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About The Hood River glacier. (Hood River, Or.) 1889-1933 | View Entire Issue (July 20, 1889)
I: IllUtt 'V 3food liver Slacier. HOOD RIVER, OK., Jl'LY 20, 1699. Her Rival's Valentine. "But lie Khali never claim you," she mur mured; 1 will spare the maid, and at tho last moment kill the iiilstrcxs. After that they may do with me what they please. She went tothd window and sat down. The landscape without was bright and fair, but she saw nothing, a mist was before her eyes. "Bardolph deceived mo," she muttered; "he was not dead, and the fool paid the penalty of his deceit. Do I regret that sin? No; not as I live, and I will go on. Basil hall never claim his brido." CIIAPTKK XII. ANOTHER I.KTTE It. liow Ruth managed to keep her secret Is not easy to say, but keep it . did, and hid the joy that bubbled In her heart like the warm water of a geyser, only finding full vent at times when she waa'alone. And Vida kept it too, and the effort re quired on her part taxe I her sorely. She had trouble to hide in the place ot Joy, and with an ever-aching heart she went about with a smiling face. How was it possible for Basil to be alive? And if alive, and well enough to write, why could he not return at once? Vida knew that he whs. If livinir. true to Kutti, ana herein lay inn great puzzio. ne hifj true, why did he keep away? Then at times Vida wouUHthiiik that the U tter was a jost, but she could not call to mind anyone on whom she- could with the least show of reason fix it. It was all a puzzle, a problem, the solving of which might bring ruin upon her. "But they shall not triumph over me," she thought "I may die, but I will leave aching hearts behind me." It was a bitter feeling, but passion is a soil In which deadly things will grow; and Vida's soul was more like a fair garden o'er which had crept the deadly nightshade and the poisonous aconite. "Kuth shall die," she thought, and steeled her heart against all promptings of mercy. To this end she spared l'htcbe, and kept the deadly potion she had purchased at Carpingdean as a weapon to use in the end. Meanwhile she watched and waited for the unfolding of events. A month passed, and there was no further sign from Basil. Vida grew hopeful, and Kuth despondent a little but not much, for hope and trust were things that were part of her nature. "Basil has promised to come, and he will come, surely," she said. Kcnard wrote to Vida double letters, one of which she could show to Ruth aiid the other keep for herself. With bitter contempt, Vida read the out pourings of his ingenuous heart. "The love of a man wasted," she said. "It is nothing to me; why should it be so? Basil saw nothing in me, Kenard everything, and 1 must love the man who loves me not It is the way of woman's life." It was late In November when one day there came another letter for Ruth, directed in a disguised hand as before. It was from Basil, and written much in the same terms as the last. She was to wait and hope, and believe in him, and lie would soon be with her. ".My letters," he wrote, "arc posted for me, far away from where I am, and, it may be, near home. Sometimes the horrible thought comes over me that they are not sent at all, but 1 cannot think that those I trust can bt; so b.ise. "Oh, llut'i, Ruth, my darling, your image is ever before hie by day and in my dreams at niglit. I pray that time may speed away and bring me to you. Of course she showed this to Vida, and put her anew upon the rack. Ail doubts were dispelled; Basil was alive, and so far all her sinning had been fruitless. She smiled on Ruth, and congratulated her, but when alone she raved and sobbed in the agony of mad passion, and the bit terness of her heart increased. "I would kill both," she groaned, "but that would be too kind. One shall live and suffer." December was well advanced, and the shortest day was nt hand, when startling news came to Gordonfells. It seemed that the old sexton found one of the ropes of his bells Avrong, and went up to the belfry to see what was the matter. He ascended nt lrght with a lantern, and stumbled over the decaying body of Bar dolph. , In a frenzy of terror he staggered down the stairs, and to the village with the horri ble nevs. In half an hour all the grown in habitants were on the spot, and Mr. Moore, with a policeman, keeping order among the excited throng. It was no pleasant task to inspect the body of the dead man, but it was done, and tho ghastly remains were laid upon a hurdle in the cold moonlight, "I know who it is, Mr. Moore," said the policeman, after closely scanning the face; "it's one of the gipsy lot; he called himself Bardolph Dimsey, and used to brag about his being a born gentleman." "Poor fellow I" said Mr. Moore; "it mat ters little now what he was. lie will never brag again." It was impossible for them to correctly estimate how long heohad lain there, but the doctor said it was three months nt least, perlmps more, and it was the medical man's opinion that he had barn murdered in the belfry. "He looks as if he had fallen and died there," he said; "there are no signs of his being dragged or carried about after death." This opinion went far to turn suspicion