A Traveler's Tale

Three days ago I returned to my cottage, after nearly twelve months' absence in Eastern Europe. It is quaint and sunny - and damp - as ahvays; the memorials of distant travel wliereof you have heard so much welcome me home; the roses inmy conservatory are as thick and as fragrant as ever. Time has tlown lightly and pleasantly with home and owner, butinthe big heap of letters on my table there is notice of change more than enough. I have reached the age when death becomes familiar, a visitant who sweeps round closer and closer, in a beat ever narrovving - striking here and there more rapidly and more nearly until one's self is struck. Tour intimate friends have joined the majority since I left home; one, an old school-fellow, who had never, 1 believe, visited more distant parts than France or Italy; tlie second, a French journalist, whose facile success proved his ruin; the third, an oflïcer of Rajan Brooke, who died in the Ked Sea on his way home; the fourth, a South African farmer, winegrower, digger, veterinary surgeon - the best and the happiest of men. He, his wife, and one of their children perished of fever within forty-eight hours. His Executor wiïtes to me of some business settled years ago; but my friend was never caref ui of his papers. We called him Swelly Dave upon "theFields," where I flrst made his acquaintance. His real name matters to no one; let up suppose it Davies. Every one liked and admired when they knew liim, but in that rough place he had an up-hill road to popularity, for Dave was consumed by an instinct and a genius for dress. At all times he could display a white shirt and a stifE collar. This neatness was not a hereditary attribute, I imagine. He fessed tliat his fatlier had been a country vet., and that lie himself had been educated for that modest pvofession. He had learned something of the business evidently, when his parent's death gave Iiim a very little fortune. This he spent quite quietly and respeetably, satislied with the present and the future of humanity when his troii3ers iitted and their pockets held a shilling for a flower. It was not the dear old fellow's nature to run into debt. He reckoneil lip his waning cash with jealous integrity, and when it had ebbed to a certain point ho paid bis tailor, packed his wardrobe, and sailed for the Cape. There he pracliced as a vet. until the discovery of diamonds attracted him to Dutoitspan. He was lucky from the outset, and as he neither drank nor gambled beyond rnoderation, Dave was soon enabled to indulge his one extravagance, I found hirn established at Benning and Martin' s "Holel" on my arrival, a tall young fellow, with sleepy luown eyes, fair hair and moustache. We dld not grow intimate for a long while, since his character was all that is least gushing. I have met only one European in the world who could sit still and keep silence as he could. Ou a shady bench outside the hotel door he would gaze dreamily at nothing from dinner-time till dusk. His pleasant smile was ready for au acquaintance, and his few words shrewd and purposeful enough, but he feit no need of a companion. At iirst the rude diggers resented alike the collars and the quiet, but when they found that this spiek and span lounger was ready with bis íists in a challenge - though he nearly always got the worst of an enco unter - they respected him. The incident which brought me into closer relationship with Dave took place after I had left Benning and Martin's to live on Bultfontein HUÍ. Let it be conf essed at once that I have made a coherent story out of facts which could be, and were, summarised in two or three paragraphs of the Diamond Fields News; but the facts are perfectly true and notorious. If I transcribed those paragraphs you wonld cry out for detail and explanation; you would want to know more of the human beings concerned. Until this sad news reached me I could nothavesatisfled jou without an unpardonable breach of friendship. But all are gone now who were interested in those strange events, and whpn meraory stirs my imagination there is no need to resist. It was in the latter end of 1872. One morning 1 descended Bultfontein Hill to inspect the market. Half a dozen wagons just arrived stood round Uk square; heavy boers and ragged follow