“You are forgetting yourself,” saldjCLord Gow- 
rle, speaking over the heads of the others. 
“ Llndores, you know very well there never was 
any door there; the wall la very thick; you can 
see by the depth or the window. There la no 
dour there. 
The young man felt It over with his hand. The 
wall was smooth, and covered with the dust of 
ages. With a groan he turned away. At this 
moment a suppressed laugh, low, yet distinct, 
sounded close by him. 
“You laughed !” he said, fiercely, to Ffarrlng- 
ton, striking his hand upon tils shoulder. 
“I — laughed! Nothing was further from my 
thoughts,” said his friend, who was curiously ex¬ 
amining something that lay upon an old carved 
chair. “Look here! what a wonderful sword, 
crosB-hllted! Is It an Andrea? What's the mat¬ 
ter, Llndores?" 
Llndores had seized It from his hands; he 
dashed It against, the wall with a suppressed 
oath. The two or three people la the room stood 
aghast. 
“ Llndores!" his father said, In a lone of warn¬ 
ing. The young man dropped the useless weapon 
with a groan. "Then God help us!” he said: 
“but 1 will find another way !” 
“There Is a very Interesting room close by,” 
said Lord Gowrlo, hastily—“ this way I Llndores 
has been put out. by some changes that have been 
made without his knowledge,” ho said, calmly. 
“ You must not mind him. lie la disappointed, 
lie Is perhaps too much accustomed to having Ills 
own way.” 
But Lord Gowrle knew that no ono behoved 
him. lie took them to the adjoining room, and 
told them Homo easy story of an apparition that 
was supposed to haunt It. 
“Have you over seen It?” the guests asked, 
pretending Interest. 
“ Not I; but we don't mind ghosts In this 
house,” ho answered, with a smile. And then 
and grasped his father’s hand. “Warm—honest,” I 
he said, with a feeble smile about Ids lips, and fell J 
asleep. 
The daylight was full In the room, breaking 
through shutters and curtains, mocking at the 
lamp that, still flared on the table. It seemed an 
emblem of the disorders, mental and material, of 
this strange night; and, us such, It affected the 
plain Imagination or Lord Gowrle, who would 
have fain got up to ext inguish It, and whose mind 
returned again and again. In spite of him, to this 
symptom of disturbance. 
By and by, when Llndores'grasp relaxed, and 
he got, his hand free, he got up from his son's bed¬ 
side and put out the lamp, putt ing it carefully 
out. of t he way. With equal care he put away the 
wine from the fable, and gave the room Its ordi¬ 
nary aspect, softly opening a window to let In the 
fresh air of the morning. The park lay fresh In 
the early sunshine; still, except for the twitter¬ 
ing of the birds, refreshed with dews, and shining 
In that soft radiance of the morning which is over 
before mortal cares are stirring. 
Never, perhaps, bad Gowrle looked out upon 
the beautiful world around his house without a 
thought of the wefm existence which was going 
on so near to him, which had gone on for rent.u. 
ties, shut up out of sight of the sunshine. The 
secret chamber had been present with him since 
over he saw It. He had never been able to get. 
free of the spell of It. Ho had felthtmself watch¬ 
ed, surrounded, spied upon, day after day, since 
be was of the age of Llndores, and that, was thirty 
years ago. He turned It all over In Ills mind as he 
stood there and hts son slept,. It, had been on his 
Ups to tell It all to hla boy, who hud now come to 
Inherit the enlightenment of his race. And It was 
a disappointment to him to have It all forced back 
again, and silence imposed upon him once more. 
Would he care to hear It when he woke? would 
he not rather, as Lord Gowrle remembered to 
have done himself, thrust the thought as far as 
he could away from him, and endeavor to forget 
for the moment—until the time came when lie 
would not he permitted to forget? He had been 
like that himself, he recollected now. Ho had not 
wished to hear his own father’s talc. “ I remem¬ 
ber," he said to himself, “I remember"—turning 
over everything In his mind—If Llndores might 
only bo willing to hear the story when he woke! 
But then he himself had not bees willing when 
he was Llndores, and he could understand his SOD, 
and could not blame him: but it, would be a dis¬ 
appointment. 
