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rather than to a housebreaker ? “I know what was offered to him, suffered any. not which best deserves the name of hero- thing to be taken from him, bore everyism—that courage which enables a man to thing in sullen silence and with appaconceal his woes within his own breast, in rent calmness. He even managed to give order to spare pain and sorrow to others, appearance of quiet submission to the or that which induces him to sacrifice him. obstinate resistance which he offered to self for the preservation of another." the orders of his superiors. His pride

In the fortress of Lichtenau Forster was to prove the inflexibility of his will. seemed never tired of talking of this Once when a task was imposed upon him Margaretha, the woman whom he had in- he refused to do it. He was punished with tended to marry.

He had tattooed on his lashes, but he never stirred a muscle, never breast, in red letters, the words “ My heart uttered a groan, and returned to his cell is Margaretha's." To a fellow-prisoner still refusing to work. No punishment he said, “ I have but one wish, to see my could bend him, till lighter work was dear mistress once more, and die." In substituted, and that he performed with sullen silence he bore his long years of regularity. He acted the part of innocence imprisonment, perhaps indulging some and piety to the last. He frequently read hope that he might eventually, by such bis hymn-book, listened to the Sunday inflexible will, tire out his judges, and sermons, and received the sacrament on procure his liberty. When a prisoner the usual festivals. If asked about his (before his solitary cell was prepared) ex- crimes he either begged not to be queshorted him to confess, he replied, “Stead. tioned, told his stock story of the two hopfastness of purpose is the chief ornament merchants, or blamed the Nüremberg of a man! One should not easily give up people for railing at him as a murderer, life; however wretched, life is a noble and driving him to tell his first and only thing. Believe me, comrade, whenever I falsehood, which had led his judge to dislook at my chains and the ball attached to believe his subsequent true narrative. them, I feel proud to think that even on Hardened as he was, however, it appears death-bed

my last breath shall be drawn that he did not altogether escape from the with courage. In my earliest days, what- pangs of a guilty conscience ; he frequently ever I undertook, that I did. As I said sighed deeply; and once, when a lawyer before, steadfastness and secrecy are what well acquainted with his whole case visited adorn a man.” He treated his heavy chains him in prison, vividly represented to him as badges of honour, and polished them at the heinousness of his crime, spoke to him his leisure honrs till they shone like silver. of the heavy burden on his conscience, During the early period of his imprison- far heavier to bear in silence than the ment at Lichtenau, where the most distin- weight of his chains, then proceeded to guished villains enthusiastically admired describe the bloody scene of the 20th of and revered him, he condescended to September, 1820, and to bring before him amuse them with stories of enchanted the victims bleeding under the axe, and princes and princesses, fortunate robbers, trodden under his feet, the sullen counte&c., to shorten their long, dreary, evening nance of the prisoner suddenly flushed hours. But one night he suddenly de- scarlet, and a person present thought he saw clared, Gentlemen, from this time forth, tears in his eyes. Some months after this I shall tell you no more stories. I see visit an organ was placed in the chapel of plainly that things look ill with me, and the prison, and the sacrament administered that

among the bad I am supposed to be on the occasion. Forster, who had hitherto the worst of all.” One of his fellow- always displayed the most callous indifprisoners asked him whether any one had ference, was deeply affected. Approachforbidden him to speak, or whether he had ing the altar, supporting his chains and taken offence ? But he answered, “No one bullet in both arms, he trembled in every but my own soul forbids me, and that has limb, tears gushed from his eyes, and his never counselled me amiss.” Pride kept him loud sobs filled the chapel. true to his word; from that time forward thought or felt, whether the notes of the he told no more stories, and answered only organ pealed in his ear like the “ Dies in monosyllables. Thus he stood alone, dis- iræ, Dies illa,” could not be discovered. tinguished from the common herd of male- When he returned to his cell he was sullen factors. He maintained this sullen silence and impenetrable as before. for years in his solitary cell, asking no- Forster is described as having a vnlgar

, thing and uttering no complaint. He took heavy countenance. The lower part of his