ers of the camp were transferring the contents to market-tables, ranged in a hollow parallelogiain. The porters o: the municipality, worlfing inside thi barrier, sorted and arranged the vari ous 'lots' - fruit, tobáceo, vegetables biltongue, and other producís of th Free State and the Transvaal. Th market-master, note-book in hand strode to and fro upon the tables, en tering, cataloguing, swearing, ui stamping. At a distance stood a crowd of diggers, waiting to buy tlieir stock of necessaries before descending to the claims. Few of them had wash ed; water was threepence a bucket - salt at that, and 'fetch it yourself.' A grimy throng they were, theref ore, in patched clothes from which the color had departed, white with dust, scarrec with old wounds and boils, red-eyec and blinking, and disflgured by huge blue spectacles of the roughest make They leaned on spades and picks, and 'sorting-boards,' smoking rank tobáceo and shouting rough jests. Crossing the open space ImetSwelly Dave, absorbed In contemplation of a sack of oranges. 'Have yon been on the scoop?' I cried, taking his arm. Your necktie is crookcd, and your collar broken.' 'Don't, old fellow,' he answered. 'Louey has had a bad night, and thoy say there is no hope.' His eyes were brimmtng, his voice ïoarse. I had heard of tliis poor girl, who was the beauty of Dutoitspan in days before my arrival. For two months )ast she had been wasting with fever, caused rather by foul smells, heat, TOixy of flies, and bad food, tlian by disease. It was no secret that Dave oved her, bat the girl was young and villful, too giddy, and too much courted o heed liis rather shy devotion. 'She is dying of thirst,' continued )ave, 'and the brackish water makes ler sick. Every day for a week I have come to lind oranges, but none arrived. Phe child sliall have as many as I can carry to-day if 1 pay a pound apiece for thero.' I do not remember what they cost, jut it was a price to startle the most eckless spendthrift; for other sick Jiere were upon the Fields, and other devoted friends. We filled the sack which Dave liad brought, and at his equest I accompanied him to the wretched dwelling where Louey Parons lay, with lier father and sister. It tood in the worst part of the camp, where the irrospensible Kafir ignored lie iSanitary Commissiou. ïhe air was sickly with a smell of garbage roting in open holes. Frowsy diggers, waking from a drunken spree,blinked t the sunshine, and coughed till they hoked at the door of foul canteens. houting black men went by in gangs, ome to work, others, their term of ervice ended, trooping toward the reldt. Two in three of them carried gun, the product of their wages, and 11 had a bundl of miscellaneous oot. They bade farewell to distant cmrades in a cry very musical, but very melancholy, and particulaily disressing, as we knew, to invalida. 'This is a bad quarter for a sick peron,' I said. 'You should visit it at night,' Dave ïiswered bitterly. 'I teil you, Parons has killed my girl in sheer pride nd obstinacy. Heaven knows how :iey have lived for the last few weeks! 'arson's claim is no good, and he'll ottakehelp. And so little Loo is ying!' Before a sinall framo house, stained nd patched, sat a grey oíd man smokng. Ilis face did not prepossess me, ut so white it was with yesterday's ust that we could scarcely traee the eatures. Ilis shirt-sleeves rolled to ie shoulder, displayed only skin and muscle. lie watched us approach with ry and swollen eyes. 'I've found some oranges lo-day,' aid Dave. 'Can I see Miss Clara V 'Louey 's a wake,' was the short reply; nd the oíd man rose from his seat of ïud, shoulderod his piek and shovel, ndstrode off. Dave called softly at the open door: Miss Clara, shall I come in!' 'Come in, Dave! Come in, you silly ld man!' cried a thin but cheerful oice. He turned to me with hope shilling n his eyes. 