MOORE’S RURAL fJEW-YOBRER. 
m 
old, black ignoramus—or you’ll find out, for 
the first time in your life, what the conse- 
quences of disobedience htc. V ou have had 
too many privileges, you have l” 
Mr. BRAYTON stood like one bewildered. 
A careful student of human nature, and suf¬ 
ficiently intuitive to dive to the depths or 
motive’ lie lost sight of his own troubles 
for the moment in his eagerness to pene¬ 
trate the mysterious atmosphere which 
had in some way completely enveloped his 
host. lie felt, rather than saw, that the 
Col. was curiously alarmed. His whole 
manner indicated a nervous horror, which 
Bkavton, with all hi- observation of men 
and causes, had never notice 1 before. Not 
so Hannibal, fie stood perfectly erect, 
betraying not the first sign of fear or im¬ 
patience. Indeed, the ebony face had en¬ 
tirely lost its intense expression of a mo¬ 
ment before, and in its stead reigned the 
old look of triumphant resignation. 
“ Bory well, massa,” said he, in low, al¬ 
most childlike tones, “ If you ’sist ’pnn it, 
Hannibal mus’ tell, of course! And wid 
de help of do dear bressed Saviour, whose 
good pinion din unknowledgeble brack man 
l ink more about dan any t ingelseon de face 
ob de footstool, be will tell de hull troof.” 
“Drive ahead, you black scamp!” said 
the Col., with a gesture of impatience, as he 
seated himself where he could look the 
speaker full in the face. 
“ Hannibal saw—” 
“ Why in creation don’t you say I saw, in¬ 
stead of Hannibal saw? That third per¬ 
son is enough to kill the devil! ' interrupt¬ 
ed the Col., throwing his cigar into the tire, 
and giving the (log by his feet u kick Unit 
sent him yelping to the other side of the 
room. 
“Berv well, I snw; dnt will do if Hanni¬ 
bal can keep it up,” replied the negro re¬ 
spectfully, apparently totally oblivious of 
bis master’s nervous condition. “ VS hen I 
cum in wid de wood Hannibal saw a bright 
light walk in ahead of he. He say to heself, 
‘ What be (lat ?’ but, he get no ’spouse. When 
Massa Bratton sny sumting bout Susan, 
Hannibal not know wat it was” — this 
apologetically “ lie only hear de name men¬ 
tioned. Hat bright light walk straight 
round to de back oh Massa Hkfkubtonk’b 
Chair, and fill de hull room wid Its buful 
sunshine. Den Hannibal look away, jus’ 
to see what be dar won he look uex time. 
In a flash lie look agin, and dar stau massa 
splcnid lady, her hair jus’ like Miss Mar¬ 
garet*, and fix jus like Miss Mahoabkt’s, 
loo. She hub a sweet smile, and such a pair 
ob hebenly eyes Hannibal neber see in all 
lie life! And now, dear Massa. do not bo 
scared at wat Hannibal goln’ to say, cause 
it ’pears jus ’sif do words mus cum out or dey 
will choke dis brack mau to def. She say, 
"ILumv, dear, 1 am your sister Louise. 
Remember do ring and de promise. 1 watcli 
ober you. Be careful ’bout Susan”— and 
den she try to say {.uniting more, but she 
seem to stay jus as long as she could, and 
den do light cum agin—and dat be all.” 
“And that is enough, Hannibal,” said 
the Colonel, springing to his feet. “ You 
never saw my sister Louise, Hannibal?” 
“Nel>er in dis world, massa.” 
“You never knew anything about the 
ring?” 
“Before do bressed Lord, neber!” de¬ 
voutly replied the negro. 
" You can go now—and thunk you, Han¬ 
nibal; you have done me good; and, Han¬ 
nibal, von old. black scamp, you have al¬ 
ways dune me good. Go now, and say not h¬ 
ing about this to any one.” 
“Ob course not, ’ replied the old man, 
with considerable dignity; and with this 
ho quietly walked out, of the library. 
“ BraytoN," said the Colonel, after a mo¬ 
ment's silence, in a voice so softened and 
altered that his companion hardly recog¬ 
nized it, “what do you think of this last 
performance ?" 
“1 think,” smiled Mr. Bratton, “that, 
there are more things in heaven and earth, 
Horatio —- Bat is this the first von ever 
heard of the negro’s second sight? i sup¬ 
pose It might as well be called that as auy- 
thingelse.” 