What be

BY THE AUTHOR OF "HESTER'S HISTORY."

long narrow face was of unusual length. His senger, and Tibbie was ready to go any. expression, singularly animal, revolting and where. Yes, she would go in search of hard, never changed, so that his head Paul Finiston, though she knew very well seemed like that of a marble statue but for that he had gone to Camlough. After two large dark prominent eyes which were a long day's absence, she came back with filled with rage and despair, and usually her news; Paul had gone away for his fixed on the ground. That Forster, impeni- own amusement, and no one in the country tent to the last, died in prison long since, seemed to know when he would return. there can be no doubt, bat Feuerbach, in his Simon's rage at hearing this was exremarkable work, does not mention his treme. Tibbie slunk away out of reach death. We leave the murderer, then, till his passion was exhausted, and then, in the deepening gloom of the prison cell, when she found him feeble and prostrate, and in that ominous darkness part from with neither voice nor breath left, she venthe doomed wretch for ever.

tured again before him, and talked as she had a mind to talk. She told him that

Paul Finiston never had intended to work THE WICKED WOODS OF TOBEREEVIL. for him; that he had wanted to be his heir,

and that was all ; laughing in his sleeve

while he pretended to be his servant. Of CHAPTER XXXV. SIMON DOES HIS OWN WORK.

course he was now the heir, and would In the mean time, Simon had been anxi- amuse himself as he pleased till such time as ously expecting his nephew, who strangely his uncle's death should put him in possesabsented himself, instead of hastening to sion of great wealth. Fine people were courtcomplete that engagement which he had ing him, because of those riches which he almost entered into with his employer. boasted must be his; and he reckoned on The old man's head was now as busy with having enough to spend in his lifetime Scotch shepherds, as that of his ancient without troubling himself about laying up predecessor had been bewitched by the an increase. Having made these statedream of multitudes of spreading trees. ments, Tibbie went back triumphantly to He wished to exterminate every peasant, her kitchen, no longer to hide, but to and to cut down the idle woods. He reign as in former times. Simon was glad wished to see herds of sleek animals grazing to have her at hand, for, his rage expended, over his land, to have his money in large he was feverish with new plans. He would sums, and no risk about getting it. be king in his own kingdom, and Tibbie

He did not know what his nephew could should for the moment be his minister. mean by staying away so long, having ex. Tibbie should go in search of the bailiff, pected the young man to return to him so that notices of ejectment might be immediately, lest a terrible threat which served without delay, and if the people had been uttered should be fulfilled with refused to move, why then Simon, having out delay. Yet the weeks passed on, and cast off Paul, would prove that he could Paul did not appear, while the old man yet do business without help from his unchafed and fretted about his house, and worthy kinsman.

He would hire some roamed out into the woods, cursing his stout assistants, who must at least do their nephew and his own wretched fate, since duty by him for a day; but longer than he did not find one creature in the world one day he would trust no man again. whom he could trust.

Tibbie set off on her errand on a merry Tibbie observed him from her secret summer morning, and she went greatly out hiding-place, and knew the cause of his of her way to carry her news across the anger; watched her opportunity, and pre- mountains. Con followed after her heels, sented herself before him. She had hung but he was busy watching the squirrels in up her mandrake in a corner of the the trees, and the leverets on the heath. kitchen where it surveyed all her labours The world was gay for the fool, and he and her idlings. Confident in her posses- grew merrier and noisier as he got nearer sion of good luck, she did not fear Simon, to the clouds. He knew that he was and her shrewdness suggested the best way going a visiting to his friends up in the of dealing with her aggrieved master, who hills. scarcely listened to her penitent speeches The first house they arrived at was happy and professions of attachment, but seized Bid's! The old woman was preparing for on her offers of service with the greatest a ramble through the country with her eagerness. He was in bad need of a mes basket of wares. The basket sat on the