'That's Louey,' he whispered. After a moment Dave called me, and entered. There is no occasion to escribe my visit. The child had no notion of her doom. She sat up in he miserable bed, supported tenderly y her sister, and ate the oranges with agerness. The color sprang to her vasted face, and her big eyes sparkled s she laughed with Dave. But iu ;Wo or three minutes the light faded uddenly, and Clara dismissed us. A very few days afterward Louey died. lalf the camp attended her funeral - every one who had known the biight and laughter-loving little maid. Dave's grief was altogether silent and restrained. True to his instinct, no outward sign showed the despair within. But, after some two or three months, he quietly began to realize bis fortune, and to talk of returning home, not for a permanency, but for a long visit. Meanvvhile, the funeral had utterly exhausted Parson's resources. But the man's hardness of nature forbade him to ask help, until he and his surviving daughter actually starved. Then he aceepted a proposal carefully framed in a marnier to spare his pride. For flve hundred pounds Dave sold ,o him one-half of the best claims he ïad, the money to be paid out of proflts. ïhe other half Parsons was to work in ,heir joint interest, taking a moiety of ;he yield afterpaying expenses. Dave's iiouse also he took at a low value. The transfer duly registered, our friend left for home. 1 accompanied him on the voyage, and in England our intimacy grew. I loved the dear old fellow. With the utmost composure h- watched his second fortune vanish in follies more expensive than dress, and at the end of two years he bade me farewell. 1 never saw him afterwaid, for he did not return to England. The events that follow were told me by a friend, who regarded Dave almost as I myself did. I put his narrative into the first person for convenience. Parsons had extraordinary luck a last. In less than three month3 he had remitted the f uil aniount duo foi house and half-claim. Bot lie turned out to be oue of the most objectionable diggers in camp, always foremost in making grievances again3t authority Tliat was an agitated time. Nothing had been settled as yet, beyond the transfer of Griqualaud to the British Empire. The Coinmissioners might perhaps, be bullied or persuaded to an; action, and "diggers' meetings" as sembled almost nightly for the purpos of trying it on. Parsons becarne leading orator at these gathcrings spouting seditious nonsense i'rom th market table. Nor did the surviving daughte mucli impresa me, said my informant Beauty she had, beyond" doubt, of a higher class, I should fancy, than those young charras which fascinated peor Swelly Dave. Her features were delicate and high-bred, her eyes full o1 life, but, I thought, hard. One could not mistake her neat, upright little figure at any distance. I recognized it in the Main street one day, as I drove from New Rush home. Miss Parsons had been slioppiug, and I overtook her at Michaelis's store. Many a stalwart young digger, trudging dirty from the claims with hls spade upon his shoulder gave me a jealous glaice as he divedont of sightbetween the huts. 'So Dave is coming back?' I said as we strolled along. 'I didn't know,' she answered coolly. 'He makes a mistake. The diggings are not what they were.' 'Perhaps Dave is not what he was.' 'Oh, Mr. Dave will nover change. He lives in a bandbox, and nothing can ifïect him.' 'You think that he did not fcel your sister's death much ? I can assure you that is a grave mistake.' Miss Parson's face changed. 'He suffered wliat he could, no loubt. A few tears leaked through the )ox. You are Mr. Dave's great f riend, are you not?' 'No. He is very dear to me, but ,here are others in the camp wlio have cnown him longer and tried him more.' 'Why,' she cried, her clear oyes shinng with anger, 'You speak of this- .his Mr. Davo as one would speak of a ïero! It is ridiculous!' 'And how does your fatlier speak ol' ïim, Miss Parsons V' I asked, stopping at her door. Shelooked ut me like a little fury, and went in. In due time Dave arrived, hot and dusty, but otherwise the same. His friends had arranged a dinner to welcome him, and 'the proeeedings termnated,' as the time-honored formula uns, at a very late liour indeed. Jíext day he called on Mr. Parsons, ïankly told his situation, and asked for .he accounts of his quarter share. That wretch pretended not to understand, )roduced the transfer, and aecused Dave f an attempt to swindle. ïhe poor f ellow did not answer much, nd did nothing to obtain his rights, jouey's fatlier was sacred. He told me the story with his usual calmness. 