"No, not the first. If my memory serves 
me, this is the fourt h time that he has come 
to the rescue in ail emergency, with some¬ 
thing so startling, and so perfectly correct, 
too, in regard to matters ho could by no pos¬ 
sibility lie acquainted with, that we were 
literally compelled to change our course of 
conduct. Now, one word about Susan If 
you think proper, we will make a little trip 
to Richmond,and haven talk with Hyatt’s 
lawyer— [.I suppose you know that Hyatt 
went North some time ago-] It looks as if 
it would bo uu easy matter to prove that 
man a villain of the deepest dye. What do 
you say, Bratton?” 
“That I thank you for your kindness, 
from the bottom of my heart; but to tell 
you the truth, 1 feel scarcely equal to such 
a proceeding. A protracted lawsuit would 
quite finish uie.” 
“ Well, what then ?” interrupted the Colo¬ 
nel, hastily. 
“ The offer made awhile ago stands good,” 
replied Bkavton, with a little quiver of the 
sensitive lips, “if you really feel anxious 
to help Susan.” 
“As 1 said in the first place, the proposi¬ 
tion does not, commend itself to my judg¬ 
ment; but as it seems the tiling to be done 
—in Other words as I he nail hit oil t he head 
by you lias been most summarily driven in 
by some one. whose intelligence l may not 
question—there Is hut, one course left me to 
pursue, and that course compliance with 
your wishes. I do not feel that 1 am a very 
superstitious man. Brayton," he con¬ 
tinued, musingly, “hut, this last little epi¬ 
sode has stirred the very depths of iii.n soul. 
If I could give you some idea of the charac¬ 
ter and appearance of my sist er Louise — 
and dared to tell you the story of the ring— 
you would certainly understand that I am 
FEB, M 
neither a fool nor an enthusiast, but a man 
wide awake, in the full possession of his 
senses.” 
“ 1 believe you to be an honest man, 
IIkathkrstone! and that’s all I care to 
know about my friends,” replied Brayton, 
grasping the extended hand warmly. 
“And we can arrange this matter satis¬ 
factorily, T have no doubt.” 
“Nodoubt,” responded the Colonel, with 
a far-away look in liis eyes, as if he expected 
a return of the si range vision. “But here 
is my little Margaret! What in the world 
is tlie matter with the child? Been crying, 
too ! Mercy, mercy! what is this house 
coming to?"'as the young lady, without ap¬ 
pearing to not ice their guest, seated herself 
on her father’s knee and hid her face on his 
shoulder. 
“ What Is this country coming to? That’s 
tlie question to be asked at this time, I 
should think,” replied the young lady, with 
sudden vehemence. “The South is one 
huge mad house," she continued. “And 
the North isn't much better.” 
“ Much hotter ?” responded the Colonel, 
with a curl of the lip. “ Be careful, Mau- 
iiATiET. You will have to weigh your words 
now. Troublous Lime: are upon us, and 
every sentence and every action will he 
criticised. Especially, child, must you bo 
careful how you conduct yourself before the 
negroes. You have more iulluonce with the 
slaves than any one else, and they will 
watch you narrowly. I shudder to think of 
the trouble these ignorant creatures can 
cause us if they are not properly managed." 
“ Mann-yed(" repeated Margaret, rising 
from her ‘father’s knee, her eys Hashing 
fire and walking excitedly across the apart¬ 
ment. " Managed! that speaks well for t he 
institution, doesn’t it ? You think there is 
danger of the slaves taking up arms against 
their masters?’' 
“I fear this will lie the case before the 
trouble is ended.” replied the Colonel, re¬ 
garding his daughter in consternation. 
“That strikes me as an eminently fair 
proceeding." said the head strong girl, con¬ 
tinuing her impetuous walk. 
“Those infernal abolitionists!” inter¬ 
rupted tlie Col. “The Lord only knows 
what t hey will suggest, next ! Really, Bray¬ 
ton, the occurrences of the last few weeks 
are totally inexplicable to me. The idea 
that, this country can be rocked from center 
to circumference by a few hot-headed, crazy 
fanatics, 1 cannot understand. Why, there 
were onlv a handful of I Item at the start. Is 
there any way of accounting for these de¬ 
velopments?’’ 
•‘Yes, there is,” replied MARGARET.— 
“The time has arrived when Got) says this 
iniquity—this fiesh mid blood traffic must 
be stopped. Abolitionists have nothing to 
do wit h it. God is speaking now. and will 
be heard! Mr. Bkavton, you do not believe 
that this institution of our fathers should 
be longer continued? I know you do not! 
1 have felt this ever since you first entered 
the house;” ami Margaret laid her hand 
in that of her friend and waited for him to 
speak, ' ., 
“1 have been doing a great deal of think¬ 
ing on this subject, for several years past, 
little girl ; and I find it a very delicate ques¬ 
tion to handle. 