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table full of little pictures in brass frames, yer lan’lord's land. Ye thought to sit here pin - boxes, and pin- cushions, dressing- free because the old man was dotin', but combs, and rosary-beads, tin brooches, and he's not dotin' a bit, an' he's doin' his glass ear-rings, besides many other valuables work himsel these days. He'll be up wid fit to make eyes dance at her coming. By ye in a fortnit's time, an' I advise ye not it lay her staff. The fire was raked on the to sit waitin' for him." hearth in preparation for a long absence of Poor Bid listened with meekness; she the householder from her home; that home was indeed overthrown from her glory; of which she was so proud, and which had her old hands fell lax in her lap; her very made her old age so honourable. The cap-border hung limp by her cheeks. place looked as clean as a new pin, and she Because, having lifted me up Thon hast had got a chair for a visitor, and a little cast me down.”

So said Bid's dim eyes, stool for herself, a very tiny table, and a which had no thought of rebellion in their dresser with some crockery. Three gaudy sadness. She only found, suddenly, that pictures, with brazen frames, were hung she could no longer be a queen. It was round the walls, and gave the place quite plain that the Lord had not loved her in a splendid look. The first was the Nativity, her pride. the second the Crucifixion, the third the "It's all right, ma'am," she said, plucking Resurrection of the Lord; and these made up her spirits; "on'y there's wan thing I a history, which were as Scriptures for would ax ye. Would a small trifle o' rent Bid, to whom the alphabet was but a string be like to make a differ? The basket has of bieroglyphics. All these delights she done beautiful wid me, an' by manes o' had tasted and enjoyed; but Tibbie had the pinch of hunger I could save up a little come to tell her that the feast was at an somethin'." end.

“ Sorra bit o' differ,” said Tibbie. Bid herself, queen of her castle, came “Simon wants the lan'

. There's gran? forward to meet the visitors, brimming full rich cattle fellas comin' to the hills; an' of the good-humour of hospitality. She it's not the likes o' you that's goin' to was dressed ready for travel in the usual stan' in the road o' sheep an' fat bullocks. long grey cloak and bright scarlet kerchief, I'm thinkin' Simon's tired o' gettin' his she had also a new white cap, whose money in ha’pence an’ pence.

But I'm borders looked as fresh round her pleasant too long talkin' to ye; I must be off to the face as a spring hedge round a garden. By widow Kearney's.' such signs of luxury one could see the At the sound of her friend's name the change in her life. Well might she smile expression of Bid's meek face was changed. on visiting neighbours, even though Tibbie A look of lively terror came into her should come amongst them. She had not eyes. much to offer to any one, besides a seat on "The Kearneys !" she cried.

"Oh, se her chair and a sight of her pictures; but niver meant the Kearneys. Yer nirer to Bid's manner of thinking this was no goin' to them on the same arrant ye came mean entertainment.

to me?" Tibbie was presented with the chair and Maybe not,” said Tibbie, “but I Con with the stool, and Bid sat down on know my own business.” her floor which was well-nigh as clean as Con had been hovering about the cabin, a satin couch.

looking at Bid's pictures, and hanging with "There'll be a bit of a note comin' to rapture over the treasures in her basket. ye, by-an-bye,” said Tibbie, “but maybe ye When Bid cried out “the Kearneys!" in won't be able to read it."

a tone of anguish, he started and gazed at “Deed an' I can't,” said Bid. “ Ye'll her, and his white face turned red. Then tell me what'll be in it?”

he looked at Tibbie, and his brows began “That's aisy done,” said Tibbie. “Ye'll to lower, and he went and took his stand be out o' this, bag an' baggage, before this by the side of Bid. day month."

“ Nan!” said the fool. Bid, who had been so happy, turned as But Bid was too much afflicted to give white as her nice clean cap.

any heed to him. Her eyes had now got “ Anan?" she said faintly; but she fire in them, and her figure had lost its knew the whole story well.

limpness. She got up and grasped her “ Yer bad ways is found out,” continued staff, and prepared to follow Tibbie. Tibbie, speaking loud in the pride of her “He threwn them out wanst,” she said, office. “I wondher yer not ashamed to steal" an’ will he threwn them out again! What

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you now !”