'It doesn't make much difference,' he aid; 'I shall have to begin afresh. Perïaps some one will put me into a laim.' But of his old friends, soine liad rered on their fortune; others, disheartned, had gone further north, to the old diggings; others had withdrawn to ifferent pursuits. ïhose remaining early all owned good claima, but their rrangements were permanently setled. People on whom Dave had not uch strong hold were disinclined to ompt their luck by eniploying a man nee successful. For there is a supertition in the Fields, confirmed by a ozen cases in my own experience, that .he digger has only one chance. If he rifle with it, oi" let it go, fato takes rcenge. There were inany claims 'jumpable' n Dutoitspan and Bultfontein, and ne of these Dave worked,' cheerful nd quiet; but his flnds were absolutely othing. Jle lived in my tent on Bultbntein Hill. At his request, I did not peak of Parson's conduct. The daughter i notiewl only by a eremonious bow when 1 chanced to meet her. But we came face to face one afternoon, and 1 could do no loss in niblic than grasp the offered hand. 'Did 1 not say,' she began, 'that Mr. Dave had better not have returned ?' 'You spoko with more knowledge of the f acts than I fiad.' 'I? Pqw?' The girl's impudence vexed me. 'You have proved yourself a wist? child, Miss Parsons,' I answeral, 'If there's truth in the proverb.' She colored angrily, and stared, but I lef t her. Tliis incident 1 told to Dave, of course, as wesatat night. '1 should be sorry to suspect Clara,' he said, 'of any part in her father's conduct. We were nover friends, but I used to think her as honest as high-spiiited. IIow she loved little Loo ! iïer dislike for me arose from jealousy of the child's friondship, though, Ileaven knows, Loo never pretended to care for me. Old fellow, l'm tired of this lace! Will Talmer has asked me to oin lüm, prospecting beyond the Hoek, ind l've accepted. We start to-morrow.' 'It's hard on two of ouï uldest voortrekkers to be inspanning again!' 'Ilead up your history of Christopher Columbus,' lic answerect, laughing. 'That trekker was ill-treated if rou like.' Two days after Lhe pair started amid some excitement, for a 'prospecting exaedition" had not left the Fields these many monthspast, and both men were popular. Isaw Miss Paisons at her door as the noisy little crowd went by. She knew by experience wliat that procession signified - the pony laden with tent and tools and cooking things, the men with rille, revolver, and pannikin. Dave was neat as usual, and excellently dressed, though not in Pall Mali fashion. The wife of an official had jast presented lam with asuperb white ostrich feather, which lie hal eurled round his broad-brimmed hal. As he raised it in passing, the girl eolored. Our first newsof the cxplorer.s cainc from the storekeeper at tho Hoek. He wrote that they liad crossed the rivei against urgent waming. Tho cliiel Jantje and liis Hatlapins had lately become more offensive than usual, anc my friend the storekeeper expectec mischief. After this, nothing more was heard of Dave for nearly two months. We vaguely luiew at the Fields that Jantje had broken out, and was doinf mach Lnjury to liis neighbors. Bui there are no white pcople in his terri tory, and the Orange Iiiver is very broad. Half a troop of the Frontiei Pólice marched to the Hoek, for wha purpose nobody knew. The frionds o: the "prospectors" grew anxious. Meanwhile another attack of thei periodical fever had broken out amonf thediggers. New Kush, discoveredal over again, that it was robbed by black laborers and white receivers. For th lmndredth time it vowed in public anc private that this sort of thing must b stopped with lire and blood. So the diggers assembled in their thousands, bunied half a dozen canteens, and badly treated their owners. Then they cauglit some blacks, llogged them, and marched them about with ropes round their necks, looking for a tree. In fact, the usual symptoms displayed themselves, and the usual result arrived. Our steady, hard-working camp took the disease in milder form;forwe, who habitually looked after our own claims, liad not so vnuch to fear from theft. Parsons made hiniself f oremost in denouncing buyers of stolen gems. He ra ved upan the market table niglitly to such effect that our peaceful diggers snddenly tose, without concert apparently, and burned a sutler'a hoir ;. No evidcnce was brought agaiust the accused, at least in public, but it was well hf! did not f all into the avengers' lands. Be it observed, however, that lis guilt was probable enough. While 1 stood in the excited crowd, whicli disiuited who should next be nmished, a familiar voice hailed me ibovo the din. I looked round, and saw Dave and ?almei on horseback, with three armed ind mounted blacks. The white men's clothes wero rags, their faces thin and Tavel-worn, but they looked pictures of health. 