He was thinking t.bls when ho heard Llndores’ 
voice calling him. He went back hastily to bis 
bedside. It was strange to see him In his evening 
dress with his worn face, In the fresh light of the 
morning, which poured In atevery crevice. “ Does 
my mother know?" said Llndores, “ what will 
she t.lilnk?" 
“Hhe knows something; she knows you have 
some trial to go through. Most likely she will be 
praying for 119 both; that’s the way of women,' 
said Lord Gowrle, with the tremulous tenderness 
which comes Into a man’s voice sometimes when 
he speaks of a good wife. “ I’ll go and ease her 
mind, and tell her all la well over-” 
“ Not yet. Tell me first,” said the young roan, 
putting his hand upon his father’s arm. 
What an ease It. was! “ T was not so good to 
my father." ho thought to himself, with sudden 
penitence for the long-post, long-forgotten fault, 
which, Indeed, he had never realized as a fault, 
before. And then lie told his son what, had been 
the story of his life—how he had scarcely ever sat, 
alone without feeling, from some corner of the 
room, from behind some curtain, those eyes upon 
him ; and how, In the difficulties of his life, that 
secret Inhabitant of the house bad been present, 
sitting by him and advising him. “ Whenever 
there has been anything to do; when there has 
been a question between two ways, all In a 
moment I have seen him by me; I feel when he 
Is coming, it does not matter where l am here 
or anywhere—as soon as ever there Is a question 
of family business; and always he persuades me 
to the wrong way, Llndores. Sometimes I yield 
to him, how can I help It ? He makes everything 
so clear; ho makes wrong seem right. If 1 have 
done unjust things In my day—” 
“ You have not, father.” 
“ I have; there were these Highland people I 
turned out. J did not mean to do it, Llndores; 
hut he showed me that It would be better for the 
family. And my poor sister that married Tweed- 
side and was wretched all her life, it, was his 
doing, that marriage; he said she would be rich, 
and so she was, poor thing, poor thing! and died 
of It. And old Macallster’s lease-Llndores, 
Llndores! when there Is any business it makes 
my heart sick. I know ho will come, and advise 
wrong, and tell mo—something I will repent 
alter.” 
“ The thing to do Is to decide beforehand, that 
good or bad, you will not take bis advice.” 
Lord Gowrle shivered. “ I am not Btrong like 
you, or clever; 1 cannot resist. Sometimes I re¬ 
pent in time and don’t do it; and then! But for 
your mother and my children, there is many a 
day I would not have given a farthing for my 
life.” 
“Father,” said Llndores, springing from hts 
bed, “two of us together can do many things. 
Give me your word to clear out this cursed den of 
darkness this very day.” 
•' Llndores, hush, hush, for the sake of heaven!” 
“Throw It opeu, let everybody who Ukes see Un¬ 
make an end of the secret—pulldown everything, 
curtains, walls. What do you say ? sprinkle holy 
water? Are you laughing at rue?” 
“ 1 did not speak,” said Earl Gowrle, growing 
very pale, and grasping his son’s arm with both 
his hands. “ Hush boy; do you think he does not 
hear?" 
MY JEWEL 
Rich hazel eyes that smile at me, 
In whose bright depth I seem to see 
The rarest light, the fairest glow, 
That mortal eyes did e’er bestow. 
I love to sit and watch them so, 
And feel the thrill that long ago 
Ran through my breast when firBtJI.'drew 
That ebeek whereon the roses grew 
Unto my own. aud softly told 
The sweet, swert.talo that’s never old. 
Dear, earnest eyes that fondly smile, 
And sweetly speak to mo the while. 
That look>o;temler, and so sad, 
Yet gleam ns'joyous/nnd as glad 
As when I.felt my young heart stirred 
Within mo like a singing bird, 
And knew the joy that lovers feel, 
And felt the flow of passion steal 
Dike lava streams within mylblood, 
Uncurbed and tameless in its flood. 
Though years have gone and left their trace, 
And saddened o’er my darling’s face. 
Though roses from her cheek have fled, 
And care has pressed her fair brown head. 
Yet to my heart she’s Just the same, 
As when in olden days.she came 
And stood beside me like a queen. 
