The Carroll Sentinel from Carroll, Iowa on July 20, 1894 · Page 10
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The Carroll Sentinel from Carroll, Iowa · Page 10

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Friday, July 20, 1894
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SANTA CLAUS SOAP BEST PUREST AND MOST ECONOMICAL. mm •old ew{yHhci-e mdity CMICUa OW IS THE TIME TO PREPARE FOR SPRING WORK. The first thing necessary H good comfortable sh )es and you will find the best line at MOORE'S SHOE STORE Also the best lines of fine shoes at most popular prices. REPAIRING A SPECIALTY South Side Fifth Street, CARROLL, IOWA. YOU WANT THE BEST THE 'BEST is NONE TOO GOOD / For the readers of THE SBNTINBI., and we have mode arrangements whereby we can give the beet weekly newspaper in ihe world, Ik He* M Ml Together with THE WEEKLY SBNTINB for the price of THE SENTINEL •lone. No other newspaper baa so much varied and special matter (or its weekly edition as THE WORLD, and we (eel that in offering BOTH PAPERS FOR »2 We are giving onr subscribers the bf.ii premium we could offer there. Don't delay, but send in your subscription at onoe. Bcmember, The New York World and The Weekly Sentinel For Only $2 for One ^ ear. THE SENTINEL, Carroll, Iowa. READ BY THE BEST PEOPLE Intelligence tke!0nly ItequUIto tor Appreciation, The IS CONDUCTED AS A COMPLETE ALL-AROUND NEWSPAPER. Cleanliness, Clearness, Conciseness CHAPTER 1 TOE STORY OF THOMAS WINGFIELD. I, Thombs Wlngflold, was born here at Dltahinglmm nnd In this vory room where I write today. I nin sprung from tho family of the Wlngflolds of Wingileld e*stlo, In Suffolk, that lies some two hours on horseback from this place. My grandfather waa a shrewd man, more of a yeoman than a squire, though his birth was gentle. Ho it was who bought this place with' the lands round it and gathered up some fortune, mostly by carefully marrying and living, for though ho had but ono son he was twice married, and also by trading in cattle. Now, my grandfather was godly minded even to superstition, and, strange as it may seem, having only one son, nothing Times f/' Jtw SPEAKING ABOUT NEWS, It has the complete telegraphic service of the Associated Preas, in addition to its regular staff of out-of-town correspondents. Its market reports give the most complete details of any weekly paper in the United States. It is a mine of literary wealty. It contains the latest stories from the pens of the most noted authors, biographical sketches of the most prominent roan, the best wit of the day, scientific and religious discussions, in addition to the full news report of the week, and the best agricultural department of any weekly connected with a daily in the world. It must be seen to be appreciated. Send for sample copy. We have made arrangements with this great paper to give it ABSOLUTELY FREE with each yearly subscription paid in advance. This offer is open but a short time. Take advantage of it. Address * T UAititOLfc BKNYINIU * (Mvn»l|, Iowa, PAPERS FQR $2 would satisfy him but that the boy should be made a priest. But my father had little leaning toward the priesthood and llfo in a monastery, though at all seasons my grandfather strove to reason it into him, iometlmes with words and examples,, at others with his thick cudgel of holly that •till hangs over the ingle In the smaller •ittlng room. The end of It was that the lad was sent to the priory here in Bungay, where his conduct was of such nature that within a year the prior prayed hie parents to take him back and set him in some way of secular life. Not only, said the prior, did my father cause scandal by his actions, breaking out of the priory at night and visiting drinking houses and other places, but such was the sum of his. wickedness he did not scruple to question and make mock of the very doctrines of the church, alleging even that there waa nothing sacred in the Image of the Virgin Mary which stood In the chancel, and shut his eyes In prayer before all the congregation when the priest elevated the host. .'' Therefore," said the prior, "I pray you to take back your son and let him find some other road to the stake than that which rims through the gates of Bungay priory." It was believed both by my grandfather and the prior that the true cause of my father's contumacy was a passion which he had