“1 don’t see anything especially delicate 
about it,” said MARGARET, withdrawing a 
step or two and looking her companion full 
in tlie face. “ There is only one question to 
be asked, and that one—is il. right Y” 
•• I do not think then. Miss Maggie, that 
slavery is rigid—if that is what you desire 
me to say; and more than that, l never did. 
But with many others I can not see the way 
Clear to its abolishment.” 
“ Whether von see it or not the end draws 
nigh! Bui it will come th rough separations, 
heart-breakings, disaster, and death. T on 
would not hear the still small voice when it 
bade you put a wax the vile thing, and now 
comes the whirlwind against, which none of 
us can stand. If I were a man and owned 
slaves-if by so doing 1 became as poor as 
poverty — I would free every one or them, 
and turn my back on the accursed country 
forever." 
“I’ll give you another week, Maggie, to 
become an inmate of a lunatic asylum,” in¬ 
terrupted her father—bv this time serious¬ 
ly alarmed, “lam afraid these Northern 
girls have used their influence to bring out 
my daughter’s latent radicalism and mold 
it into shape. I certainly never heard such 
talk before from my little girl’s lips.” 
“Because 1 was never fully aroused; but 
you will hear enough of it now, that I can 
promise. And 1 shall not hold my tongue 
for fear of what the slaves may do, and 1 
shall hereafter live up to my convictions, if 
by so doing I am shut up in a lunat ic asylum, 
or made an example of on the scaffold for 
the benefit of Other Southern women who 
might be tempted to go und do likewise.” 
“You can do more good, my dear child, 
to all concerned, bj being temperate in 
both speech and action,” replied Mr. Bray¬ 
ton, in low, soothing tones. “ You will 
have need of all your wits; aiul there is 
nothing that so destroys all chance of being 
of service, as Intense excitement of any 
kind! And now. Miss Maggie, if you will 
sit down, by me a moment. 1 think I can 
promise to make you v ery happy.” 
“Impossible, Mr. Brayton; but then I 
haven’t the slightest objection to your 
making the attempt. Mr happy? No in¬ 
deed! Hope and Minnie leave me to-mor¬ 
row. George is t earing round the house 
like a wild animal, determined to enlist the 
very first opportunity, and 1 know, I feel it 
in my heart, that if he does go we shall never 
see him again. Mother doesn’t seem to 
have uuy idea how serious the matter is be¬ 
coming.' Harry talks and acts like a sim¬ 
pleton, and-” 
“ And your father—what of him?” inter¬ 
rupted the Colonel, smiling in spite of him¬ 
self. “ He won’t free his slaws and leave 
the country ? That is the principal charge 
against him, if my memory serves me,” he 
continued, seating himself on the other side 
of his daughter, and drawing her gently to¬ 
ward him. 
"Your father has just promised to free 
one. of bis slaves,” said Mr. Brayton, soft¬ 
ly. turning his face away from the searching 
eyes of the young girl. 
“One of them? which one?” responded 
Margaret, eagerly. “Is it Hannibal? 
Oh, 1 am so glad!” 
“No, Miss Margaret, not Hannibal— 
Susan." 
“ SUSAN ?” said the girl, in a whisper. 
“ Susan ? I* that so, pa ? Are you really go¬ 
ing to do this? Speak this minute, and let 
me hear the words from your own lips.” 
“ T shall take the initiatory slops to¬ 
morrow, if God spares my life,” replied the 
Colonel. 
“ I wish you wouldn’t talk t hat way about 
God’s sparing your life." maid Margaret, 
with a little deprecatory gesture. “My 
God is too kind and too loving to interfere 
with a work of this kind. Why, pa. you 
old darling, if you were to free all the 
slaves you would live forever and n day, and 
th' ii hi- translated —I mean you would live 
as long as you pleased, and then go to 
heaven without (lying! May 1 tell SUSAN, 
Mr. Brayton? Oh, do say yes, please!” 
"“Pardon me, Miss Maggie, 1 have re¬ 
served that pleasure for myself, and cannot, 
bear to be disappointed,”'said tho gentle¬ 
man, kindly. 
“ Pardon me for wishing to deprive you 
of it. And now good night, pa* goodnight, 
Mr. Brayton. Hug me. tight, pa, and say 
God bless your little Margaret. She will 
fry to be good and patient, and discreet, 
too! Of course she will! No girl ever had 
such a good father as Ibis bad girl has got.” 
“ Got> bless you, Margaret! ” devoutly 
repeated the Colonel, “and God bless Han¬ 
nibal, too.” 
• Hannibal!” repeated Maggie, in sur¬ 
prise. “ What had lie to do with it?” 
