LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume V, Issue 536, 7 March 1876, Page 3

LITERATURE.

MISS WILLARD’S TWO RINGS. [From Lippincott's Magazine.] Continued,, *1 have it,’ cried the doctor, after a moment’s perplexed silence ; ‘ take her to Rocky Mount.’ Rocky Mount was a hill of respectable size just outside the town. It had once been a favourite picnic ground, and a small hut had been built near its summit as a re sort in case of a sudden shower. This hut seemed to offer a suitable refuge for the suffering woman. It was isolated, and would at least serve as a protection againt sun and rain. An effort was made to procure her a nurse, but with those of her own race the dread of infection outweighed the promptings of humanity, and it was hardly to be supposed that among the whites one could be found to play the low part of good Samaritan in such a cause.

A cart was procured, and a handful of Confederate scrip induced a negro to drive the woman out of the hut. Some food was given her, and the promise made that a similar supply would be placed under a tree near the cabin every day. ‘She will weather it,’ said the major, philosophically, as the cart rolled away ; * a nigger has as many lives as a cat.’ ‘ I wouldn’t give much for her chance,’ responded the doctor, drily, ‘ for she will probably grow and forget Jwhere to find her food ; and, so far as I have observed, the Lord doesn’t send round on errands of supply in these degenerate days. ’ And with this the two worthies dismissed the subject, and strolled back to their seats under the trees.

Another excitement was in store for Hollywell. A few hours later a band of graycoated guerillas dashed into the town, bringing a prisoner who had been captured in its outskirts lurking in a deserted negro cabin. His name was Jack Hardin. He was a wild, reckless man. without predilection for either side of the civil struggle, and feared by loyalist and rebel alike. A recent murder in the vicinity of Hollywell was laid at his door, and he had no mercy to expect from the people. An eager crowd followed the soldiers, who had dismounted, and marched along, revolvers cocked, stern eyes flashing, and sabres clanking on the dusty road, guarding the prisoner on either side. He was a man of herculean frame, gaunt and wolfish in appearance. His long red beard was matted, and his uncombed locks stood out like a fiery nimbus from an angry face marked with traces of the lowest pas - sions. His roving eye emitted sparks of a brutish hatred. His low brow and heavy jaw told their own story of limited capacity and animal instincts.

Jack Hardin was lodged in gaol, and for two days exciting discussions went on concerning his fate. The novel expectancy of ‘ something going to happen ’ was too full of interest not to be dallied with as long as possible. Of course Jack Hardin must die, but there were differences of opinion as to the necessary preliminaries. Some were in favour of hanging him to the nearest tree without law or license; others, more conservative, insisted on the formalities of a trial, possibly not without an eye to the prolonged interest that would result, and forgetful of the limited resources of the town with regard to lawyers, judge, and possible jurymen. While the discussion went on, an idea struggled to the prisoner’s brain—that of escape. This was not very difficult. Nothing so sharpens a man’s every faculty as a danger that threatens death. Three days from the time of his capture, a few hours after midnight, Jack Hardin stood outside the prison walls. His limbs were weak, and blood trickled over his face from a cruel wound made by a protruding nail. But he was free, 1 and k a dull perception of gratitude impelled

him to bless the Unknown Power he called Luck. He had no time for rest; daylight would soon overtake him, and every moment now was precious. He knnew the country well; his plan was to strike across the Rocky Mount, and reach the Federal lines beyond, where his pursuers could not follow. If he fell into the hands of the Northern soldiers, he relied upon their protection, as he had often furnished them with important information from the rebel side.

He made rapid progress until he reached the foot of the mountain. Here his weakness overpowered him, and he began the ascent slowly. The rocks cut his bare feet, and the trees stretched out long detaining arms, catching in his hair and ragged garments. The stars shone coldly, and the moonbeams slid through the branches in weird shapes of .light, that would have startled a sensitive or a superstitious man. Jack Hardin was neither, and yet strange thoughts were born in his mind of the shadows and gloom and fears of the night. Beyond his desire of escape arose his first doubt as to the value of the life he sought to save. Then came a sudden wild effort to pierce futurity with his thought, which fell back baffled to an old puzzling question. ‘ I wonder,’ muttered he, dully, ‘ why I was born into the world ? ’

