LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XX, Issue 1585, 19 March 1879, Page 3

LITERATURE.

A TERRIBLE SECRET.

( Concluded.)

I need not tell you where I went nor what I did the next three months ; it is enough to know that I became more of a wanderer than ever ; that I kept away from blue-eyed Mary; that I tried to forget, and cursed myself because I would remember all the strange horrors of the past. And so the days wore on, and darker fell the night of doubt and gloom. I grew nervous, irritable and complaining. I felt as though I was forsaken of all the world. I slept but little, and my dreams were wild and hideous, with the terrible letter, with its secret of life or death, always drifting by. Once, when all alone on the prairie, camped for the night, feverish with a troupe of shadowy fanoies, I took the letter from my pocket and cast it into the fire. ' Now leave me,' I cried as it began to blaze, leave me for ever, I have stood this anguish long enough. See how the accu-sed paper curls and burns ! Ha, ha ! it is gone, gone!' I was not sure of anything at that moment, not even that I was alive, but I thought that a burst of derisive laughter came from the shadows, then died away in a low moan over the desolate plain. The next morning I went on my way, but the Rftme etrantre influence of the weeks that were passed still controlled me. Could it V.e that the letter had come back ? The thought was absurd. But the moment I put my hand in my pocket a shiver went through my frame, for I felt that the letter was there ! And indeed it was—the same grim envelope, the same black sorawl, the same staring look;

in fait, the same strange puzzle that I had cast into the fire. When I say that it was the same letter, do not mistake me ; it might have been a letter that looked the same ; anyhow, wheu I flung it into *he fire I was certain that I was re lieving myself of that which seemed to hold me a slave. 'Fate is against me,' I said, feeling that it was useless to struggle longer. _' I can only find relief in obedience to the wishes of the dead brigand. All that I know oi the dead man and ih<* strange puzzle he has left in my keeping will I carry to blue-eyed Mary at once. Then mcle-wi shall Ibe free.' I had no acquaintance with this young girl. I had only seen her a year before when fortune called me near her home, but her picture told me that fihe was very beautiful, and I wondered not that she had lovers by tho score. And then, looking at the photograph of her dead admirer, what a handsome face I saw! The eyes were jet black, the features clear cut and expressive, and over all a shade of melancholy, which partly gave the face its fascination.

The contrast between the'girl and the man was indeed gr;;at—she with her bright blue eyes and clustering yellow curls ; he with his face set in shadows—it is strange that they both loved madly ! There is nothing that so annoys a man as indecision. Now that I no longer hesitated what to do, I felt relieved of a great burden, and went on my way with more sunlight in my face than for many weeks before.

About a mile from the village, near which blue-eyed Mary lived, a man came out from an angle in the road and accosted me.

' I beg pardon, stranger,' he said, in a friendly voice, ' but if you've no objections I'll ride along with ye a mile or so.' • None at all,' I replied; and the man rode up, and we went on a few rods in silence.

He was a young man of twenty-five or thereabouts, very fair-looking, and, despite his border appearance, quite civil and polite. • Well,' I said, after we had talked a while on various subjeots, ' how are matters and things in this part of the country ?' 'ln the line of shootin', do ye mean t he asked.

' In any line, I don't care what.' * Very dull,' he said, * very dull.' Following this, nothing was said for several seconds; then I spoke again. I Do you know the family of the Widow Vane ?' I asked

• What's left of 'em I do," he replied, ' blue-eyed Mary is the last of 'em all, I know her.'

' They say she is a very beautiful girl,' I ventured to remark.

'Yes; a little sad though, now. You see her mother died about three months ago.' «Died.'

' Yes, from no particular cause—jist died. Some said that a fellow by the name of Jack Martin had something to do with it. I don't know. But it don't matter; Jack's dead now, and everything Is settled.' | 'And blue-eyed Mary—how is she?' I asked.

'Jist as lovely as ever,' was the reply, ' only, as I said before, a little sad. Why, stranger, she's going to be married in the Fall.' ' Married ? To whom ?' • A fellow named Stumpy Allen.' ' Is he a good man ?' I asked. 'Good!' repeated the frontiersman ; 'I should say so. He's mighty quick on the trigger, and a dead shot. Don't you believe it ? Ride forward a hundred yards or more then wheel around and face me, and I'll satisfy ye that he can bring his man every time.