“Everything; he did it, nil; and now, 
good night, darling;” and wondering what 
it all could mean, the young lady sought her 
room. 
“Soyou are going home, Miss Arnold,” 
said Alfred to Hope, suddenly joining her 
as she sat alone by the window, watching 
t In- coming on of the cold .January t w i light. 
It was the day after New Year’s, and Hope 
was to start for the North tho next morning. 
“ Yes, Mr. Hkatjier.stone,” was tho quiet 
reply. 
There was a long silence, and the twilight 
deepened. Both were looking into the fu¬ 
ture. 
At last the single word “Hope” fell from 
the lips of Alfred, or rather escaped from 
his lips, in a tone so full of indescribable 
emot ion that the young girl’s soul stood still 
to listen. 
“ ] l ope ”—t he word was repeated, charged 
with tlie electricity of tin- great, strong 
heart that was just beginning to know its 
own greatness and strength. Still there was 
■fiica. 
“Hope”— the third time, in the same 
wonderful tone—the call of one soul to an¬ 
other: and with the name so strangely re¬ 
iterated, the man’s hand was stretched out 
as if blindly searching for that which the 
name but suggested. 
The fine, tender hand of the woman was 
put in the large, st rong hand that sought it, 
and tlie tender heart erf the woman re¬ 
sponded. 
“ Alfred !”—soft, unut terably sweet and 
yearning, but unconscious of its meaning— 
was the voice. 
That one word was mightier than the 
army that breaks down the gates of a city. 
It pierced with its exquisite subtlety to the 
very center of the man, and the soul of tho 
soul—that which loves—and hence, that 
which dares and endures, suffers and enjoys 
infinitely, sprung up, awake forever and 
forever. 
“Hope. Hope! I love you! Do you for¬ 
give me for telling you so? Speak, Hope! 
Say something—any tiling. Ido not mean 
to shock you. I know this is premature; 
but we shall be separated, so soon,—and, 
Hope, it is more than likely that I shall 
never see you again.” 
“Alfred!” (Hope’s soul was m her eyes 
and iu her voice, trying to make itself 
known to its lover.) Hope herself, the 
whole woman, could hardly keep pace with 
the love that was striving within her. 
“Hope, biv darling! Then you are not 
angry ? 1 may say I love yon ? You ncedn't 
answer mo, Hope. This is enough. It 
makes no difference now what happens. You 
wish to go, Hope. 1 won’t detain you. One 
word, darling,—I shall go home with you. 
I can bo back in three days. I shan't be 
needed before that. I will go home with 
you, and then—and then.” 
There was a lingering, clasping pressure 
of the hands, and Alfred was left alone. 
The departure of Hope, ALPREDand Min¬ 
nie, made a blank iu the household, felt by 
all. but most by Margaret. 
Col. H EATIIEB8T0NE was irritable, Mrs. 
H t:ATitu urtone sick with her headaches, 
George on lire with excitement, and too 
eager to be in the midst of the coming fray 
to have any thought for anybody, and Mag¬ 
gie was never so glad to seu Alfred as 
when ho returned from his short trip to the 
i North. He looked worn and anxious, but 
back *>f the settled gravity of his face there 
lingered a sweet, joyous light—an expres¬ 
sion that eludes words, but that seemed to 
say: . .. , , „ 
“ Whatever happens she is mine. T shall 
probablv join our army that is fighting her 
kin to the death; I may never see her again 
before I die, or if I do, long years of loneli¬ 
ness may 6tretch between, but she is mine. 
Through all, that which is most real and 
vital in us will be together—she is mine, 
nowaml forever.” 
Margaret caught a glimpse of this new 
I expression, but it baffled her. Alfred did 
not even take his sister into his confidence, 
as he would have been the first to do, had 
not his love been forced to expression by t ho 
trouble of the times. The new chamber 
opened in his soul was too full of sacred joy 
—of holy mystery—to admit, as yet, any 
presence! hut his love. By and by his dear 
little Maggie should know all; she was a 
sister to Hope now, and that sat isfied him. 
Events connected with the administration 
of home affairs prevented, for several days, 
the final arrangement of Susan’s business. 
Mr. Buavton decided not to tell her until 
he could again place in her hands the evi¬ 
dences of her liberty. Margaret grew 
nervous over the procrastination, and al¬ 
most worried the Colonel into wishing that 
she had never been taken into their confi¬ 
dence in this matter of Susan’s ransom. 