conceived for a girl of humble birth, a miller's fair daughter who dwelt at Wa- Ingford Mills. So the end of it was that he went to foreign parts in the care of a party of Spanish monks, who had journeyed here to Norfolk on a pilgrimage to the •hrine of Our Lady of Walslngham. Thus It chanced that when he had sailed from Yarmouth a year and six months there came a letter from the abbot of the monastery in Seville to hie brother, the prior of St. Mary's at Bungay, saying that my father had fled from the monastery. Two more years passed away, and then came other news—namely, that my father had been captured; that ho hod been handed over to the power of the holy office, as the accursed inquisition was then named, and tortured to death at Seville. When my grandfather heard this, he wept. Still he did not believe that my father was dead In truth, since on the last day of his own life, that ended two years later, he spoke of him as a living man and left messages to him as to the management of the lands which were now his. And In the end it became clear that this belief was not ill founded, for one day, three years after the old man's death, there landed at the port of Yarmouth none other than my father, who had been absent some eight yean in all. Nor did he come •lone, for with him he brought a wife, a young and very lovely lady, who afterward was my mother. She was a Spaniard of noble family, having been born at Seville, and her maiden name was Donna Lulsa de Garcia. Then? were tbJBp.°' us children—Geof- t re"y7 WSy elder brother, myself and my sister Mary, who was one year my Junior, the sweetest child and the moat beautiful that I have ever known. Wo were very happy children, and our beauty WM tho pride of our father and mother and tho envy of othe> parents. I was the darkest of tho three, dark indeed to swurthiness, but in Mary the Spanish blood showed uuly in her rich eyes of velvet hue, and In the glow upon her check that was like the blush on a ripe fruit. My mother used to call ino her little Spaniard because of my swarthinogg—that Is, when my father was not near, for euch names angered him.. She never learned to speak English very well, but he would suffer her to talk in no other tongue before tilin. Still when ho wus not thoro she spoke in Spanish, of which language, however, I alone of the fumjly became a master, and that was more because of certain volumes of old Spanish romances which •ho had by her than for any other reason. From my earliest childhood 1 was fond of such tales, and it was by bribing mo with tho promise that I should rend them tluit she persuaded mo to learn Spanish, for my mother's heart Btlll yearned toward her old sunny homo, mid often she would talk of it with us children, more especially In the winter season, which sho hutod as I do. Once I asked her if sho wished to go book to Spain. Sho shivered uud answered no, for there dwelt ono wlio was her enemy uud would kill her; also her heart wan with us children and our father. Now, when I wus ISJtf yuurs old, on n certain evening In tho month of M»VI It happened tbut u friend of my father's, Bquli'o Buzurd, lute of tho hull in this part lili, cullod at the lodge on Ills road from Yarmouth, uud iu the course of his talk lot it full that u Spanish ship wns ttt anchor (n tho roads laden with merchandise. My father pricked up Ills ears at this and fcskod who her cuptmu might bo. Squln Howard answered thut ho did not know his name, l>ut that ho had soon htm 111 tho wurkot pluoo, u lull uud stalely lutin, richly dressed, with u hunusoiuo fuco and u scar upou his temple. At tUls news my mother turned polo bo- nouth horollvo skin umi muttered In Spanish: "Holy Mother, grunt thut It bo not he!" My father ulso looked frightened und questioned tho uqqlro clotiuly us to the man's uppeurunuo, but without IWH'iilutf anything uioru. Tltuu lie Uulo him udlou with llttlo oerwuuuy, und tulclug worse rode away for Yarmouth. Thut night my mother never slopt, but sat all through U in her nursing chulr, brooding over I know not what. As I )e» Lor when I wont to my hotl so I fyiuul bur when 1 uuuui Crow It at Ouwu f pui) ii>- her faee glimmering white in the twilight of tiio May morning as she sat, her large eyes fixed upon the lattice. "You have risen early, mother," I said. "I have never laid down, Thomas," she answered. "Why not? What