from the first direction it took, and to cx- oneratethe gipsies from any share in the crime. "It would have been easier for them," said tho Inspector, when he came shortly after on the scene, "to have settled him in the wood, and burled him there." When the news reached Oordonfells it mnad a vast amount of commotion amonir the domestics. Phoebe was so far overcom as to faint away, and when they brought her round she went about her duties white and silent Whenever nhe met Vida she shuddered, and stood aside, and the look of having something to say but not daring to say It grew upon her face. Vida could not but notice the aversion of the girl, and felt that it was a thing that must be dealt with promptly. Accordingly she seized the first opportunity to speak to her alone. Finding her in Ruth's room, when Ruth was out, she went quietly In and closed the door. "Phoebe," she said "what Is the matter with you lately? Whenever I come near you I am subject to your rudeness. You turn away from me as if I were som5 re pulsive stranger." "Oh, miss," pleaded tho trembling girl, "I can't help It. , It Is such a horrible thing." "What is so horrible, you fool?" "The dead man as was found In the bel fry, miss." "Well," said Vida calmly, "what has that to do with me?" "I don't know, miss," sobbed Phoebe, cov ering her face with her apron; "but I've had such ugly dreams about it I'm in the churchyard night after night, and I see you go into the belfry, then I hear you talking to him, and then a horrible sound of a man falling, and groans, and then I see you come down with your face as white as snow, and go away, not seeing me hiding in the porch." "Phoebe," said Vida fiercely, seizing her by the wrist, "1M nie have no more of this; I'll not endure It. Do you know what you ore saying'."' "Oh, miss, it isn't a dream, it is true." "It is a lie, you fool, and if you ever dare say another word about it, I'll have you changed with the murder." "Me, miss 1"' exclaimed Phoebe, looking up with a startled f.iee. "Yes, you," said Vida; "you and he were always in the wood together." "Oh, miss! I never spoke to the man in my life." "I will swear that I've seen you in the fhvubbery and wood together," said Vida, with a set look of determination on her face, "and I have reproved you for it. Nay, more, I will swear that it was I who was in the cinir. hyard and you in the belfry, and when it runes to the question of whose word is to be taken, who do you think will bo be lieved'.''' "Oh, miss, you are cruel cruel I" sobbed Y. oebe; "out spare me, I'm only a poor ig norant girl." "Have done with your nonsense, then," said Vida; "come back to your senses, and let me have no more of your shuddering and turning away when I come near you. You understand me?" "Yes, miss," replied the girl humbly. "Very good; now go away and come at the usual hour to assist me to dreas for din ner." ."Yes, miss," said Phoebe, and with a wretched look upon her face she crept from the room. She knows much but can prove nothing," said Vida with a triumphant laugh. "The ignorant fool, to enter the lists with me! I will crush her if the (lares to play her shiv ering pranks on me again." CHAPTKR XIII. A STORY STRANG K BUT TRUE. It was not until the lOlh ot February that Basil wrote again, and then came a bulky letter from him, closely and carefully writ ten. It was the narrative of what had pissed within his ken since that terrible St. Valen tine's Eve, when the murderous hand of Bardolph Dimsey, at the bidding of a passion-led woman, sought Ids life. lie told his story briefly, and, as far as he could, clearly. Much that was mysterious to him Is al ready known to our readers, and we have only to reproduce his letter to make his full story clear. " My own Darling Ruth. 1 write, as I hope and believe, to you for the last time '.!-.... ..... 1. : i ; ...... nr, l from my hiding-place. When you have read tins you needkee ep our secret no longer, for i shall promptlv follow it, and I fervent- ly trust be w ith you on the coming St. Vat- ent ne s rve. "Was ever story of man so strange as mine'.' A year ago I was on my way to you, ami 1 was within almost speaking distance of my darling, when my life was attempted by a scoundrel whose lull history 1 will tell you when we meet. I know It now, al though it was strange to me only a few days ago. "On the eve of last St. Valentine. I had tlv nirl eloireh. and Onrdonflls was in sitrht, wiien a maskeu man sprang from the i'enco and stood full in my road. My horse swerved, and at the same moment the fellow tired two shots. The bullets miss ed, but my horse madly plunging, 1 fell heavily to the earth and became insensible. As I afterwards learned I lay like ono dead, without visible breath or motion. "Much that I am telling you I have only what was told me to give, but I believe it to be true. 1 was given to some of the would-be-murderer's friends for burial, and I was actually laid in my jave when I gave out signs of returning lite. "A repugnance against finishingthework, or pity, saved me. Tlie lifted me up, filled in the grave, and carried me to a traveling van belonging to one of their body, whom I on. , vnew as Jim the showman. He set out at oce, making his way