When both our Uves and;hearts were green, 
As when tho wild love of my youth 
Burst on me in its beaming truth. 
Her whispers still within my ear 
Make music that I love to hear: 
She’s still to mn tho blushing girl 
That set my youthful breast awhirl 
Long, long ago, when wn were young, 
And golden fruits in clusters hung; 
She’s still my sweetheart, though the years 
Have brought their train of cares and fears, 
And sttU within her hazel eyes 
I see the old. fond lovelight rise. 
She sits beside mo here to-night; 
One tender hand, soft, fair and white. 
Rests on my shoulder, aud we soem 
To live again our young Itfc-dream: 
And as the lamplight floods her brow, 
I know she’s dearer to me now— 
Ah 1 dearer far—than when I told 
The sweet, sweet tale that’s never old. 
fixed. He was us pale as t he dead. He held his 
son tight for a moment ; then Ids gaze and his 
grasp relaxed, and he fell back feebly In a chair. 
“ You see," he said; “ whatever we do it, wUl be 
the same; we are under hla power.” 
And then there ensued the blank pause with 
whlph ballied men confront a hopeless situation. 
But, at, that moment the first, faint stirrings of the 
house—a window being opened, a bar undone, a 
movement of feet, and subdued voices—became 
audible in the silliness of tho morning. Lord 
Gowrlo roused himself at once. 
“ We must not be found Ilk' i hla,” he said; “ wo 
must not show how wo have spent the night. It 
u over, thank God! and oh! my hoy, forgive me! 
I am thankful there are two of ua to bear It,; It 
makes the burden lighter, though 1 ask your par¬ 
don humbly for saying so. l would have saved 
you. It I could, Llndores.” 
"I don’t wish to have becu saved; but I will 
not bear It. 1 will end It," the young man said, 
with an oath, out of which Ills emotion took all 
profanity. 
ills father said, “ Hush! hush! " with a look 
of terror and pain, he left him; and yet there was 
a thrill of tender pride In ids mind. How brave 
the hoy was, even after he had been there/ 
Could It be that this would all como to nothing, 
us every other attempt to resist, had done before? 
“ I suppose you know all about It now, Ltn- 
dorea,” said his friend Ffurrlngton, after break¬ 
fast. “Luckily for us who are going over the 
house. What a glorious old place It Is! " 
“ 1 don't think that Llndores enjoys the glorious 
old place to-day,” said another of the guests, 
under hla breath. “ How pale he Is! He doesn’t 
look as If he had slept.” 
“ I will take you over every nook where I have 
ever been,” said Llndores. lie looked at his fa¬ 
ther with almost command In his eyes. “ Corne 
with mo, all of you. We shall have no more se¬ 
crets here.” 
“Are you mad 7 " said his father. In his ear. 
“Never mind,” cried the young man. “Oh! 
trust mo. l will do it with judgment. Is every¬ 
body ready ? ” 
There was an excitement about him that half 
frightened, half roused the party. They all rose, 
eager, yet doubtful. Ills mother came to him and 
took tils arm. 
“ Llndores, you will do nothing to vex your fa¬ 
ther; don’t make him unhappy. I don’t know 
your secrets, you two; but look, be has enough to 
bear.” 
“ I want you to know our secrets, mother. Why 
should wo havo secrets from you? ” 
“ Why, Indeed?” she Bald, with tears In her eyes. 
“ But, Llndores, my dearest boy, don't make it 
, worae for him." 
“ I give you my word I will be wary,” ho said; 
and she left film to go to his father, who followed 
the party with an anxious look npon Ids face. 
“ Are you coming, too ? ” he asked. 
“ I ? No, 1 will not go ; but trust him—trust the 
boy, John." 
“ He can do nothing; he w’ill not he able to do 
anything,” ho said. 
And thus the guests set out on their round—the 
son In advance, excited and tremulous, the father 
anxious and watchful behind. They began In tho 
usual way, with the old state-rooms and picture- 
gallery ; and In a short time the party had half- 
forgotten that there was anything unusual In the 
Inspection. When, however, they were half-way 
down liic gallery, Llndores stopped short with an 
air of wonder. “ You have had It put back, t.heu ?’> 
he said. Ho was standing In front of the vacant 
space where Earl Robert's portrait ought to have 
been. “What la It?” they all cried, crowding 
upon him, ready for any marvel. But as there 
was nothing to be seen, tho strangers smiled 
among themselves. 