do you fear?" "I fear the past and tho future, my son Would that your father were back." About 10 o'clock of that morning, as I was making ready to walk into Bungay to the house of tho physician under whom I was learning tho art of healing, ray father rodo up. My mother, who was watching at the lattice, ran out to meet him. Springing from his horse, he embraced her, saying: "Be of good cheer, sweet; it cannot be he. This man has another name." "But did .you see him! 1 " she asked. "No; he waa out at his ship for the night, and I hurried home to tell you, knowing your fears." "It were surer If you had seen him, husband. He may well have taken another name." "I never thought of that, sweet," my father answered, "but have no fear. Should it be he, and should he dare to set foot in the parish of Ditchlngham, there are those who will know how to deal with him. But I ain rare that it Is not he." "Thanks be to Jesu then!" she said, and they began talking in a low voice. Now, seeing that I was not wanted, I took my cudgel and started down the bridge path toward the .common footbridge, when suddenly my mother called me back. "Kiss me before yon go, Thomas," she •aid. "You must wonder what all this may mean. One day yeur father will tell "Kiss me before you go, Thomas," said. you. It has to do with a shadow which baa hung over my life for many yean, but that Is, I trust, gone forever." "If it be a man who. flings it, he had best keep out of reach of this," I said, laughing and shaking my thick stick. "It U a man," she answered, "but one to be dealt with otherwise than by blows, Thomas, should you ever chance to meet him." "May be, mother, but might la the best argument at the lost, for the most cunning have a life to lose." "You are too ready to use your strength, •on," she said, smiling and kissing me. "Remember the old Spanish proverb, 'He strikes hardest who strikes last.' " "And remember tho other proverb, mother, 'Strike before thou art stricken,' " I answered and wont. I never saw her again till she waa dead. the door ujujr M' ** CHAPTER II. THE COMING OF Till! SPANIARD. And now I must go book and speak of my own matters. As I have told, It was my father's wish that I should be o physician, and since I came back from my schooling at Norwich—that was when I bad entered on my sixteenth year—I hod studied medicine under tho doctor who practiced his art In tho neighborhood ol Bungay. He was a very learned man and OB honest, Grlmstono by name, and as I bad some liking for tho business I mode good progress under him. Medicine was not the only thing that 1 studied in those days, however. Squire Bozard of Ditebingham, the same who told my father of tho coming of the Spanish ship, had two living children, a son and a daughter, though bis wife hod borne him many more who died in Infancy. The daughter was named Lily and of my own ago, having boon born three weeks after me In the same yeur. From our curliest days wo children, Bo ssards and Wlngnelds, lived almost as brothers and sisters, for day by day wo met aud played together in tho snow or in tho flowers. Thus it would bo hard for mo to say when I begun to love Lily or when she began to love mo, but I know that when I flrst went to school at Norwich I grieve* more at losing sight of her than because 1 must part from my mother and tho rest In all our games she was over my partner and I would search tho country round fo days to nnd such ttowors us sho oluiucod to love. When I came back from school it was tho sumo, though by degrees Uly urow ehtor, und I also grew suddenly shy perceiving thut from a child she had become a woman. Btlll wo met often, und though neither said anything of It, it wus sweet to us to moot. Titus things went on till this day of my mother's death. Hut before I go further 1 must tell tlmt Squire Bozard looked with no favor on tho friendship between hut daughter and myself, and this not beans*) ho disliked mo, but rather boeauu- ho would have seen Uly wedded to w»y «>ld<ir brother, Geoffrey, my father's heir, uud m< to a younger sou. Bo hard did he grow about the matter ut lust thut we two might scarcely ineot except by suemliig accident, whereas my brother was ever welcome ut tho hull. Aud on this account tome bltUirness arose between us two brothers, as is apt to oo the caw wheu u woman oomes between friends, however close, for