I started and stared at the man in amazement.

• What do you mean ?' I said. ' Nothin',' waß the quiet reply, ' only that I am Stumpy Allen.' I made no further inquiries concerning the girl—l did not care to know anything more about her —my only wish now was to place into her hands the photographs entrusted to me for that purpose by her former lover. •If you wish to stop there,' said my new acquaintance, as he turned his horse's head up a bridle-path that lead to a distant plantation, ' I'll show ye the house; it's the first one on the right-hand side. Don't hesitate, but go right in ; tell her that I sent ye, an' it 'll be introduction enough.' The sun was just sinking behind the hills as I rode up in front of the quaint, old house. Without a word I dismounted and tied my horse to a tree. Then I dusted my boots with my handkerchief and entered the yard. I had seen Blue-eyed Mary a year before, but when she rose up from the gallery, and stood facing me as I approached, I did not know her; she had changed wonderfully. There was that in her face that spoke of long suffering and a heart bowed down with grief. ' Mary Vane ?' I said inquiringly. 'Yes,' she replied quietly. • Blue-eyed Mary ?' She smiled and bowed.

I had no reason to say anything more ; I simply handed her the envelope containing the photographs, and, turning, walked away. 'Senor!'

She called me back. She stood with the envelope still in her hand. ' Who is this from V she asked, a strange wonder filling her eyes. ' Jack Martin,' I answered promptly. ' Oh God !' Her limbs trembled, and her blue eyes were dimmed with tears. • Heaven help me now !'

She seized the photograph of her dead lover, and looked at it with staring eyes. Then she moaned, and sobbed, and screamed, and kissed the dark face over and over again, and then, still wild with grief, she threw her hands in the air, shrieked, and

rushed away. That night a number of young people from the neighbouring plantations visited the Vane mansion. They had all come by Invitation of blue-eyed Mary ; but, strange to say, she was not there to receive them. At first this was only a little queer, but as the minutes passed into hours, and she came not.an awful fear seized the guests, and they began to search for her, not knowing whether she was alive or dead.

.Again and again her name was called, and the Bearch went on. Finally they found her, She was lying on the floor of the attio chamber, her blue eyes staring through her yellow curls, and the fatal picture still at her lips. .she was dead t

The news flew like wildfire ; it was In everybody's mouth before another day was done.

• She is dead, dead !' whispered her almost crazed lover to me as I walked into the yard the next day—' dead with not a mark on her. How and why did she die V The best medical knowledge in that district failed to answer this question, and yet the terrible secret was in my pocket, next to my heart. With trembling fingers I seized the dingy envelope and tore it from end to end; then I held up the letter to the light, and cried :

' The secret Is here ; listen and you shall know all."

They stood atound with staring eyes—the friends of the dead girl—and listened as I read. The paper was without sign or signature ; it began abruptly and ended the same, but all knew it was the work of Jack Maitin, This is a correct copy of the paper :

• If not for me in life, then be in death — Blue-eyed Mary shall be r»ino. I know that she loves me, and when she sees my picture Bhe will go wild with grief; she will kiss the dark face of her dead lover, she will moan over it, and cry and wail, and then—she will die! I am the last of my family, and, handed down from generation to generation, is the knowledge of a drug so fatal that its very inhalation Is death, I placed a few drops on the pillow of the mother of Bineeyed Mary, and she breathed it and died, And now I will saturate this photograph—the one my darling will kiss in her wild

grief—l will dip it in the poisoned liquid, and when she kisses the dark faoe—which I know she will do—her death will be as certain as the lightning's atrok«. Blue-eyed Mary, good bye!' It seems more and more like a horrid dream, every day of my life ; but whether you believe it or not, what I have written is as true as truth itself. There was the dead girl, there the group of mourning friends, there the grim paper with its fearful secret — an array of facts, dire, dreadful and convincing. ' Take it away, the acoursed paper !' cried the wretched lover of the dead girl. ' Cast it into the fire.'

Like a thing of life, the paper still clung to my fingers ; but when the old priest who wan standing near touched it with a lighted torch, it curled up like a serpent, and hissed, and burned and blazed.

And then, in the smoking threada, I saw for the last time the dark face of the dead brigand, and the next moment the shadow of * The Terrible Secret ' left me for ever.