“Yes, to bo sure, there Is nothing so suggestive 
as a vacant place," said a lady who was of the 
party. “ Whose portrait ought to be there, Lord 
Llndores?” 
Ho looked at his lather, who made a slight as¬ 
senting gesture, then shook Ills head drearily. 
“ Who put It there?” Llndores said, In a whis¬ 
per. 
“ It Is not there 
I cannot toll the reader what young Llndores 
has done to carry out his pledged word and re¬ 
deem tils lainlly. It may not be known, perhaps, 
for another generation, and It will not be for me 
to write that concluding chapter; but when, In 
the ripeness of time, It can be narrated, no one 
will say that the mystery of Gowrle Castle has 
been a vulgar horror, though there are some who 
are disposed to think so now. 
MY FIRST EXPERIENCES WITH ABO 
LITIONISM. 
CHAPTER III. 
[Concluded from page 302.] 
What an ease It was to the father to speak! 
For years and years this had been shut up In his 
breast. It had made him lonely In the midst of 
hl3 friends. 
“ Thank God,” he said, “ that. I can speak to 
you, Llndores. Often and often 1 have been 
tempted to tell your mother. But why should 1 
make her miserable ? She knows there Is some¬ 
thing; she knows when I see him, but she knows 
no more.” 
“ When you see him ?” Llndores raised himself, 
with a return of his first ghastly look, In Ids bed. 
Then he raised hts clenched flat wildly, and shook 
It In the air. “ vile devil, coward, deceiver!” 
“ Oh hush, hush, hush, Ltndores! God help us! 
what troubles you may bring!" 
“And God help me, whatever troubles l bring,” 
said the young man. “ l defy him, father. An 
accursed being like that must be less, not more 
powerful, than we are—with God to back us. Only 
stand by me; stand by me-" 
“ nush, Llndores I You don’t feel It yet—never 
to get out or hearing of him all your lire! He will 
make you pay for It—If not now, alter; when you 
remember he is there, whatever happens, know¬ 
ing everything! But I hope it will not be so bad 
with you as with me, my poor boy. God help you 
Indeed if It Is, for you have more Imagination and 
more mind. T am able to forget him sometimes 
when I am occupied—when in the hunting-field, 
going across country. But you are not a hunting- 
man, my poor boy," said Lord Gowrle, with a cu¬ 
rious mixture of a regret, which was less serious 
than the other. Then he lowered ills voice. “Llu- 
dores, this is what Ims happened to me since the 
moment I gave him toy hand. 
“ I did not, give him my hand." 
“You did not give him your hand? God bless 
you, my boy! You stood out?” be cried, with 
tears again rushing to his eyes; “and they say— 
—they say—but If there Is any truth in it.” Lord 
Gowrle got up from Ida son's side and walked up 
and down with excited steps. “ If there should 
be truth In It! Many people think the whole thing 
Is a fancy. If there should he any truth in it, 
Llndores!” 
“In what, father I” 
“ They say, If he Is once resisted his power Is 
broken—once refused. You could stand against 
him—you! Forgive me, my boy, as I hope God 
will forgive me, to have thought so little of nis 
best gifts,” cried Lord Gowrle, coming back with 
wet eyes; and stooping, he kissed his 6on'a hand. 
“ I thought you would be more shaken by being 
more mind than body,” he said, humbly. “I 
thought If I could but have sa ved you from the 
trial; and you are the conqueror!" 
“Am I the conqueror? I think all my bonesare 
broken, father—out of their sockets,” said the 
young man, In a low voice. “ I think I shall go to 
Bleep.” 