it must be known that my brother (jeourey also lovixl Lily, us nil men would have loved hw, and with a better right perhaps thuu I had, for ho wus my elder by throe yfiars aud burn, to possessions. ft wwf'full Mtv*U, UMd, w 'Mug as 1 do 49 ••xtrcTne old o.ge 1 may lojr It without false o, n rrfy hnndflomo youth to boot. I wns not wvertall 'Indeed, mertsurlng but 6 feet 9 J4 Indies in height, but my limbs Wero well made, nnd I waa both deep and broad in tho chest;. In c»lor I was, and, my vrhlU) h'nlr notwithstanding, am still, extraordinarily dark luted) my eyes also were largo mid dark, and n»y hair, which wns wavy, Was cool block. In lay deportment I wns i ysfirved and grave to sadness; in speech I wns Blow and temperate and more opt at listening than In talking. I Weighed mr.ttora well before I made up my nilnd upon them, but being made up nothing could turn mo from that mind short of denth itself, whether it wero set on good or ovll, on folly or wisdom. In those cln.TS also I had little religion, since partly because of my father's secret teaching nnd partly through the workings of my own reason I learned to doubt the doctrines of the church as they used to be set out. On this eaA day of which I write I knew that Lily, whom I loved, would be walk- Ing alone beneath the great pollard oaks In the park at Dltohingham hall. Here, in Grubswell, as the spot la called, grow, Indeed still grow, certain hawthorn trees that are tho earliest to blow of any in these parts, and when we had met at the church door on the Sunday Lily said that there would be bloom upon them by the Wednesday, and on that afternoon she should go to out it. It may well be that shi spoke thus with design, for love will breed cunning in the heart of the most guileless and truthful maid. Then and there I vowed to myself that I also would be gathering hawthorn bloom in this same place, and on that Wednesday afternoon—yes, eyen If I must play truant and leave all the sick of Bungay to nature's nursing. Moreover, I was determined on one thing—that UI could find Lily alone I would delay no longer, but tell her all that was In my heart, no great secret indeed, for though no word of love had ever passed between us as yet each knew the other's hidden thoughts. Now, it chanced that on this afternoon I was hard put to it to escape to my tryst, for my master, the physician, was ailing and sent me to visit the sick for him, carrying them their medicines. At the last, however, between 4 and 5 o'clock, I fled, asking no leave. Taking the Norwich rood, I ran for a mile and more till 1 had passed the Manor House and tho church turn and drew near to Ditching: bam pork. Then I dropped my pace to a walk, for I did not wish to come before Lily heated and disordered, but rather looking my best, to which end I had put on my Sunday garments. Now, as I went down the little hill in the road that runs tost tho park I saw a man on horseback pho looked flrst at tho bridle path that at lis spot turns off to the right, then back across tho common Innds toward the Vino- ard hills and the Waveney, and then long the road, as though he did not know hich way to turn. I was quick to notice lings, though at this moment my mind was not at its swiftest, being set on other matters and chiefly as to how I should tell my tale to Lily, and I saw at once that lis man was not of our country. He was very tall and noble looking, teased in rich garments of velvet adorned y a gold chain that hung about his neck, and, as I judged, about 40 years of age. lut it was his face which chiefly caught y eye, for that moment there was some- hing terrible about it. It was long, thin and deeply carved. The eyes wero large and gleamed like gold in sunlight; the mouth was small and well shaped, but it rone a devilish and cruel sneer; the fore- icad lofty, indicating a man of mind, and marked with a slight scar. For the rest ;he cavalier was durk aud southern look- ng; his curling hair, like my own, was (lack, and he wore a peaked chestnut colored beard. By the time that I had finished these observations my feet had brought mo almost to tho stranger's side, and for tho Irst time he caught sight of me. Instantly lis face changed, the sneer left it, and it wcaine kindly and pleasant looking. Llft- ng his bonnet with much courtesy, ho stammered something in broken English ot which