For a while he kept near the spot, and waited until ho had sren the light extin guished In her room. Then he stole quietly back to the neighborhood of the camp. ,. The gipsies wera gone; the last warm ashes of the fire were smouldering, and In a tow minutes would be cold. 1 : Bardolph looked at these signs of the re cent presence of his friends, and a sense of loneliness and desolation lay heavy on his heart. K . : : -. "We have parted," he said, "not for a fear, but for-ever," " , , And with his head bent low he walked tfowly from the dell. :' '; chapter viii. , j . ' Tins APPOINTMENT KEPT. j But for a superstitious dread, Bardolph. Dimsey would have gone straight to the bel fry and lay down there to wait, but he knew of the ghost-story attached to that sombre chamber, and dared not go. During the darkness he wandered about the woods, and as soon as there was any light in the sky he hurried to the church yard, and after a careful look round, opened the door, and ascended the dark winding flight of stairs.. . . ' .Reaching the chamber, he found there was light enougu coming : through the narrow silts in the wall to dispel superstitious fears. . He was tireS and almost worn out. , Sleep was an absolute necessity for hftn, and ly ing down In the warmest corner, he curled himself up like a do? and slept. But ere an hour elapsed ho was awakened by the boom of the deepest sounding bell, and sitting up he saw the "B;g Ben" of the chamber working to and fro on Its wheel. - "What are they ringing for?" he1 asked, "it isn't Sunday." 1 , . And then it occurred to him that only one bell was going, and that there were gaps be tween each solemn note. The dread truth flashed upon him the bellringer was tolling for the dead. . ' "This is some prank of hers," he mutter ed; "she thinks to drive me away, but I'll stop till she comes." ; ; , He fiercely thrust his fingers Into his ears, and then only partially smothered the solemn sound. : i Boom I boom 1 It was horrible. - Then suddenly it stopped, and another r bell in quicker time tolled out the age of the dead person, whoever it may have been.' Bardolph knew what It meant, and count ed the notes. ; Twenty-six in all. - "i'hat's my age," he gasped ; "the fiends seize her! I know it is some trick. I'll not gO." ' y..- And though quaking In every limb he kept there until the sounds ceased. ' Then he heard the church-door close, and peering cautiously through one of the open ings saw the old bellringer walk slowly down the path, refreshing himself with a pinch of snuff as he went The sight of the old man was reassuring. ' ; ."I've been a fool," muttered Bardolph; "it was mere chance that led him to toll for another to-day. : But anyway, I don't want to hear that bell again." . - :- ' He filled his pipe, lit it, and began to smoke. In a little while the church clock struck ten. In two hours more Vida ought to be there. ' . . ' . "The time will soon pass," he said, and leant bank contentedly against the wall. VU!a was more than punctual. Barely bad the clock struck the succeeding hour when the rustle of her dress was heard on the stairs. Bardolph got hurriedly upon his feet and thrust his pipe into his pocket ' "She's not deceived me," he said, and his eyes lighted up with the fierce fire of pas sion. ' '" V ; She entered the belfry with a slow timid step, and he saw by her face that she had passed tho vigils of the night sleeplessly and wearily. But she was calm and quiet "You are here early," she said. "I came as soon as tho sun rose," he an swered. - -;;-- . , i ' - .-' ,. "That was wise," she said. "But did I not hear a bell tolling?" . ' - 'Yes, confound it!" he growled, "and if you had heard the boom of It in this place It would have maueyou shiver as lcaiume." -"Very likely. Now you see that I am true to my tryst,"1 Vida said, "but I have yet another proposal to make. ,We cannot leave here together." '- '--" "We must do so," he taid;"Iwlll have io more partings." "; ; : "Do you court discovery?" she asked. "I have been obliged to plead a visit to friends in town and what not to get away" this was a falsehood, she had pleaded nothing, nor named her journey ; "and if I were seen with you, what would be said?" "Who can say anything?" he asked. "Mr. Moore, for instance. See there?" She pointed through the narrow slit and Bardolph turned round expecting to see her uncle without The moment his back was to her she swiftly drew her hand from under her cloak. . - : The white tapered ' fingers clasped the jeweled hilt of the dagger, and with fierce nervous force she drove home the glittering blade. , - . ; . ' . '. A sharp cry rang from his lips, and stag gering forward he fell against the stone wall. ' "A