'Come along,' wied Dave gayly; 'I nust lodge a man in the tronc, and hen we'll have such a palaver! Who s he? My prisoner, bles3 him! The rophy of ray bow and spear. It's the ame oíd gaine here; burning canteens, supinóse V Egad, I come at au oppor-une moment!' The prisoner was a lmgo Batlapin, vho, as he walked hidden by the nounted men, whined hymns. He was eposited at the tronc, npon explanaion with tlie Sergeant, and the othcrs ame with us home. 'Glorious chaps, these!' laughed Dave Two are Griquas and the other a jasute. I say, Palmer, wfaich of us is vhich 'Í' Tou'rê a Basuto, and l'in a Griua.' 'What a menioiy you have! I shall ever rocollect until they allot me my wives. Do you understand, old fellow '( Ve're cliiefs, "Will and I, promoted on lie field of honor, wlien we sinote Janje hip and thigh, while you were gropng for pebbles in a lime-kiln.' Certainly Dave was changed at last. 'he bath of excitement anti acüon greed with his constitution. Bright ie had always been wken roused for a moment, but languid and dreamy in eneral. Now lie busied himself to nake the negroes comfortable, and they arded him with a smile oí admiring ffection. When horses and uien had been dis)osed for the night, and ourroughsuper finished, the pair told me their adentures, vvhich I must summarise mefly. Af ter crossing the Orange, they i'ound ■hemselves environed by rumors and iré alarma. There is a small colony of Basuto vaflrs oppositc the Hoek, rich and )rosperous by the sale of diamonds ïonestly obtained. ïhese good fellows irged them not to proceed, for the Batapins were on the war-patn. But Dave and Ma comrado would lot be scared. That Jantje would dare 11 -use white men seemed ridiculous, nd they expected mach more amusenent than dangev in witnessing the ampaign. The goud Basuto chief gave them horses and a half dozen of )iced warriors to gaard them and reort. Thus teinforced, and secure of food hey ibaudoned the project of halting it Campbell Grounds, where, in truth, hey had nothing to do. Pushing straight on over the veldt, hey boheld signs of trouble before eaching the first halt. The Griquis ïas sent away their old men, women, nul chitaren, with such household {ear and cattle as could be rescued. A rain of wagons slreatnerl toward the )range iUver. The fngitive3 named a place where he men capable of bearing ainis had ippointed their rendezvous, but the Jasutos did not know the spot, nor could they understand how to iind t. On the third tnarch from the i i ver, they saw burned hoinesteads, dead cattle, and the signs of barbarous war. Xow and Uien a small body of negroes would be discovered upon the naked veldt, but so far away that to puisue them was hopeless. Next day, however, they met a plundering party of tlio eneray, who itood; and for the iir.st time Dave heard ,he singing of a bullet. ïvvo Batlasins were killod and one taken, who taved his lile by guiding them to tho íiiqua reudezvous. A distressing sceiio of confusión was that laager. The Griquas, brave enongh, had lived for years in a peace profound. ïhey had no war chiefs, and not a man among them knew what ought to be done. Tho strangers were receivcd with nnspeakable delight, and they found apt pupils. Hottentot blood is scarcely less capaMe of training for war of its own style than is the perfervidum ingenium of the Kalir. Within a few days a successf ui i'oray was eondueted into Jantje's osuntry, and botli partios discovered that Batlapin kraals are aa easy to burn as Griqua farrnsteads. Tliur, a guerrilla war began, while Jantje collected his power, and strove to drag Monkoroane, chief of the Corannas, into the dangerous game. Weeks passed by, the Griquas gaining confldénce in themselves and their Ieaderj. At length Jantje moved with all his