all I coura catch was the word Yarmouth. Thou, perceiving that I did not understand him, ho cursed the Eng- lih tongue, and all those who spoke it, aloud and in good Castlllon. If tbo senor will graciously express his wish In Spanish," I said, speaking in that onguage, "it may be in my power to help him." "Wlmt, you speak Spanish, young sir!" he sold, starting, "and yet you are not u Spaniard, though by your face you well might bo. Ouramba, but It is strangcl" and ho eyed me curiously. "It maybe strange, sir," I answered, 'but I am in haste. Bo pleased to ask your question and let mo go." "Ah," ho sold, "perhaps I con guess the reason of your hurry. I saw a white robe down by tho streamlet yonder," and ho nodded toward the park. "Take the advice of an older man, young sir, and bo careful. Make what sport you will with swih, but never believe them and never marry them—lest you should live to desire to kill them!" Hero I made as though I would pass on, but lie spuUo again: "Pardon my words; they wero well mount, and perhaps you may come to learn their truth. I will detain you no more. Will you graciously direct mo on my road to Yarmouth, for I um not sura of It, having ridden by another wuy, nud your Kng- llsli country Is BO full of trees that a man cannot see a mllef" I walked a dozen puces down tho bridle path tlmt Joined the rood ut this place uud pointed out the wuy thut ho should go, pout Ultohlnghmn church. As 1 did so 1 noticed thut while I spoke tho stranger wus watching my face keenly, and It seemed to me with an Inward four which he btrovu to niONtur und could liot. Wheu I hud finished, ho rulsed his bonnet uud thanked me, saying: "Will you be so gracious as to tell me your name, young sir)"' "Wlmt Is my name to youf" I answered roughly, for I disliked this mau. "You have not told mo yours." "No, Indeed; 1 um traveling Incognito. Perhaps I ulso huvo mot a lady in these parts,'' uud he smiled strangely. '' I only wished to know tho name of one who hud done me u courtesy, but who, It seems, Is not so courteous us I deemed'" Aud he shook bis horse's reins. I um not asluunod of my name," I said. "It lias boon an honest one so far, und if you wish to know U It is Thomas Wlugflold." "I thought It," ho cried, and ushosuoku his faee grew UKo the face of u fiend. Then before 1 could find time eveu to wouder he hud sprung from his hum) aud stood within three puuos of mo, "A lucky day I Now we will see what trul:i there Is In prophecies," ht> suld, drawing his silver mounted sword "A nuuiefor a name; Jimn de Ciurela gives you greutiug, Thomas Wluguetd." Now, struugo us It may sworn, it wan at (Jus MiuuMMri only thut there tkulied aero* iuy rnlud the thought of «U Umt I turn fcpimt nbou* tho Spanish stranger, the **« port of whose doming to Yarmouth had stirred Inyl'atlior nnd mother so deeplyi At any other tline I should have remenv bcrccl It soon enough, but on this day 1 was so set upon my tryst with Lily a-nd what I should say to her that nothing, else could hold ft plnco In my thoughts. "This must bo tho man," I said to Iny- self, and then I said no more, for he was on mo, sword up. I saw tho keen point, flash toward.mo and sprang to one sido, having ft desire to fly, as, being unarmed, except for my stick, I might have done- Without shame. But spring as I would 1 could not avoid tho thrust altogether. It was aimed at my heart, and it pierced the- sleeve of my loft arm, passing through the- flesh—no more.. Yet at the pain of that cut, all thought of flight left mo, and instead of it n cold anger filled mo, causing me to wish to kill this man who had attacked me thus and unprovoked. In my hand was my stout oaken staff, which' I had cut myself on the banks of Hollow hill, and if I would flght I must make such play with this as I might. It seems a poor weapon Indeed to match against a Toledo blade in the hands of ono who could handle it well, and yet there are virtues in a cudgel, for when a man sees himself threatened with it ho is likely to forgot that he holds in his hand a more deadly weapon, and to take to the guarding of his own head in place of running his adversary through, the body. And that was what chanced in this case, though how It came about exactly I cau- not tell. The Spaniard was a fine swordsman, and had I been armed as he was would doubtless have overmatched me, who