north. "For three weeks I was delirious, but con stant care on the part of the showman's wife brought me back to life, and I found myself in a lonely country I knew nothing of, and practically a prisoner. I was with a gang of gipsies who kept watch over me day and iiignt. "The nieu were always armed, and I was given to understand that any attempt to escape would lead to my being shot. We were joined by another band shortly after.at the head of which was an old woman of very great age, named Hecate. I was an object of interest to her. and she associated me with one Bardolph Dimsey in way that I thought strange, until 1 learnt that this was the man who attempted to murder me. "But why did he attempt it? He had not roblied me, nor did any of his people take a single thing from me except my liberty. They allowed me to retain everything, and I received the kindest care. I was In one sense as a master among a host of attentive hired servants. "I thought on the prospect of escape, but could see none. We were living in a broken country, removed, it seemed to me, from all civilisation. Mv sleeplng-plaee was a cave, and I never walked abroad without half-a-dozen to guard me. Escape with life was hopeless. , ''Gipsies went away, and gipsies came, and like watchful sentinels took up their duty and performed it faithfully. It was useless to attempt to bribe them. The least hint about money was met with a laugh and the assurance that it could not be taken. "1 saw old Hecate was at the bottom of It all. for after her arrival she took com mand of all and remained. Sometimes sho would send for me to talk, and the theme was always this Bardolph, whom she seem ed to love with a passionate devotion. "After many weary months I began to note a change in my guardians. They were more kind to me if possible, and there seem ed to me to bo a fervent desire to gain my good opinion. ii Hecate was like the rest, und I thought 1 saw the light of liberty ahead. v . , . , , "My darling, tho thought of what you must beufforing. or what yon might have beeu led to believe, tortured me exquisitely day and night and 1 would have done much to e;se your aching heart and put myself right In your eyes. Do you wonder then that I promised these people exoneration for their keeping me captive if they would finally set me free? "They asked it, and I promised. It must not be forgotten that I owed my life to their forbearance, and to the ceaseless care of the showman's wife. It was to Bardolph Dim sey that punishment for my misery was due, and I did not say that he would be forgiven. "Nor did they solicit it, and 1 found out the reason ere long. A suspicion had arisen among the gipsies that this man had desert ed his people. They spoke of his marriage and his going away tor a year, but it seem ed tlu.t he ought to have communicated with them in some way, and he has not done so. "He has left us, 1 heard Hecate say ; 'turn ed his back on the people who loved him. lie is a traitor.' "In the next breath she wailed over him, and said he would come again, ami ere loni I learnt that I should not be set free until the anniversary of the day on which my life was attempted, so as to give the absent man a tittle grace. "If he returned they would beg forgive ness for him, but if he did not I was at lib erty to do as I wished. I could play the part of avenger to them and myself if it pleased me. "Bardolph Dimsey, they told me, thought that I was dead and'bui ied. They concealed my recovery from him, because they knew' that he would have completed his work if he found I had escaped hi murderous hand. Hecate also, it seemed, was anxious to save mo. so that tho sin of taking a life did not rest upon him. "But what had I ever done to this man that he should seek to murder me? Nothing. Therefore it is clear that aomebody set him on. Who could have done so cruel a thing? Whom have 1 so bitter) offended that they should seek my life'.' "I hope when 1 come-tbat I may bo able, my darling, to clear up much of this mys tery. There is a growing disposition on the part of tiie gipsies to confide in me, and they may yet tell me all. But J can even bear this weight of the mystery if they will set nie free. "You have, I hope, heard from mo ere this, as I have written twice, but 1 am given to understand that my let ters have been posted far away passed on from one wan dering tribe to another, so as to give no clue to mv whereabouts. "My darling, I have nothing more to tell you now, except the glad tidings that the 1 trihn av firm I v axKinmi that. Kiirdolnh llSU oeserteu tnem, ano i snail tie live to leavo them as soon as the midnight hour of the twelfth day of February is past. "I am well and strong, and I shall travel with all tho speed 1 can to you, and I hope to reach you somewhere about tho self-same hour that I was expected last year. "My hiding-place I know, but I have pledged my w ord not to say more than that it is a lonely part of Yorkshire, in a wild unfertile district, valueless to tho agricul turist tlie gipsies make it of little use to the sportsman. "What more have I to say? Nothing on the score of my captivity, but oh, so much that bears on my love tor you. But can I say it here? Will ink and paper