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Nlaiiaii Or, The Strange Disappearance CHAPTER VII. It was a jocund morning in early summerâ€"some five years after the events related in the chapter. Old Field Cottage was a perIeJ’n gem of rural beauty. The Old Fields themselves no longer deserved the nameâ€"the repose of years had re-, stored them to fertility, and now they were blooming in pristine youth â€"far as the eye could reach between, the cottage and the forest, and the cottage and the sea-beach, the fields! were covered with a fine growth of sweet clover, whose verdure was most refreshing to the sight. The! young trees planted by Marian, had grown up, forming a. pleasant grove around the house. The sweet honeyâ€" suckle and fragrant white jasmine, and the rich, aromatic, climbing rose had run all over the walls and win lows of the house, embowering it‘ in verdure, bloom and perfume. While Marian stood enjoying for a few moments the morning hour, she was startled by the sound of rapidI footsteps, and then by the sight of 'a young woman in wild attire, lss;t- ing from the grove at the right of the Cottage, and flying like a hunted hare toward the house. Marian impulsively opened the gate, and the creature fled in, fran- tically clapped to the gate, and stood leaning with her back against it, and panting with haste and ter- ror. She was a young and pretty wwâ€" manâ€"pretty, notwithstanding the wildness of her staring black eyes and the disorder of her long black hair that hung in tangled tresses to her waist. Her head and feet“ were bare, and her white gown was spotted with green stains of the grass, and torn by briars, as were" also her bleeding feet and arms.l Marian felt for her the deepest com-l passion; a. mere glance had assured" her that the poor, panting. prettyr creature was insane. Marian took her hand and gently pressing it, said: “You look very tired and come in and rest yourself and breakfast with us." The stranger drew away her hand and looked at Marian from head to foot. But in the midst of her scruâ€" tiny, she suddenly sprang, glanced around, and trembling violently. grasped the gate for support. It was but the tramping of a colt through the clover that had startled her. "Do not be frightened; there is nothing that can hurt you; you are Safe here.” "And won’t he come?" “Who, poor girl?" “The Destroyer!” “No, poor one, no destroyer comes near us here; see how quiet and~ faintâ€" take peaceablo everything is here!” The wanderer slowly shook her head with a cunning, bitter smile,: that looked stranger on her fair} face then the madness itself had. looked, and: “So it was there,’ she said, "but; the Destroyer was at hand, and the. thunder of terror and destruction burst upon our quietâ€"but I forgot - the fair spirit said I was not to think of thatâ€"such thoughts would 1 invoke the fiend again," added the poor creature, smoothing her fort» head with both hands. and then flinging them wide, as if to dispel and cast away some painful conâ€" centration there. “But now come in and lie (loWn on the sofa, and rest, while I mate you a cup of coffee,” said Marian. But the same expression of cunnâ€" ing came again into the poor crea‘ ture's face, as she said: “In the house? No, noâ€"no, no! Fanny has learned something. Fanny knows better than to go under root’s.I â€"they are traps to catch rabbits! "I'was in the house the Destroyer‘ found us, and we couldn’t get out! No, no! a. fair field and no favor and Fanny will outfly the fleetest of them! But not in a house, not in a. house!” “Well, then I will bring an easy chair out here for you to rest inâ€" yon 'can sit under the shade, and have a little stand by your side, to ‘eat your breakfast. Come; come nearer to the house," said Mariam, taking poor Fanny’s hand, and lead- ing her up the walk. They were at the threshold. “Are you Marian?” poor Fanny asked, abruptly. “Yes, that is my name.” "Oh, I ougbtn't to have con.e here! I oughtn't to have come .1» here. “Why? What is the matter? Come. be calm! Nothing can hurt you or us here!” “Don't. love! Marian, don't love! ]le a nun, or drown yourself, but never love!" said the, woman, seizing tln‘ young girl's hands, gazing on her beautiful face, and speaking with in- WWW): ‘a low-licr place to die in, with low lest compassion, the tears filling her kind blue eyes. "Weep not for me, beautiful and leyes and lastly, Mayiie “You do?” asked the wanderer, in- crtzdulously. “llL-aven knows