blow for every kiss you gave me," she hissed, and again the weapon was driven home. ' -v ' , ' Blind with pain and terror he fell, his hands fruitlessly seeking something to grasp on the wall. When on the floor he rolled over, and lay upon his back helpless and dying. v. ' '', , -v x, v-v "You hag I" he hissed. . "You hound," she answered, "to think that ever I should be a wife to you I A blow for every kiss, I say 1" . , . . . He raised his arms feebly to ward on the blow, but with unerring aim she thrust the dagger into his breast. . "The curse of a dying man cling to you," he said in a tone that was like the hiss of a serpent '. . . ' . v ; These were his last words. A dreadful pallor overspread his face; he made an ef fort to raise himself, Jfell back heavily, and lay still. . ,- : - ... v Vida stood beside him for a minute or so. waiting for some sign of life, and seeing none knelt down and scanned his face close ly. Then she put her hand upon his heart, and found no beating,there. , " "Dead," she said softly. , Bising, she glanced round the chamber, and, as if appeajing to an Invisible specta tor, said: - -.'' ' "He sought death, and he has found IV Am I to blame?" , Calm and resolute, she wiped the dagger on the lappel of the dead man's coat and backed slowly to the door. She could not turn her back upon him. A fear that she knew was foolish'but not to be put aside, led her to keep her face to him to the last In the doorway she paused again, and waited to see if there was the least flutter ing of life. . : . . " .' '. , ' . It was a needless precaution. The spirit of Bardolph Dimsey had been rudely sever ed from its tenement of clay, and he would sin on earth no more. , With marvellous composure she descend ed the dark staircase and entered the church yard, where she paused for a time to read the tombstones that told so much of the vir tues of men unrecognised while they lived. Once she was induced to look up at the tower, half fearing to see the face of Bar dolph at the casement It was her only mo ment of real weakness through the whole dark business, and she shook it off as quick- 1, T ; ; : : ly ai it came, v . y . : An hour later she was at luncheon with her friends at Gordonf ells. .: . . There was an addition to the family circle, Kend had come home, and he and Vida were rery great friends. He was amazed and toubled at the mysterious disappear ance of Basil, but the sorrow was not so deep that it prevented him from chatting gaily with his old playmate. ' , J And Vida had never been in better spirits' in her life, and her laughter was like a peal of silver bells. : -. . . . . ; It was strange that she could be merry, but then, you see, she had rid herself of a great burden, and all went well with her. Was not Basil dead and buried, the gipsies gone, and her tool, wicked Bardolph Dim sey, lying still in a place that might not be visited for years to come? ;,. ' And even suppose he were discovered, who would suspect her? , The flight of the gipsies would fasten the deed upon them, and who would believe any mad story they chose to tell? Yes, all went well, and It was a good time to be merrv. Therefore she lanebed. and ioQtaA ami flirted with KenanL nni tn had a very pleasant time together. On leaving him she went up ther room, and found Phoebe there doing some dusting and general arranging. ' ' The girl looked pale and troubled, but she spoke quietly. .' , "If you please, miss," she said, "I've been to the village." "Indeed I" said Vida; "well, you often go there. What then?" - - - .. ..' - "I came back by the churchyard, raiss." ..Vida turned quickly to her wardrobe, and opened it : ' ."Came home by the churchyard, did youf" she said ; "that was very courageous of yon seeing it Is broad day." - "I'm not afraid of the graves, miss," said Phoebe quietly, "but I was going to say that I found your handkerchief there, miss, and I've laid it here?" 1 "Thank you, Phoebe," said Vida sweetly; "I did not miss it Have you finlshed'your dusting?" "Yes, miss." ' . , ' ' " : "Then do not remain." . . Phoebe left, and Vida with a frowning face went to the toilet-table and took up the handkerchief the girl had placed there. "It is a good thing for me that you cannot speak," she said, apostrophising it; "a bless ed thing yon have no tongue." . Barely had the words escaped her, when she saw something that might have spoken to Phoebe, and told the bitter tale in part. i A spot of blood ! .v. . i . ' . . ' . '. CIIAPTJCU IX. . - SLUMBEBIXa OS A VOLCANO. '. " Ruth bore her sorrow patiently. She had settled within her own uiind that Basil had been lured away from her, and in her heart she forgave hiiii. ':' , Some people would call this womanlyfor- giveness woman's weaknens. but we prefer to give it the true name of woman's unsel fish love.