at that age had no practice in the art,, which was almost unknown in England. But when he saw the big stick flourished over him he forgot his own advantage and raised his arm to ward away tho blow. Down it came upon the back of his hand, and his sword fell from it to the grass. But I did not spare him because of that, for my blood was up. The next stroke took him on the lips, knocking out a tooth and sending him backward. Then I caught him by tho leg and beat him unmercifully, not upon the head indeed, for now that I was victor I did not wish to kfll one ' whom I thought a madman, as I would that I had done, but on every other part of him. Indeed I thrasheoThlm till my arms were weary, and then I fell to kicking him, and all the while he writhed like a wounded snake and cursed horribly, though he never cried out or asked for mercy. At last I ceased and looked at him, and he was no pretty sight to see. Indeed what with his outs and bruises and the mire of the roadway it would have been hard to know him for the gallant cavalier whom I had met not five minutes before. But uglier than all his hurts was the look in his wicked eyes as he lay there on his back In the pathway and glared up at me. "Now, friend Spaniard," I said, "you have learned a lesson, and what is there to, hinder me from treating you as you would have dealt with me who hod never harmed youf" And I took up his sword and held it to his throat. "Strike home, you accursed whelp I" he answered in a broken voice. "It is better to die than live to remember such shame as this." "No," I said; "I am no foreign murderer to kill a defenseless man. You shall away to tho justice to answer for yourself. The hangman has a rope for such as you." "Then you must drag mo thither," he groaned and shut his eyes as though with falntness, and doubtless he was somewhat faint. Now, as I pondered oh what should be done with tbo villain, it chanced that I looked up through a gap in tho fence, and there, among tho Grubswell oaks 800 yards or more away, I caught sight of tho flutter of a white robo that I knew well, and it seemed to mo that the wearer of that robe was moving toward the bridge of the "watering," as though she wore weary of wait- big for one who did not come. Then I thought to myself that if I staid to drag this man to tho village stocks or •ome other safe place there would be an end of mooting with my love that day, and I did not know when I wight Und another chance. Now, I would not have missed that hour's talk with Lily to bring a score of murderous minded foreigners to their do- J thrashed him Ml my arnn were weary. •erts. And, moreover, this one hod earned good payment for his behavior. Surely, thought I, ho might wait awhile till I had douo my lovonmktng, and if he would not wait I could dud a means to make him do so. Not 80 puces from us tho horse stood cropping tho grass. I wont to him and undid his bridle rein, and with it fastened tho Spaniard to a small wayside tree as best I wns able. "Now, here you stay," I said, "UU lorn ready to fetch you," aud I turned to go. But as I wont a great doubt took mo, and once more I remembered my mother's fear, and how my father hud ridden Iu haste to Yarmouth on business about a Spaniard. Now today a Spaniard hud wan- dorcd to Ditebingham, aud when ho learned my name had fallen upon mo, madly trying to kill me. Wus not this tho man whom my mother feared, and wus It right that I should leave htm thus tbut I might go Maying with my dearC I know Iu my breast that It woe not right, but I was no set upon my desire uud so strongly did my heartstrings pull me toward her whose white roue now Muttered on the •lope of tho Park hill that I never heeded 'the warning. Well had It been for me If I hud douo «o •and well for seme who wero yet uuboui. Then tlivy had never known death, uor I the land of exile, thu taste of slavery aud tho alluj; of suc.i'lty£p. • OHAPTKH III. TJ10UAB TJil.Lb 1Mb I.OVK. Having mude the Kpuulurd us fast us I could, lili urms being bound to tho tree behind liliu, uutl taking his sword with uw, I begun to run hurd uftcr Lily uud u. 11 glit her not too soon, for Iu one more uiluuui sliu would huvo luraoU uloug the road th*t runs to (lie watering aud over bridge by the Park hill uatli to the uiI m ? (outruns, shu (uoc4 about It)

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