I do! I wish to nurse you back to health and caln ncss.” “Then I would not for the world bring so much evil to you! Yet it '5 ing faCcs around." “But it is a better place to live in! I do not let people die where I am, unless the Lord has especially called them. I wish to make you well! Come, drive awav all those evil fancies and let me take you int-0 the cottage," .said Marian, takiig her hand. Yielding to the influence of the young girl, poor Fanny suffered her- self to be led a few steps toward the cottage; then, with a piercing shriek, she suddenly snatched her hand away, crying: “I should draw the lightning down upon your head! I am doomed! I must not enter!” And she turned and fled out of the gate. Marian gazed after her in the deep- loving Marian, but yourself! ’ ’ Marian hesitated. It were vain to , follow and try to draw the wanderer for yourselfâ€" into the house; yet. she could not I A I bear the thought of leaving her. In 101' the iuoantime the sound of the shriek had brought Edith out. She came. leading her little daughter Miriam. now five years old, by the hand. Edith was scarcely changed in these five years-«a life without excitement or privation or toilâ€"a life of moder- ation and regularityâ€"of easy house- hold duties, and quiet family all'eo‘ ticns, had restored and preserved he; maiden beauty. And now her pretty hair had its own will, and fell in slight, flossy black ring-lets down ~ fastening her eyes upon Miriam'si each Side the pearly brow an. F.’ . . , d, . - . palm. “hat can it mean? A wp‘ cheeks, and nothing could have been cross from the Mount of Venus: more in keeping with the style of her beauty than the simple, close- fltting black gown, her habitual! dress. But lovely as the young moth"? was, you would scarcely have looked at her a second time while she held that child by her handâ€"so marvel ous was the fascination of that lit- tle creature's countenance. It was a face to attract, to charm, to delight, to draw you in, and rivet your whole attention, until you becanx absorbed and lost -in the study of its mysterious spellâ€"a witching face, whose nameless charm it were im- possible to tell, I might describe the line dark Jewish features, the glor- ious eyes, the brilliant complexion, the fall of long, glossy,‘black ring;~ lets that veiled the proud litt’e head; but the spell lay not in them, any more than in the perfect symme- try of her form, or the harmonious grace of her motion, or the melo- dious intonations of her voice. Edith, still leading the little girl, advanced to Marian’s side, where the latter stood at the yard gate. "I heard a scream, Marian, dear-â€" what was it?“ Marian pointed to the old elm tree outside the cottage fence, under the shade of which stood the poor strolâ€" ler, pressing her side, and pantiu,r for breath. “Edith, do you see that woman? She it was.” “Good heaven!" exclaimed Edith turning a. shade paler, and beginning with trembling fingers, to unfasteu the gate. “Why, do you know her, Edith?" “Yes! yes! My soul, it is Funny Laurie! I thought she was in some asylum at the North!" said Edith passing the gate, and going up to the wanderer. “Fanny! Fanny‘ Dearest Fanny!” she said, taking her thin hand, and looking in her crazed putting both arms around her neck and kissing her. “Do you kiss me?” asked the poor creature, in amazement. “Yes, dear Fanny! know me?" “Yes, yes, you arwI know you areâ€"let's see, nowâ€"” "Edith Lance, you knowâ€"your ol'l playmate!’ ' younr Don't you youâ€"â€" “Ah! yes, I knowâ€"you had anâ€" other name.” “Edith Shields, since I was mar- ried, but I am widowed now, Fan ny."e i "Yes, I knowâ€"Fanny has liear'i, them talk!" She swept her hands across her: brow several times, as if to clear her mental vision, and gazing upon “Edith, said: 1 “Ah! old playmate! Did the palms lie? The ravaged home, the blood stained hearth, and the burning \‘onfl -for incâ€"the fated nuptials, the inui-V 'dered bridegroom, and the fatherltss ‘child for you. Did tl-e i‘vnlnis iI‘Jdith? You were ever incredulous? Answer, did the. palms lie?" “The prediction was partly fulfil!- tcnsc and painful earnestness. "Why? Love is life. You had well tell me not to live as not love. Poor sister! I haVe not knOWn you an hour. yet your SOI‘I‘OWS touch me, that my heart goes toward you, and I wnn‘ted to bring you in to our home, and take L‘fll‘l‘. of you,” said Marian, gently. as out ed, as it Was very liker to be at \the time our neighborhood was overâ€" tolrun by a ruthless too. It lioppunefi will so in and s--nd l-nnv :tf'cr li'l‘. Inner ‘ solthe mysteries of the future, ‘not th; gauge and 1;; iso, poor Fanny! You (lid not illf.