Finally, late one evening, as Mr. Brayton 
prepared to retire, the Colonel said to him: 
“ My lawyer writes me he will be here at 
eleven to-morrow morning; and we can 
then finish this business—get it off our 
minds. So you know, Brayton, that if a 
man stood over my shoulder with a lash to 
drive me on in this matter, 1 could not feel 
more in a hurry. For the last few hours T 
have hardly been able to sit still, this sen¬ 
sation of haste has been so all-absorbing. 
What do you think it means? ” und strange¬ 
ly enough tlie Colonel caught the hand of 
his guest between his own, as if to assure 
himself that he had human company. 
“It means. ! think,” laughed Brayton, 
returning tho kindly pressure, “that Miss 
Maggie's nervousness has at last re-acted 
upon you. She has been in a strange state 
of agitation nil day, and seems to he fully 
impressed with tire idea that something 
will happen to prevent the conclusion of our 
business arrangement.” 
“ Has she t hrown out any hint as to what 
she thought the nature of the hindrance 
would be?” inquired the Colonel, closing 
his eyes a- if to exclude the light, and wait¬ 
ing in evident interest tho reply <»f his com¬ 
panion. 
“ Not the slightest. Tt is sheer nervous¬ 
ness, of course. Miss Margaret reads too 
much. I wish the newspapers could bo 
kept from her for awhile. She is ten times 
better posted in regard to political affairs 
than I am, or hope to be. 
“Make a good General, eh?” smiled tho 
Colonel, evidently pleased with this compli¬ 
ment to his daughter’s mental endowments. 
Just then Susan walked by, carrying Mrs. 
IIKATliERSTONE’s pillow and smelling salts. 
She acknowledged the presence of tlie gen¬ 
tlemen by a dight, dignified inclination of 
her queenly head, and had almost passed 
when the Colonel said, impulsively: 
“Can’t you stop long enough to say good 
night, Susan?” 
This was a strange call —cue the woman 
was entirely unused to. For a moment slio 
hesitated, and, without lifting her eyes, re¬ 
plied, sweetly: 
“Good night. Master HeatherstoNE.’ 
“After to-morrow, you will never say 
that again, Susan,” answered the Colonel, 
shading his eyes from t he light. 
“Will never say what again r” inquired 
the octoroon, now glancing timidly into his 
face, a frightened expression overspreading 
her countenance, 
“ Never say * Good night, Master Heatii- 
khstone * again,” said the Colonel, Ins eyes 
still closed. Susan looked appealingly to 
Mr. Brayton. 
“Why, Colonel,” he interrupted, “you 
have just about frightened poor Susan out 
of her wits. She looks as if she thought you 
were contemplating suicide.” 
“Well, if that’s the case,” and now the 
Colonel seemed wide awake again, “ I might 
as well change my tactics. Mr. Brayton 
will tell you wliut I mean to-morrow, my 
girl. And now good night, and—and ” 
Susan waited. 
“And God bless you, and keep you. Prom¬ 
ise me, Susan, that you will always bo a 
friend to Margaret. 
“So long as T live,” replied the woman, 
with bowed head. 
“All right then; off to bed with you!” 
laughed the Colonel. “ Getting sentimental, 
Brayton ? Who the d—iekens do you think 
has run away with my common sen so? And 
now here comes Mag and Alfred. Going 
to bed, children?” as they drew near to bid 
him good-night. “Where’s George?” ho 
continued, looking anxiously around. 
“Reading the Northern papers,” replied 
Alfred. 
“And grimacing like a monkey, put iu 
Margaret. “Iu imagination ho already 
has a gun over each shoulder, a knapsack be¬ 
hind, a saber, cut lass and. hair a dozen swords 
dangling from different parts of his body. 
That hoy is spoiling for a tight, and, pa, what 
Shall we do with him?” 
“ Let him go, I suppose; there’s no other 
way; but there’s no need of worrying over 
it to-night. Kiss me, M aggie. How long 
is it, Alfred, since you kissed your father ?” 
The young unit i looked up astonished. 
“ Not very long,” ho replied. “A vn’t you 
feeling well, father?” 
“Well, yes, my boy; never better. But 
when von left tliat little Northern witch a 
few days ago, and asked her to kiss you— 
[ah.hu! you sly fellow; do you think your 
paternal ancestor ha , had his eyes closed all 
this time?] do \ on suppose fora moment that 
she thought you wore ill, because you whis¬ 
pered ‘ kiss?’ Troublous times are coming, 
children; kiss me, bot h of you, and scamper 
to had.” 
It was, indeed, the last, time that Susan 
would say “ Master 11 eatuerston e.” Tho 
next morning breakfast waited u half hour 
for the Colonel, and when a servant was 
sent to his room to see what caused, the un¬ 
usual delay, he was found dead in his bed. 
[to be continued.] 
