The Mill Mystery | Page 4

how?"
Alas! that was the mystery, dear heart, with which every mind was
busy!
The door of the mill had fallen down and rotted away years before, so
we had no difficulty in entering. But upon crossing the threshold and
making for the steps that led below, we found that the growing twilight
was any thing but favorable to a speedy or even safe advance. For the
flooring was badly broken in places, and the stairs down which we had
to go were not only uneven, but strangely rickety and tottering.
But the sprite that led us paused for nothing, and long before I had
passed the first step she had reached the bottom one, and was groping
her way towards the single gleam of light that infused itself through the
otherwise pitchy darkness.
"Be careful, miss; you may fall into the vat yourself!" exclaimed more
than one voice behind her.
But she hurried on, her slight form showing like a spectre against the
dim gleam towards which she bent her way, till suddenly she paused
and we saw her standing with clasped hands, and bent head, looking
down into what? We could readily conjecture.
"She will throw herself in," whispered a voice; but as, profoundly
startled, I was about to hasten forward, she hurriedly turned and came
towards us.
"I have seen it," she quietly said, and glided by us, and up the stairs,
and out of the mill to where that still form lay in its ghostly quietude
upon the sodden grass.
For a moment she merely looked at it, then she knelt, and, oblivious to
the eyes bent pityingly upon her, kissed the brow and then the cheeks,
saying something which I could not hear, but which lent a look of
strange peace to her features, that were almost as pallid and set now as

his. Then she arose, and holding out her hand to me, was turning away,
when a word uttered by some one, I could not tell whom, stopped her,
and froze her, as it were, to the spot.
That word was _suicide!_
I think I see her yet, the pale-green twilight on her forehead, her lips
parted, and her eyes fixed in an incredulous stare.
"Do you mean," she cried, "that he deserves any such name as that?
That his death here was not one of chance or accident, mysterious, if
you will, but still one that leaves no stigma on his name as a man and a
clergyman?"
"Indeed, miss," came in reply, "we would not like to say."
"Then, I say, that unless Mr. Barrows was insane, he never
premeditated a crime of this nature. He was too much of a Christian.
And if that does not strike you as good reasoning, he was too-- happy."
The last word was uttered so low that if it had not been for the faint
flush that flitted into her cheek, it would scarcely have been understood.
As it was, the furtive looks of the men about showed that they
comprehended all that she would say; and, satisfied with the impression
made, she laid her hand on my arm, and for the second time turned
towards home.

III.
ADA.
For, in my sense, 't is happiness to die. --OTHELLO.
There was death in her face; I saw it the moment we reached the refuge
of our room. But I was scarcely prepared for the words which she said
to me.
"Mr. Barrows and I will be buried in one grave. The waters which
drowned him have gone over my head also. But before the moment
comes which proves my words true, there is one thing I wish to impress
upon you, and that is: That no matter what people may say, or what
conjectures they may indulge in, Mr. Barrows never came to his end by
any premeditation of his own. And that you may believe me, and
uphold his cause in the face of whatever may arise, I will tell you
something of his life and mine. Will you listen?"
Would I listen? I could not speak, but I drew up the lounge, and sitting
down by her side, pressed my cheek close to hers. She smiled faintly,

all unhappiness gone from her look, and in sweet, soft tones, began:
"We are both orphans. As far as I know, neither of us have any nearer
relatives than distant cousins; a similarity of condition that has acted as
a bond between us since we first knew and loved each other. When I
came to S---- he was just settled here, a young man full of zeal and
courage. Whatever the experience of his college days had been--and he
has often told me that at that time ambition was the mainspring of his
existence,--the respect and