- ' .. ,; . ; She did not extend her forgiveness to. her supposed rival, that would have been more than one could expect from mortal woman. Jfor her lluth had nothlngbutgood honest hate. 1 v . . There were no signs of sickness In her, though her secret suffering was great Any display of emotion or utterance of vaiu re gret she felt would be unworthy of a Mooro of Gordonfells. . - ... . I , , '. - She was. certainly as like herself as her dearest friends could have wished her to be. The brief repugnance she felt foiVida's society passed away. ' , -.a.'--' She fought against it, because she was convinced it was unjust and conquered it. . Ere long they were on the old footing of sisterly love and confidence, tile confidence being, of course, mainly on Ruth's side. But there was ono person at Gordonfells who nvofded Vida as much as possiblev and that Phoebe, the maid who was supposed to be attendant to both the cousins, and she gave most of her service to Ruth. '. j ; The repugnance Vi as mutual; : ' ' . . ' . ; ; Vida sion enterta ned a strong dislike for the girl, and declined her offered services. ' V If she had dared, she would have done her best to gat her dismissed; but as dread of something held her back. . ; , Phcebe might . know a little and suspect more. If so, It was policy to conciliate or remove her. ' ... ' -- : ;-- '-' Ruth noticed this feeling batween them, and mentioned it to Vida, who laughed,and declared she would ' rafcer be without a maid.. ""'' . VPhcebe is devoted to you," she said, "and no woinjn can serve two mistresses." ' ' . Then. Ruth tried 'Phoebe, and made no more headway there. ' - - y: ' :' . 1 - "If you please, miss," the girl said, "Miss Vida doesu't want me, and it's no use', my offering to do anything." :;J 1 - ' The offer of a separate maid Vida refused, oml tlipu the matter (Irooneii. , ; i .", Jieanwnne, a compensating leeling tor Vida had arisen -in another direction.' Kenard was becoming devoted to. her. He was a himdsome high-spirited young fellow, not absolutely without guile, or he would have been a fool, but with an honest heart and a ready belief in others. " In Vida he now saw qua'itles and charms that had escaped his notico during his boy hood and youth. . --" ,- :.'.', They were cousins, had been brought up together, and much freedom of intercourse was allowed tliem. " , - : ' ' v They walked, r)de, and drove alone, with out exciting muefi comment on the part of their irlends at Goidonfelis. ; :. "It would be something to be mistress here," Vida thought, "and it will be better than dragging on a life alone." - ., . : She did not love him, for hei heart had been given to Basil Bra;:dreth, and every day that hopeless love gathered strength; and kept hor soul upon the rack. Her life was very miserable . -, ;i. The memory of the deadl man lying- h. the belfry was alone suffiulent to embitter it No discovery was made, but every day she dreaded to hear the Uu.bbnb.ot It, and t hare to listen to the fhurder being discussed, and to see the police at their investigating work. ' But nobody visited the belfry, and the body of the murdered gipsy lay wasting away undiscovered. ,' ' So having made up her mind to be Mrs. Moore, Vida gave Kenard encouragement and a secret troth was plighted between tnem, and it came to pass in this way. .Months had passed, and it was a close sul try summer day, when Kenard and Vida were Doating on the lake, lie haa been rowing, but having laid ' aside the oars, the boat drifted In among some-rushes, which ma' them from the view of all around. "How careless of you, Kenard," said Vida wltlia smile. : . ' "Let us rest here a little while," he an swered; "1 have something say to you." She knew what was coming,, but kept her composure. Had she really been in love with him It would have been different She would have shown some signs of trepida tion, for love in a woman will find expres sion in spite of efforts to conceal.. ' : "Vida," ha said, bending his earnest eyes on hers, "you have guessed that you are more than cousin to me?" ' : "I have not of late dared to guess- much concerning yen," she answered In-a low tone. !. "But you must have seen my devotion," he said. "Vida, have I allowed love to grow in my heart only for it to wither again?" - ' "You forget, Kenard," she said after a pause, "that our-voiceswill not alone suffice. Mr. Moore and ray dear aunt may probably object to our loving each other. Indeed! 