‘ {angels in heaven, nor 'tbe Father only.’ " l St'i‘illnil to Son, b‘: t , 'l‘liis annoy the poor lcunti:r1~»sootlts:\\ inc, by P':l!lll§tl'y, . again. ‘your house! ‘shc Edith. gazing alternately upon the lines in the palm and upon her fervid, eloâ€" quent faCe. V ‘dou't L-tulit w had been her Weakness in her brightâ€" er days, and now the sirange pensity clung to her through dark night, of her sorrows, and ceived strength from her insanity. tlu, ‘ re- I “Come in, dear Fanny,” said: .Edith, “come in and stay with us "i “No, no!" she almost shriekeill "I should bring a curse upon] Oh! I could tell you if you would hear! I could warn you," if you would be warned! But you! will not! you will not!" she C()lltl“.-, ued, wringing her hands in great‘ trouble. “You shall predict my fate and‘l llirinm's," said Marian, smiling, as: she opened the gate, and came out, leading the child. “And I know," she continued, holding out her palm, “that it will be such a fair fate, as to brighten up your. spirits for sym- pathy with it." “No! I will not look at your hand!" cried Fanny, turning away. Then, suddenly changing her mood. snatched Marion's palm, anJl gazed upon it long and intently, gradually her features became disâ€" turbedâ€"dark shadows scemcd to sweep, as a funeral train, across herl faceâ€"her bosom heavedâ€"she dropped“ the maidcn's hand. “Why, Fanny, you have told me nothing! What do you see in my‘ future?” asked Marian. The. maniac looked up, and break- ing, as she sometimes did, into im-t, provisation, chanted, in the most! mournful of tones, these words: “Darkly, deadly, lowers the shadow, Quickly, thickly, comesthc crowdâ€"- From death's bosom creeps the adder Trailing slime upon the shroud!" Marian grew pale, so much, at the: moment, was she infected with the words and manner of this sybil; but‘ then, “Nonsense!” she thought, and, with a smile, roused herself to shake off the chill that, was creeping upon “Feel! the air! the air!” said Fanâ€" ny, lifting her band. "Yes, it is going to rain," said “Come in, denr Fanny." But, Fanny did not hearâ€"the iltfu“, uncertain creature had seized the hand of the child Miriam, and was “What is this? Oh! what is this?" she said, sweeping the black tress‘s back from her bending brow, and crosses the line of life, and forks inâ€"‘ to the line of death! a great. sun in the plain of Marsâ€"a cloud in tle ale of Mercury! and where the lines! death meet, a sanguinei spot and a great star! I cannot read it! In a boy’s hand, that would betoken a hero‘s career, and a glorious death in a victorious iielc‘; but in a girl‘s! What, can it mean when found in a girl’s? Stop!" And she peered into the hand for a few moments in deep silence, and then her face lighted up, her eyes burned, intensely, and once more she brolmc forth in improvisation: 01" life and “Thou shalt be bless‘d as maiden fair was never bless’d before, And the heart: of thy bCIOV'd Shall be most gentle, kind and pure; But thy red hand shall be lifted at duty’s stern behest, 'And give to fell destruction the head thou lov’st the best. Feel! the air! the air!" she ex- claimed, suddenly dropping the child's hand, and lifting her own toward the sky. “Yes, I told you it was going to rain, but there will not be much, only a light shower from the cloud just over our heads.” “It is going to weep! Nature mourns for her darling child! Hark! I hear the step of him that cometh! Fly, fair one! fly! Stay not here to listen to the voice of the charmer, charm he never so wisely!” cried the wild creature, as she (lashed off toward the forest. Marian and Edith looked after her, in the utmost compassion. “Who is the poor, dear creature. Edith, and what has reduced her t) this state?" “She was an old playmate of my own, Marian. I never mentioned 11,." to youâ€"I never could bear to do so. She was one of the victims of the war. She was the child of Colonel Fairlie and the bride of Henry Laur- ie, one of the most accomplished un-l promising young men in the State. In one night their house was attack- ed, and Fanny saw her father on! her husband massacred, and her home burned before her face! She went mad from that night!" “Most horrible!” ejaculated Marion “She was sent: to one of the bent. Northern asylums, and the propertv she inherited was placed in the hands of a trusteeâ€"old Mr. Hughes, who died last wick, you know; and now that he is (lead and she is out, I don't know what will lne done, I understand it at all." “llns she no friends, no relatives”? She must not be allowed to wander in this way," said the kind girl, with the tours swimming in her eyes “I shall always be lli‘l‘ friend Marian. She has no others flint I know of now; and no rel-alive, 0‘1‘ llt'l' young cousin. 