followers. Scouts and prisoners gave tiiHely notice, and tho white Generáis becured a formidable contingent of Uasutos, led by the old chief liimself. After a desultory flght, wliich lasted half tlie day, Dave charged at the head of his cavalry. The Batlapina ran, and Jantje took refago among the Coronnas, where lie remained until late events tempted Iiim to renew his senseless schernes (1879-80). No prisoners were taken, of course, excepting the man just todged inthetronc, who saved his life by olïering handfuls of coin. Sui'h was Dave's story. The gratitude and admiration of tho negroos were not satislïod with conferring on their Generáis the barren honor of chieftainship, A subscription was or ganized, which took the form of cattle Úpon the lij ui that diamonds woult be a lünd of wealth more portable, tw( li;inifnis of line stones, worth over ilf teen hundred pounds,were substituted. And with this booty and their Batlapin captive the pair returned to Dutoitspan. Next day the prisoiier was examiued privately at the tronc. In answer to the magistrate, he repeated nis confession that he liad stolen many gems and sold tliem. He named his master, whose claim lay at New-Kush, and that gentleman, when summoned, recognized him at a glanee. It remainecl only to identify the buyer, a process needing the extremest caution. At nightfall we went out with twelve constables in plain clothes, who strolled along in groups, disguised in ari air of unconcern. Dave'a black warriors marehed ann-in-arm with the prisoiier. Pie led us through tho dlrtiest and lowest quarters of the camp, and stopped at a distance f rom Paraon's old frame house, wliich you remember. Parsons liad eft it longago, and it was now a canteen. Through the open doorway we saw a rude bar covered with the fillhiest glaases and bottles. A small ask of pontak, anpther of Cape smoke, ind a basket of ginger beer stood on a shelf - tlie usual array of poisons. One allow candlc lit the dreary den, and shone dimly through the wal Is of canvas. iJchind the bar stood i pale, inwholesome-looking man, and two examples of the lowest class of digger ounged on rough settles, smoking. In two minutes the "surround" was complete, and the constables closing in dlmost touched each other in their circle. Thenthe Sergeant stepped into he brighter ray of light tlirown by the open doorway, exelaiming, 'No resistance, Corny! You're my prisoner!' His jisioi was arawn as he spoke. I liave not scen fear so suddenly and awfully expressed as in that fellow's face. His aw dropped, his eyebrows rose, cold wcat strearned down and glistened in he candle-light. He did not say a vord nor move, but the guests made ow enough. They crnshed back to efend themselves, shouting to their 'brother-diggers." 1 aaw a quick gleam n the barman';) giassy eye; the candletick rattled on the ground, and all was lark. Bofore the Sergeant could ilash ïis lantern, a cheery voice cried, ontide, 'All right, Sir! We'vegot Corny, a-creepin' among the tent-pegs, he was!' ïhe bar-keeper and bis friends wcre ed through a gathering crowd, which 'ought for the privilege of murdering .hem, so soon as the charge was known. Ve did our dnty in protecting the rightened wretches, and then turned ïomeward. I saw that the mispicion n my own luind was agitating !)ave, ind wo tlireaded our way silently hrougli the labyrint!) of claims. Arived at home, seated with grog and lipe bef ore the door, Dave rose sudenly, exclaiming, 'I should have staid. You won't sit up for me, old man!' Til go back with you. There may )0 a row.' Af ter a few yards. Dave said : 'It's 10 use making mysteries. What do vou suspect? 'That Farsoiis was running that caneou, and that there's ne time to lose, f you wish to warn him. But why rotect the scoundrel, and risk your own life? He's one ef tlie most finshed blackguards on the Fields, and a nean hypocritc besides-' '1 can't help that! Let uu run?' We reached the hoiue breathlcss.' l'he night was very dark, the street [uiet, and we stole toward the door. )ave had raised his hand to tap, when t was seized. -None of that!' whis jeredthe Sergeant; and heled usquiety beyoad earshot of those within. 'I somchow guessed what your little game night be, Dave. Now, Parsons is jound to betook, but we don't want a ■ow with the girl.' 