Idle Hour Stories Part 26

The path to the subterranean retreat was perilous to a stranger; but having gone once, he was sure he could go again. The way was even now familiar enough as far as the black avenue of Dan. Here the string, placed for the convenience of the lovers, would guide him, and if his plans should be upset, he could retreat into the other black opening leading to the Bottomless Pit, where he now knew the lost pair had plunged into Beersheba instead of into the chasm, the two landmarks being exactly opposite. He had not forgotten the guide's account of these two unexplored regions where there was "nothing of interest to show tourists." He began to see through the plot from the hour of the so-called tragedy. How easy, with the artful guide's connivance, to cast a stone down the echoing ravine, then conceal themselves in the corridor close by, extinguish their torches, and await in silence the next coming of their a.s.sistant! He himself had been adroitly decoyed out of the way to steady the railing of the rickety bridge. The abrupt and narrow ledge had hidden them from view. The escape was easy. All was clear now, and the life of the man who had cheated him should pay the penalty. Should she continue to refuse his suit, she, too, must die. The should find their grave in the spot they loved so well. There would be none to tell the tale.

Armed with a revolver, he groped on, using a torch as far as he dared.

The absence of crystal formations, so thick and shining elsewhere, left large, roomy pa.s.sages easy to traverse, though there were frequent turns puzzling to the uninitiated. As he approached the cosy bower he heard, to his chagrin, the voice of the guide. What should he do? The odds were too many for him. Wait till next day when his victims would probably be alone? Risk going in upon them before nightfall? How had Stephen eluded his vigilance? In this dilemma he crept near enough to get a view of the interior. The sight of Minnie Brand seated at her husband's knee, his hand caressing her flowing curls, so inflamed his wrath that an oath burst from his lips. The sound penetrated the boudoir. It was this time unmistakable. Minnie uttered a faint cry. The two men started up, and s.n.a.t.c.hing a torch, quickly lit it, and dashed out.

"To the inner chamber, my darling!" Eldon called back, as he threw down the folds of the portiere and rushed headlong with Stephen.

They scoured the Short Route avenue to its full length, while Hammond, his soul raging with murderous intent, traversed as rapidly as he dared, the Beersheba avenue toward the Long Route opening.

"By the eternal! He's gone the other way! But he can't get out! Right about!"

Retracing their steps they had to proceed more cautiously, but they soon caught sight of the figure ahead, now lost, now reappearing.

"It is that blackhearted villain, who has hounded us!" cried Eldon.

"On! on!"

But the guide, true to his calling, shouted:

"Surrender, or you are a dead man! The Bottomless Pit is right ahead of you."

The fugitive halted a moment, glanced back, then dashed on again in defiance. At a sudden projection he tripped and fell, discharging the pistol into his own body. The sound reverberated in a thousand echoes.

The wounded man staggered to his feet, and managed to gain the frail bridge. Here he fell across the railing, swayed there an instant; then as his pursuers came up with helping hands, he plunged into the abyss below.

The denizens of Cave City never tire of telling how Eldon Brand and his wife came back to the world, and how they fared in their romantic retreat. But there was a part of the story as strange as it was tragic. Upon dismantling the boudoir a leathern girdle was found, which contained several hundred dollars in gold, and a letter which ran thus:--

"I am a dying man. I cannot find my way out. I have not strength to call, I must perish here of disease and want. I will make one more effort, but feel that I shall fail. I have made my peace with G.o.d.

In leaving this world I leave only one enemy behind. This is Jason Hammond, who has wronged me foully. Living or dead, I shall haunt him. To whomsoever shall give this poor body Christian burial, I bequeath my estate." (Here followed the location and description of the property).

"Signed:

"DAVID HAMMOND."

The paper was almost illegible. It had been written in pencil. An extended search was made and the skeleton of a man was found in one of the most inaccessible recesses of the cave's many turnings. Beside the body lay a torch and an exhausted lunch basket. Eldon Brand had the remains reverently committed to earth.

The village gossips love to dwell upon the happiness of the brave young lovers, of the restoration of the gray-haired father to his old home in honor and in plenty, and of the blooming lads and la.s.sies that sprang up as time pa.s.sed tenderly over the heads of the reunited household.

A REVERIE

The twilight falls in gloom; All day the fitful sun and sparkling show'r Have played at hide-and-seek amid the bloom-- The varied tints of Spring's fresh bow'r.

Oh, sure each bud and blossom knows the spell Their subtle fragrance weaves about my brow; Oh, sure a mystic tale their echoes tell-- Love's soft, low-whispered vow.

The deep'ning sky o'ercast, The shadows slowly length' ning 'neath the trees, The tender leaves, swift in the vernal blast, To catch the music of the breeze; The young lush gra.s.s a-peep above the earth, The trailing vines that to the lattice cling, Ah, these to fancies warm and true give birth, And o'er my senses fling.

On landscape charms I glance; The city's distant hum is lull'd to rest, Athwart the sunset dark'ning clouds advance.

And shut from sight the rosy west; A dreamy orison enshrines my heart.

Deep shelter'd in the sacred haunts of home, Where elfin sprites among the eeries dart, Irradiate in the gloam.

Shine out, sweet love, unveil Thy ecstasy erst wrought in accents wild; Within my soul there breathes an anguish'd wail, Unsoothed by resignation mild.

I would not, if I might, give back the joy That sweeps my pulses with enraptured thrill; In transports pure the moments cannot cloy-- My craving lingers still.

Nor time may rend the tie; The fealty that holds the captive will In potent thrall, if sever'd soon, Poor human faith a-blight and chill must die.

O birdlings, blossoms, leaflets, flow'rs, Give forth chaste spirits to enchant the air; Let silver'd mem'ries glad the lonely hours, And crown my picture fair.

The night comes on apace; The cricket's chirp, the woodland murmur's swell, Bid nature's changeling melodies efface The glamour of yon phantom spell.

The flashing morn adown the glist'ning aisles, A dew-embowered hill and grove and lea, With ruthless light will scatter fairy wiles, Nor leave my love to me.

--E.D.P.

THE MISER AND THE ANGEL

'Twas cold and bleak that winter's night, When hover'd o'er the dying light, The miser hugg'd his shrunken form, And grudged the fire that made him warm.

The old worn latch arose and felt, He started up with threat'ning yell-- 'Begone!"--as in the open door A woman stood, faint and foot-sore.

"Just this," she begged, "this rotten board-- 'Twill not be missed from out your h.o.a.rd."

"Take it and go!" he thundered out-- "Oh, thanks," she moaned, and turned about.

Another shivering night he sat; A lad came in--"Please, Mister,"--"What?"

"This piece of rope." He said not nay, But curs'd him as he went his way.

And once again there ventured nigh A child, who fled with frightened cry, As at her head a rusty key-- The gift she craved--he flung with glee.

The sands of life were nearly run; "What good to others have you done?"

The angel ask'd. The miser sighed.

"Not one kind act," he sadly cried.

"Not one? Did you ne'er give, nor lend Relief to neighbor, suppliant, friend?"

The dying eyes were closed--he thought On all the misery he had wrought.

A ray of light! "I gave a board."

"'Tis well--'twill span death's river ford."

"A mouldy rope." "'Twill reach from earth To Heaven. What more of feeble worth?"

"A rusty key." "Unlocks the gate.

Is this the sum? No--not too late; The sinner's Friend has room for all,-- The least you do is not too small."