'l‘liui‘st n i\\illco:;on, who l s lil‘k‘ll abroad at n Itit-rnmn l'uivtu' y' then) live y; ni‘s‘ ipnsl. curl who, in 0‘ Funny 9 (lentil, would it; i‘1' \7 (1 tv. Tc must set her here, if in She will {irolw lily overtake her in H . ‘ tililt‘ it) i7 ‘ '.' .‘ her in ct mu ‘ (:k. ,‘.t bust. ‘- toll Jenny to Limp llyl‘ in syiit. unt'l she is in some plum of safety."- “Ilo, dear Edith!" , arms raised, l'curvetod gracefully and handsome man, .â€" mm. "'Are you not coming?" said Edith. L‘ro- , as she led her little girl toward the house. “In one momcut. dear: I wish only to bind up this morning-glory, thnt‘ poor Fanny chanced to pull down as she rnn through." Edith disappeared in the cottage Marion stood with both her ros: in the net of binding; up the vine, that with its wvnlth o“ splendid a7ureâ€"huerl. \‘nso-slini‘ml flowers. overâ€"canopied llf‘l‘ beautiful head like a triumphnl arch. The light tramp of horse's feet full upon her our. She looked up, am] with surprise lightingr her (lai‘kâ€"lflue‘ eyes, behold a gentleman mounted on a fine black Arabian courser. that capriciously before the cottage gate. Smilineg the gentleman soother! and subdued the coquettish mood of his willful stood, and then dismount- ed and bowing with matchlcss grace and much deference, addressed Mar- ion The mnirlen was thinking that she had never seen a gentleman with a presence and a manner so graceful, courteous and princely in her life. He was a tall, finely proportioned, with a superb head, an aquiline profile. and fair hair and fair complexion. The great charm, htwever, was in the broad. sunny fOlCllf‘all, in the smile of inefllable sweetness, in the low and singularly mellifluous voice, and the manner, gentle and graceful as any woman's "Pardon me, my name is Willcoxâ€" en. young lady, and I have the honor of addre<sing~â€"-" “Miss Mayfield," said Marian. “Thank you," said the gentleman then governing himself, he bent his eyes to the ground. and said, with great deference: "You will pardon- the liberty I have taken in calling here, Miss Mayfield, when I tell you that I am in search of an unhappy young relative, who, I am informed, -passed here not long since.” “She left us not ten minutes ago, sir, much against our wishes. My sister has just sent a servant to the forest in search of her, to bring her back, if possible. Will you enter, and wait till she returns?” With a beaming smile and graceful bend, and in the same sweet tones be thanked her, and declined the inâ€" vitation. Then he remounted horse, and bowing deeply, rode oil in the direction Fanny had taken. This was certainly a day of arriâ€" vals at Old Fields. Usually week; would pass without. any one passinc to or from the cottage, except Marâ€" ian, whose cheerful, kindly, social disposition, was the sole connecting link between the cottage and the neighborhood arouan it. But this day seemed to be an exception. While yet the little party lingered at the breakfast table, Edith looked up, and saw the tall, thin figure 0" a woman in a nankeen ridingâ€"shirt, and a nankeen corded sunâ€"bonnet, in the act of dismounting from her great, rawboned white horse. “If there isn't Miss Nancy Skampl' exclaimed Edith, in no very hospita- ble tone~“and I wonder how she can leave the postofiice."_ “Oh! this is not mail day!” replied Marian, laughing, which we shall have news enough.