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Bid cry

ha’ they done to Simon but pay him his Bid and Mary were together weeping heavy dues ?

The Lord, sure, will be even in the cabin, and the gossoons were on wid him wan day for the like o' this !" their knees comforting their mother. Con

“Curses does no good,” said Tibbie, had been an eager listener to all that passed virtuously.

between Nan and Tibbie, his shifting gaze “I do not curse,” said Bid, “but oh, becoming every moment more pitiful when Mary, my poor frien', it's the says'll get turned on the one, and more lowering when

directed towards the other. Nan's sharp Con was white again, and he listened cry seemed to madden his simple brain. with all his ears.

He knew there was He turned into the cabin and seized a come some trouble upon his friends; knew creepie stool, heavy enough to break a that Bid was grieving for them, and that human skull. Tibbie saw him flying out Tibbie had brought the grief. He handed of the doorway, with face of fury, and the her staff to Bid and pulled her to the door. stool swung above his head. She cried out “Nan!” he kept saying, “Nan!” But loudly, and fled a few paces, then had just Bid wept loudly as they went along the time to stoop before the “creepie” whizzed heath.

over her shoulders. Death had been very The Kearneys saw them coming, and near her; she retreated hastily, and disapmany smiling faces appeared at the door; peared behind the rocks; while Nan laid but the smiles soon faded away into looks hold of Con and dragged him into the of sorrow and amazement. Who had seen | cabin.

since she buried her last child ? After this Bid and the Kearney family Mrs. Kearney went out full of sympathy held counsel together as to what there was to meet her weeping friend.

to be done in this sad strait. Paul was “Oh, Mary, my poor woman!” said Bid, their only hope, and he was gone to Cam“it's the throuble that's come to yer lough. The only thing they could think door!”

of was that Bid should go without delay Tibbie now played her part and an- to Miss May at the old abbey. If there nounced the miser's will.

was any tale or tidings of him she would " It's none o' my fault,” she added, have it, without a doubt. sulkily, as she met the frantic eyes of the Bid took up her staff, and set out with mother of many children. Mrs. Kearney a heavy heart. She arrived at the little threw her apron over her face and retreated gate, and walked up through the pretty into the cabin; but Nan stepped up and rose-garden, and round the back way to spoke to the bearer of evil tidings; her the kitchen. blue eyes flashed and she tossed her yellow “Yer welcome !" said Nanny, with her locks.

fingers on her lips; " but ye'll plase to “Don't come here again,” she said, or make no noise, for our young misthress is ye'll have cause to rue the day. What do sick.” we care for Simon when the Lord has This was bad news to Bid, but she came give us Paul ?”

in as invited. She was far too discreet to "Paul, inagh !” sneered Tibbie. “It's speak to the servants about Paul, but much he cares for the likes o' you! He's asked to see Miss Martha; and Bridget dancing ’an singin' at Camlough, an' ye'll went to tell the old lady, who was sitting all be out o’ the country afore he comes in May's room. The chamber was very back."

silent, the blinds were all drawn down, and “We'll not be out o' the country,” said the figure in the bed lay with its face Nan. “ We'll walk, if it was on our knees, turned to the wall. till we find him an' tell our story."

“ It's Bid the thraveller, ma'am," whis“Ye needn't walk on yer knees, nor on pered Bridget; “an' she wanted Misther yer head neither,” said Tibbie, “for he Finiston. An' whin she couldn't see him, wouldn't lift a hand for ye if he was here she's axin now for Miss May." this very day. An' what's more, if he “You needn't have come in,” said Miss would, he has no more power nor you have. Martha ; “Miss May is too ill-Simon has cast him off, an' is doin' the “Let her come in, Aunty,” said May, work hissel'."

sitting up in her bed. Nan bent her fair head, and a cry went "My love, you know you are ill" out from her lips. If Paul was taken from "I have plenty of time to be ill, Aunty; them, then, indeed, their case was des- I want to see old Bid." perate.