He slowly pushed his way, with short pauses at almost every step. Hunger began to torment him. He had eaten nothirg the day before, in the excitement of planning his escape, and now he cursed his negligence, as he feared his strength would not support him through the accomplishment of his purpose. His eyes grew dim. The short night was waning; already faint streaks of dawn were visible in the east. God help me ! ’ broke from Jack Hardin’s lips. The next moment, as though a miracle must answer a prayer from such a soul, almost at his feet he saw a jug of water and a bundle of food. Without pausing to wonder whence they came, he sprang forward like a famished animal to secure the prize. He had just raised the |food to his lips, when a sudden cry rang through the woods, sharp and clear. The wild, woeful sound echoed fearfully through the lonely place. Jack Hardin glanced about him with eyes alive with terror, while a swift shudder ran through his frame. Again the cry was borne to his ears. He advanced a step, and an opening in the trees showed him a little cabin on the mountain side. From this the voice came. Obeying a blind impulse, he moved forward with slow, lagging steps. The door of the cabin swung drearily to and fro, and he stepped upon the threshold. A horrible sight met his eye. A woman lay on the floor—old, black, her eyes rolling wildly in a face disfigured out of all likeness to humanity by its mass of festering sores. Jack Hardin recoiled, then turned on his heel to leave the place where the very air was tainted. But even at that moment the woeful voice recalled him: ‘ Water ! water ! fur de love o’God ! ’

Jack Hardin turned and placed the jug of water at her side. She tried to lift herself and take it into her trembling hands, but sank back, moaning feebly, while her desperate eyes looked up piteously to his face. Ah ! God be thanked for the divine in humanity ! Jack Hardin knelt, slipped his arm about the feeble form, and held the water to the parched lips. As she swallowed deep, refreshing drafts the sound of a footstep approaching the cabin was heard just outside the door. How, indeed, tne fugitive’s blood curdled with fear. He threw the woman back, sprang to his feet, and stood like s wild beast at bay, holding a murderous clasp-knife in his hand. The door was flung wide open; the morning sun rays fell into the room in a long shining line. A young girl stood on the threshold with the golden light resting like a halo about her head. Her features were calm and resolute, and she looked in with the limpid, serene eyes of a child. Her name was Cornelia Willard. She was a Hew England girl, who, through some strange chance, found herself at the beginning of the war in this southern town. She was now striving to earn money to take her back to the Horth. By dint of hard, uncongenial work she hard slowly amassed a small sum, and had already begun to dream of her .depasture from the hot, wretched country she was too just to pity and too loyal to love. Living very quietly, it was only the evening before that news reached her of the old woman alone on Rocky Mount. Her nature revolted at the cruelty of the people, though perhaps she exaggerated it. Her own action was prompt and decided. She rose early the next morning, and, with a supply of fresh linen and delicate food, started out to minister to one whom she called a * sister.’

Jack Hardin’s strained muscles relaxed. There was nothing to be feared from this slight girl. ‘‘ Is anybody behind you ? ’ said he hoarsely. ‘I am alone,’ she quietly replied; * I have come to nurse this woman.’

She knelt and took off the soiled handkerchief that bound the sufferer’s head. Then she laid her light, white, soft hand across the poor, burning forehead. Jack Hardin stared at her. ‘ Don’t you know the small-pox when you see it ? he said, roughly. ‘ You’d better leave. ‘There’s very little danger,’ said Miss Willard ; * but for my life’s sake I could not fail of my duty here.’ He looked at the whiteness and glow of her skin, at the soft hair curling over her head in little rings of light and colour, and then at the black repulsive face on the pillow. ‘Go away!’ he repeated, trembling strangely; ‘l’ll stay.’ She looked at him with more interest than she had yet shown. ‘ Who are you ? ’ she asked. * Jack Hardin,’ was the significant reply. For an instant the girl paled. She had heard of his capture, and readily divined his escape. Quickly recovering herself, her thought turned to the gleam of goodness he had shown in offering to stay in her place, and womanlike, exaggerated its import. Jack Hardin began to look heroic in her eyes. Then all she had heard of his past life rushed to her mind—recklessness and •violence and sin—and an overwhelming desire to save this man took possession of her soul. (To he continued.)