speak as my tongue will wheu we meet? No -a thou sand times no I Therefore, my darling, 1 will keep the overflowings of my heart until I come. Your ever loving and devoted Basil." To Vida first went Ruth, and left her, un conscious of the torture she had inflicted, to break the good news to Mr. and Mrs. Moore. To say that it caused surprise would be to gay little. Words cannot fully describe their utter amazement. "Brandreth must hear of this at once," e aid Mr. Moore. "I will ride over and bring him back witli me. We will keep him here until Basil comes, I should like to have an interview w'ni; the inspector, but " "Don't forg t that Basil has given his word," said Ruth. "True, my darling. We can do nothing until your valentine comes." CltAHER XIV. BETWEEN THE DARK AND DAWX. Mr. Moore had not far to ride ere ho met Mr. Hugh B;-andreth riding towards him. The first glance assured him that as far as Basil was concerned ho had nothing to tell. "Mr. Moore," said the happy father with a face beaming, "give me joy." "You have not seen Basil?1 sa'.d the father. "No; but he Is comiuc, and a'thou rh the mystery of his absence puzzles m n t a lit tle, 1 care nothing tor it. Sufltua it to nie that my boy lives.'' "it is a curious afair altogether," return ed Mr. Moore. "Who can be at the bottom of if.'" "The bottom is not to be found in the man who died in yon church tower," said Mr. Biamlreth. "He was only tiie toot. We must find the principal." "Well spoken: we must find the principal. But how? The police have been working for many weeks and found nothing." "The police have theories, and work up to them first. It takes a deal to put them on the right scent" "What Is your theory?" "I have none, Mr. Moore." "Nor I, unless it Is a woman. You see, Brandreth, that Basil is only mortal like ourselves, and we In our youth were not absolutely free from indiscretion. Ho may have had a lliison." "I don't think so," replied Mr. Brandreth. "Basil is not a milksop, but for a man, he held very fixed Ideas of purity. He argued that we are unjust in casting a sinful wo man out while we hail a sinful man as brother." "It does seem unjust," replied Mr. Moore; "but there is a per amtra view of the mat ter. A virtuous woman holds a higher posi tion than a good man. Everything con nected with woman is extreme." "Just so.". "Well, Brandreth, what do you say to staying with us until your son arrives?" "I was really coming to thrust myself up on you. I had a letter from Basil this morn ing, as you may guess, and In it he tells me that he should like to meet Ruth and myself at the same time. I took the hint, and came to ask you to take me in." They rode back together, and long and earnest was the discussion that ensued be tween the elders. Basil distinctly stated in his letter that no steps to unearth the principal offender were to bo taken until his return, and this was somewhat perplexing. "I am fairly burning to get at the root of the matter," said Mr. Brandreth, and Mr. Moore expressed a similar desire. Kendal was on his way back, and was ex pected about the same time as Basil, earlier in the day perhaps, but not before the thir teenth of the month. The coincidence of the impending arrivals appeared very re markable, but on the whole satisfactory. Only Vida felt the shadow of the coming time. To her in any case it could bring naught but darkness. She must commit an other crime or bear with the spectacle of the happy lovers together. And that she could not do. "I should go mad," she . said, "and in frenzy do something to lay tho past bare. Go mad ! horrible thought ! and be put in to a madhouse, and be shut out from the light and reason ever more. No, death rath er." At dinner she had to listen to the joyous talk cf others,, and join in occasionally. But she did it in a half-hearted fashion that drew Mr. Brandreth's attention, and two or three times she found him looking at her curiously. His eyes were keen, with an aualysing light in their depths that alarmed herand she was thankful when Mrs. Moore rose and gave the signal for the ladies to retire. In the drawing-room she was easier. Mr. Brandreth did not look at her earnestly any more, but was pleasant and chatty. He asked her to sing, and turned over her music for her, "in the absence of a younger knight," he said, but by-and-by one may come to you." "Never," she answered with a fierce light r In her eyes; "I am doomed to a single life while I live." He stood just a little behind her, and glancing down at the fair head and neck,, saw that her bosom "was throbbing wildly. His brows bent, and he became thoughtful again. Did he read her secret then? Thinking it over afterwards he was not quite sure, but certainly he seemed to be looking at more of -the inner woman than ever he had done Detore. When she had sung the song he went back to a seat near Mrs. Moore, and came no more near Vida that night But to Ruth he showed a gentle courtesy expressive of his sympathetic feeling, and as it so chanced, Mr. and Mrs.. Moore were engaged with each other, talking of Basil and the future. (Continued next week.) S. H. Contractor Estimates Satisfaction - HOOD RIVER. OREGON. 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