“Yes, rest, my boy. It Is the best thing for 
you," said the father, though with a pang of mo¬ 
mentary disappointment. Llndores fell back upon 
the pillow. He was so pale that ihere were mo¬ 
ments when the anxious watcher thought him 
not sleeping but dead. He put his hand out feebly 
My earliest recollection of myself dates back to 
about tho year 1807, when I discovered myself 
living with my father aud grandmother, a brother 
and sister then lj* and throe years older than 
myself, a baby sister in the cradle, and a negro 
boy named Cawar, then about twelve years of 
age. 1 bad an Indistinct recollection of a mother 
Bitting In a rocking-chair before tho broad kitchen 
fireplace and amusing us children with home¬ 
made toys, and of subsequently seeing her lying 
ou her bed In tho little bedroom, and my father, 
rny uncles and aunts standing around the bed 
looking on her In silence. I did not know then, 
but I know now that she wius dead, for I never 
saw her again. 
since arriving at, manhood, T have often asked 
myself what must have been tho feelings of a 
mother In the prime of Ufo, at parting with a lov¬ 
ing husband and her four Infant children, the 
eldest only six years and the youngest tour 
months. Our liptno was on a plain on the oast 
side of a spur of tho Green Mountains, In the town 
of Cheshire, In the State of Connecticut. Tho 
house was then tin old ono, tho front being two 
stories and the rear Oue, the then fashion of the 
most pretentions farm houses. 
Around It were, In confused order, fruit trees of 
many varieties, among which the Apple was pre¬ 
dominant. The fences were or the most primitive 
kind; “the old oaken bucket” was suspended by 
a pole attached to a loug sweep, pivoted fn the 
fork of a tall post firmly planted In the ground. 
Moss covered the surface of the stones In the wall 
of the well and the outside oi the bucket. The 
cistern was made of planks and sunk In the 
ground, covered with boards with a hole In the 
top, through which the water was drawn with a 
pall hung oo a natural hook on the end of a round 
pole. This cistern is now, at near the end of three¬ 
score years and ten, more distinctly photographed 
on my mlncl than any other object about the 
houseyard—for “ thereby hangs a tale," which I 
may herein recite In its order, for It, like a precious 
stone In a jewel, has ever been the point rl'appui 
In my memory of tho old homestead. 
My grandmother told me that the house had 
been her home, where her four boys and three 
girls were born, brought up, and the latter mar¬ 
ried, and that the farms which the boys then 
owned were all divisions of the old farm of their 
father. These were contiguous, bisected by a 
street running north and south, the farms run¬ 
ning up on the west to the summit of the moun¬ 
tain. 
Those four brotners, at tho time here referred 
to, each held the title of captain, of militia, a title 
which In those times courtesy required should 
never be Omitted where it belonged, In speaking 
names, aud they being brothers were distin¬ 
guished as Capt. Asa, Capt. John, Capt. Lkvi and 
Capt. Sam. Of course, there were rour ramifies of 
us, boys and girls, and In this case the former 
largely predominated; and that we had frequent 
gatherings for fun, frolic and play Is a matter of 
course In such cases the world over. Most con- 
but you and I see It," said 
Lord Gowrle, with a sigh. 
Then the strangers perceived that something 
had moved the father and the son and, notwith¬ 
standing their eager curiosity, obeyed the dictates 
of politeness and dispersed Into groups look! ng at 
the other pictures. Llndores set his teeth and 
clenched Ills hands. Fury was growing upon him 
—not the awe that filled his father’s mind. “ We 
will leave the rest of this to another time,” he 
cried, turning to the others, almost fiercely. 
“ Come, I wlU show you something more striking 
now.” 
Ho made no further pretense of going system¬ 
atically over the house. Ho turned and went 
straight up stairs and along the corridor. “ Are 
we going over the bedrooms?” some one said. 
Llndores led the way straight to the old lumber- 
room, a strange place for such a gay party. The 
ladles drew their dresses about them. There was 
not room for half of them. Those who could get 
in began to handle the strange things that lay 
about, touching them with dainty fingers, ex¬ 
claiming how dusty they were. The window was 
halt blocked up by old armor and rusty weapons; 
but this did not hinder the full summer daylight 
from penetrating in a flood of light. Llndores went 
In with fiery determination on his face. He went 
straight to the wall, as If he would go through, 
then paused, with a blank gaze. “ Where Is the 
door?” he said. 