‘ 'And Marian who, for her part, was really glad to see the old lady, arose to meet and welcome her. Miss Nancy was little changed; the small, tall, thin, narrow-chested, stooping figureâ€"the same long, fair, freckled, sharp set faceâ€"the same prim cap, and clean, scant, faded gown, or one of the same sortâ€"mado‘ up her personal individuality. Miss Nancy now had charge of the village postofl‘ice; and her early and accurate information respecting all neighbor- hood afi‘airs, was obtained, it was whispered, by an official breach her white cat, knew it. She was a great news carrier, it is true, she was not especially addicted to scandal. To her, news Was news whether good or bad, and so took almost as much pleasure in ex- citing the wonder of her listeners by good recounting the good action or fortune of her neighbors or the re verse. And so, after having dropped ridingskirt, and given that and he: bonnet to Marian to carry upâ€"stairs,l hisI ‘ ‘notwithstanding ‘ (if : trust: if so, however, no creature ex- Cept Miss Nancy, her black boy, and yet ' she be r land seated herself in the chair that. ,Edith offered her at the table. she lsnid, sipping her coffee, and glancing 'betu'ecn the white curtains and the green Vines of the open window out :upon the bay: “You have the sweetest place and the finest sea. view here, my dear Mrs. Shields; but that is not what !1 was aâ€"going to say. I was going ,to tell you that I hadn't hearn from you_ so long, that I thought I must. gtnke an early ride this morning, and sspend the day with you. And I gthouglit you'd like to hear abollli your old partner at. the dancing- ;school, young Mr. Thurston \Villâ€" icoxen, aâ€"coining backâ€"la, yes! to be sure! we had almost all of us for’ gotten him, lcnstwise I bad. And then, Miss Marian," she said, as Ou-' blooming girl returned to her place .at the table, “I just thought I would bring over that muslin for the col- lars and caps you were so good as to say you’d make for me." "Yes, I am glad you brought their, Miss Nancy," said Marian, in hot cheerful tone, as she helped herself tr. another roll. “I hope you are not busy now, my dear.” "Oh, I’m always busy, thank Hea- ven! but that makes no difference. Miss Nancy; I shall find time to do your work this week and next." “I am sure it is very good of you, Miss Marian, to sew for me for not‘..â€" ing; whenâ€"" “Oh, pray, don’t speak of it, Miss Nancy." “But indeed, my dear, I must say I never saw anybody like you! If anybody's too old to sew, and too poor to put it out, it is ‘Miss Mar- ian' who will do it for kindness: and if anybody is sick, it is 'Miss lllarian’ who is sent for to nurse them; and if any poor negro, or ig- norant white person, has friends off :at a distance they want to hear from, it is ‘Miss Marian' who writes all their letters!" When they arose from breakfast, and the room was tidied up, an? Edith, and Marian, and their guest, were seated at their work, with all ,tho cottage windows open to admit ,the fresh and fragrant air, and the‘ rural landscape on one side, and the sea View on the other, and while. .little Miriam sat at their feet dress.- 'ing a nun doll, and old Jenny be ltook herself to the garden to gather vegetables for the day, Miss Nancv opened her budget, and gave them all the news of the month. But in that lwhich concerned Thurston Willcoxcn alone was Edith interested, and of .him she learned the following facts: Of the five years which Mr. WillCOXB’I .had been absent in the eastern hem isphere, three had been spent at the German University, where he gradu- ated with the highest honors; eigh- teen months had been passed in travel through Europe, 'Asia, and Africa; and the last year had been spent in the best circles in the city of Paris. He had been back to his native place about three weeks. Since the death of Fanny Laurie’s old guardian,_ the judge of the Orphans’ Court had appointed him sole trustee of her property, and guardian of her person. As soon as he had received IthIS power, he had gone to the asy- tlum, where the poor creature was lconfined, and hearing her pronounced incurable, though harmless, he had set her at liberty, brought her home to his own house, and had hired a skillful, attentive nurse to wait upon her. “And you never saw such kindness and compassion, Miss Marian, except ‘in yourself. I do declare to you, Ethat his manner to that poor unfor- ‘jtunate is a delicate and reverential ‘and devoted as if she were the most .accomplished and enviable lady in 'tho land, and more so, Miss Marian, more so!" “I can well believe it! He looks like that!” said the beautiful girl, {her face flushing and her eyes filling with generous sympathy. lint Marian‘ twas rather averse to sentimentality, so dashing the sparkling drops from her blushing cheeks, she looked up and said: “Miss Nancy, we are going to have chickens for dinner. How do you like them cooked? It don‘t mat- ter a bit to Edith and me." “Stewed, then, if you please, Miss lllrIariaJi! or stopâ€"noâ€"I think baked 'in a pie!" (To be Continued.) The clapsâ€"“Well, it doesn't take much to make him .ecl good.’