1 am sure they will." - ' "I do not think as you do," he rejoined; "and it they are against us, it will not change me." . :, , "You will risk ranch, Kenard." "And gain much, my darling. Oh, -Vida, do not turn a deaf ear to me. I am no schoolboy asking a girl to love him, but a man pleading to a woman for somethings that is dearer than life Itself." 1 "Kenard," said Vida softly, "I do not know that I ought to make confession of what lies in my heart, but if I were more worthy- " i "More worthy, Vida? It is I who am un worthy." - ' : "No, Kenard, you would make the sacri fice." . And then the-lie came to her lips. "I do love you, and it is because I have given, my heart to you that I will not permit you to be sacrificed." , ,, . ."Oh, Vida " : .' '..'"".' 1. ". : "Hear me out Kenard.. I will accept your proffered love on one condition " . "You have only to name it, Vida.", . ', "It is that you do not speak of it ai pres ent. We can be friends, and if in time you find your heart unchanged, I will be your wife.'! . - . - -:- .' : ' "Love is impatient and never waits," lie answered. ' . ' . . "Love must be patient no w;'!jl,., "Vida," he said, drawing nearer to her, "let there be no halting measures with us; I must know my fate... It. must, be yea or nay with you." r.r-" : - , "Of what would tha-yea avail with us if Mr. Moore 'said nay?" '' "It would sever him. and me, but not harm, you, Vida." 11 .- - - ', , ' "Kenard, I must say no. How could I face my loving guardian, my truest friend?"' "Is there no other way?" he asked. "Vida, . I know you love me audi cannot, rest with such an answer. Wikj should we not be united secretly?" ' v;. .. . ; ;..',v, . "No, Kenard. no." . : i "It is not. on difficult. T havo n "friend liv ing not twenty muei trow here who would perform the cewiniony at my bidding. , We could ride out one maiming, and come back-, man and wife. You must not say no." ; . But she held back. It was part of her? programme to do so, and when he clasped her in his arms, and, the last words of ap peal fell from Ids lips, she whispered: ."To-morrow I will answer you." . "Why not now?" he urged. . . "It is not long to wait," she replied, "and It must be to-morrow." , He still pleaded, but she was firm. Had love not blinded him, he must hare read her then, but he saw nothing before him but a pure-minded, loving, beautiful woman, restrained by maidenly modesty from yielding to him at once. ,., And in the answer "To-morrow," he Bead a promise, and was at length satisfied. They lingered long among the rushes, and It was Vida' who. suggested that time had flown swiftly, aoid that the lunchoonThour had arrived. :'.'- '';- - . "For my sake," she urged, "let us g." 1 - Then he took the oars again and pulled to theshore. . .--? -': , xw. : Ere they reached Gordonfells the Xunch-eon-gong was sounding. ' . ' . "I told you" she said with an arch: glance at him. ''I fear-if we are not more prudent any confession, en our part will bo- super fluous.",'.".. -. . .. . - - ' ' . . - . - At the hall-djftor they met Phcabe, who curtsied, and said she was coming to see if they were in the grounds as luncheon was ready. : -: '. ' '-" Slie took Vida's hat and light shawl, and with visible trepidation turned and went upstairs. ' : - i.;' -;' - ' "What is the matter with that girl?" said Kenard; "she does not look well." ' v "Phoebe is a strange being," replied Vida, "andrather given to troubling herself about other people's affairs. ' - She may have been watching us." i - , - - - "In that case, you had better speak to Ruth." - ' '-: - . .' - "Not 1 think we will leave her alone for the present" " " ' - - ' Their lengthened absence excited bo com ment except a few words from Mb Moore, who said he liked punctuality, andithey sat down, keeping their secret well. , The afternoon they spent witU Ruth, and at an early hour Vida went up tie dress. Phcebe was in her ronm, now a' most ua usual thing, and. bu...-;,jh something, n the toilet-table ;. - i: 1 Vidatookaehair withotili speakins, and waited for bar to go, but she moved, slowly about, and made no .offer, to leave. "Phoabe," ft Vida sharply, "I s want you to-ti," : "Very well, issl" '.: Still she didgt go, but stood like resolute. Vfd face flushed with a "Have you gwft: stupid?" she ask ' "No, miss," Ud Phcebe, facing; "I'm as sensibl as I usually am, bt something to sa. and I don't know, to say it" , ;. i , She was tremfngr but under herj-ous-ness there lay t courage to go iugh . with what she haty hand. Vida 4 at ; her witli a growiiioldness upon hjart "It's Mr. Kenarfrwish to' speakt," said Phoabe. "Hein love with yoiss." - (Contimi next week.) i House 'ainti;, Kalsomfning, Pper SATISFACTION QUARA1 George M.ail 'I! HOOD RjRj 40-Acresi 5 and IB ONE MILE FROM LOTS. X FOR SALE B' C. R. BO Cor. Oak and SecoL is. K . 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