Miss Martha was obliged to relent, and

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Bid was brought into the bedroom. Miss why it should be. Who it is that'll come
Martha warned her not to stay too long, after him there's no one now can tell, since
and went away to give some orders to he has cut off Misther Paul.
Nanny.

“Cut him off, did you say, Bid ?". Bid coming in, leaning on her staff, saw “That's what I said, an' sure it's little two hollow eyes bent on her out of a ye need vex. On'y the poor need fret, that white eager face.

doesn't know who'll come over them.” “ You are good to come to visit me, Are

you sure that it is true? Then I Bid. Have you got any news for me?” thank Heaven. Do you think, Bid, that

"Ill news, honey-nothin' but ill news. when the property is gone to another, and There's cattle comin' till the mountain, an'he ceases to be the heir, do you think then the poor'll have to go. For Simon's taken that the curse will let him go ?” to mind the lan' hissel'. But it's cruel o' “I'm thinkin' that it will, honey; I'm me to be tellin' ye this, and yer cheeks thinkin' that it will. An’sure it's better to the colour they are.”

be a poor body wid the blessin' o' the Lord, “Never mind my cheeks, Bid; tell me nor be rich an' have the divil playin’ all about it.”

thricks on ye

all

yer life.' Bid told her the whole: how thirty “Listen to me, Bid. Can I put a great, families, for the first instalment, were to great trust in you be turned out of house and home; how “God sees if ye do ye'll not put it to the the very huts they had buiit of the mud, bad." and hollowed out of the sandy cliffs, were “I want you to go to Camlough." priced so high above their heads that they “I'll go, avourneen. could not hope to pay for them, even if "I want you to go to Camlough, and to they were able to live like the flowers—on see Mr. Paul Finiston. You will notice air, and the dews from heaven. How some what he is doing, how he looks, and how that had paid heavily for many a long year he speaks. You see, Bid, it is not natural, were to go now at last, no matter what this that has happened to him; he is not they might promise. This one was bound the man to go away and forget his friends. to

go, and that one was going too. At the I don't understand the curse, nor how it Kearneys, Bid broke down. There was no works, but it seems to me that it puts his hope for the Kearneys, and the old woman mind astray, so that his enemies have got could tell no more.

power over him. He believed this himself

, “Your own little house, Bid. That will and I promised that I would save him. But be safe enough ?"

now he is far away, and I am too weak to • Oh, throth !” cried Bid, tossing her move. There is only one who can help head, "it's little matther about a body like me, and that is you.'

I was thrampin' long enough, an' I Tell me what to do," said Bid, drawcan take to the thramp again. But I ing her cloak about her, and grasping her thought if Mr. Paul was to the fore, sich staff. business couldn't

Nothing,” said May, “except to go

to “I think he would try to prevent it, but Camlough upon some errand of your own. you know he is not here. Mr. Paul is Observe all you can, and come back to me gone to Camlough and we do not see him with news.

Then Miss Martha returned to the room, Bid looked at the strained fevered eyes, and the old woman went away. and at the little wasted hands, that were locked so tight together; and she knew

The Back Numbers of the PRESENT SERIES of how things were going here, and that there was no hope at ali.

ALL THE YEAR ROUND, “You see,” she said, evasively, “it's

Also Cases for Binding, are always kept on sale. goin' this ways wid Simon, that he's comin'

The whole of the Numbers of the FIRST SERIES of near his death. The misers o' Tobereevil ALL THE YEAR

YEAR ROUND, does always get a bit harder an' crueler

CONDUCTED BY CHARLES DICKENS, afore their end. It's the

way
the curse

Are now in print, and may be obtained at the Office, works in them, an' the Lord on'y knows 26, Wellington-street, Strand, W.C., and of all Booksellers.

me.

go

on."

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now."

The light of Translating Articles from ALL THE YEAR ROUND is reserved by the Authors.

Published at the Omoe, 26, Wellington St., Strand, Printed by C. WHITING, Beaufort House, Duto SL, Lincoln's luo Fields

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