'What is the charge?' 1 asked. 'None yet, I'm waiting for the war"MÚ. 'Then why should ve not enter V' 'Because those are my orders. There nay be documenta and thiugs. Ah, lero comes the man I'm looking for ? Now, mind, we're in the thick of the camp here, and if you mako a row the old ehap's life's not worth a chin of hort.' Thia was evident, and wedrew aside. A neatly-drcssed black, carrying a lantern, exchanged a word with the Sergeant, tapped at the door, and handed in a note. A moment afterward Clara appeared and walkecl away with him. 'Mrs. G. has sent for her,' niuttered the policeman. 'That's a signal that the warrant's issued. There was nothing lo be done but watofa. I'resently arrived (i. himself, ihe magistrate. He knocked at the door, the Sergeant and I behind him, for 'l've not the courage,' whispered Dave. Parsons opened it, and we walked in. Tliis living room was joat as Dave leLt it; the pictures, books, tableclotb, lamp, all familiar. Beside the stove stood Parsons,. ailent, looking keenly at G. 'I have an unpleasant dutjr,' said the latter, in consecrated form. 'Gorny van lliet is charged with buyiug stolen diamonds, and 1 see sufficient eause for issuing a warrant against you.' Parsona was quito cool. 'Whoaccuses me?' he asked in a Brm voico. 'Ho one. But to-morrow,or to-night, you vvill havo flve thousand accusers; and you know them, 'I llave a right to ask vliy you suspect me?' 'Because 1 havo reason to believe tbat Corny van Biet's canteen is yours. I may teil you that the pólice have been watching that place some time.' 'Does Corney van Riet incrimínate me ?' 'Not yet, I take the responsibility of arresting you ar, mach for your own sal'oty as for any other reaton. (ííví; me your keys, and go quietly.' ïhe old man steadily walked out with the Sergeant, asking no questions about Clara. G. told ua that his wifp hart undertaken to break the matter to tlu! girl and keep her al! night. Then he sat down with hig clerk to examine papers, l rejoined Dav.e, and we went liome. Next mornlng, very early, a not from G. was delivered, bogging ua U attend on him. Wefound huge excite ment at tliu J'an - Paraons ha.strangled liimself in the night. (i. ri ceived us gravely, and produeed a let ter found on the prisoner's table ad dressed to Dave. It acknowledged hi dishonesty in the matter of the claim and declared that the vengence of hea ven, so strangely and secretly pursuing his crime, had driven him to suicide. Had he not cheated Dave, tliis course of events would not have followed. A note of hand for the exact sum due was inclosed, and, as compensation, he left the whole claim to the man he had wronged. In a very brief farewell to his daughter, she was commanded to honor this last wisli. Wliile we talked, Clara carne in. Her very lips were pale, but her eyes glowcd. G. whispered hastily: 'She does not know the end!' Advancing straight to Dave, the girl stood before him rigid witli deep passion. 'Why do you persecute ray fathei V' she said. 'If you liad loved Louey, you would have been kind to ua for lier sake. He has done you 110 luum. It a because you líate me that you try to ruin him ? I did not do you an i 11 turn with Louey. If I had wished, slio loved me better than you, and she would never have seen you again. is it because my father lias kept the money which you would have spent like a fooi - ' 'Miss Parsons,' said G.. interfering, 'you are under a mistake. Mr. Da vies does not persecute your father. He could not know to whom the prisoner who ft' 11 into liis bands by chance would point as the receiver óf stolen diamonds. And it would be moremer ciful at once lo say that your father has confessed, not only the crime harged against him, but another also, omraitted to the injury of Mr. Davies imsolf, which Mr. Davies has nobly oncealed. The girl looked from one lo the othr in. amaze. 'Confessed '( Is this true, Mr. DaveV' 'Yes, it is true.' Af ter a pause she bowed and said: '1 humbly beg your pardon, Sir,' and went out. I had heard uolhing of these events, when, nearly two years afterward, I received a pair of wedding cards - they are old-fashioned at the Cape. The dear friend whom we called "Swelly Dave" announced his marriage with Miss Clara Tarsons. And within four years more both are gone.