The Miners' Express

THE FIRST GRAY HAIRS:
OR, THE BARONET'S STORY.

The following story was related to me by an old friend, an Irish baronet, and, as far as my memory serves, I will give it to you in his own words:

About four months after my marriage it was my wont, each morning after breakfast, to stroll about my gardens and fields, until, perhaps, one o'clock, at which hour I returned home to enjoy my wife's society, and when the weather permitted, we occasionally took a walk or ride.

One morning, feeling myself not quite well, I returned much earlier than usual, about eleven o'clock, and went into the house by a back entrance: as neither knocking nor ringing announced my arrival, my wife was not aware of my return.

I sought her first in the drawing-room, but not finding her there, proceeded to her bed-room, and, whilst passing through my dressing-room to it, I was surprised by a sudden rush to the bed-room door, which was instantly bolted from within. I distinctly heard a low whispering, and, as I thought, a receding step; yet altogether I was not kept waiting more than a few seconds; my wife's maid opened the door, when, to my great perplexity, I beheld my wife's usually pale face suffused with crimsoned blushes: I also detected her maneuvering a comb through her head, to hide, as I instantly suspected, her blushes from me, or her disordered curls:

"What is the meaning of all this," thought I; "it is strange! The maid, too, looks confused and frightened!"

My wife did not hasten to meet me with her usual sunny welcome; there was not even one smile to greet me. At length, recovering herself a little, she, with a hesitating manner, said, "Well, love, how goes on the farm."

But I was grieved; for the first time in my life, I felt that I was not welcome. I felt something was going on that I was not to know; so merely saying, "I will tell you when we meet in the drawing room," I abruptly quitted her.

Not knowing whither I was going, or why I suffered so sudden, so frightful a revolution of feelings, I hurried down stairs, rushed through the hall, across the lawn, and plunged into the fir-path that leads to a sequestered part of the grounds; nor did I slacken my pace until I was fully a mile from the house, when I threw myself upon the green bank by the side of the river, the most miserable of men. I, who, one hour before, was the happiest of men, now, unaccountably, unutterably wretched.

Pride had, at the moment, prevented my asking for an explanation; that, I thought, ought to have been given unsought; and, I determined not to ask Lady why my visit had been so unwelcome.

But thenceforth, I resolved to keep a watchful eye upon her. A thousand cruel thoughts crowded upon me, now that I discovered there was something which my wife concealed from me; she, whom I thought so artless, so free from all duplicity.

At this period I had attained my thirtieth year. Lady was only two years younger than myself; but, from her sweet and girlish style of beauty, and gay, happy manner, no one would suppose her more than twenty. She had been educated on the continent; I knew that, soon after leaving school, she had received matrimonial proposals—if she had not been actually engaged to a gentleman before quitting Paris.

Hitherto, this circumstance had never given me the slightest uneasiness; but now my thoughts involuntarily reverted to it; it haunted me day and night.

This woman was one of the tallest I ever saw, and large in proportion; her face handsome, the features strongly defined, her eyes large, intensely dark and penetrating; her long black ringlets looked false; in appearance you would have said she was near or quite fifty (though taken altogether, what many would pronounce a very fine woman, but somewhat masculine). It took upon my imagination.

I thought perchance the maid was her foreign lover in disguise!

And yet I did not, could not believe it, though the frightful idea never absented itself from my brain. To paint such an idea to my beautiful Agnes, my beloved wife, I could never bring myself. I strove, rather to banish the idea as a suggestion of Satan.

From that day I became much changed, both in the outward and inward man. My happiness was gone, my naturally light and cheerful manner gave place to irritability and gloom. Time flew on, and weeks passed without any particular occurrence, until one morning, having arranged to accompany a gentleman in the neighborhood on a fishing excursion, I informed Agnes that I should not return until evening, when I would bring my friend to dinner. Immediately after breakfast, off we started in a dog cart.

We had not proceeded more than four miles, when, in turning a corner of the road, a boy, who was shooting sparrows, fired so near to the horse's head that it took fright and dashed off at a furious rate, nor stopped till we upset in a ditch. We were compelled to give up our day's excursion, and leaving the groom to take care of the horse, my friend and I walked smartly home by a short cut, and entering the house, after conducting my friend into the drawing-room, I hastened up stairs to relate our disaster to Agnes: When, as I again passed through my dressing room, the door was again bolted, and I distinctly heard my wife say, with a faltering voice, "He is returned; we are discovered!" The scales fell from my eyes, I had no longer any doubt my worst fears were realized!

Oh the agony of that moment! I staggered back a few paces, my head reeled, my heart felt bursting, and I had well nigh fallen to the ground, when a frenzy of despair and rage, seized me, I made one rush at the door, and roared for instant admittance. Agnes opened the door and stood trembling before me; her attendant flew to the further end of the apartment. I dashed my wife aside, shouting, "this moment quit my house;" and darting across the room, seized my rival by the throat, thundering forth, "confess all or this moment you die."

There was a moment's pause; oh the agony of that moment.

Pale as a corpse, Agnes stood transfixed with horror, gazing breathlessly upon the tableau before her, whilst, with suffocating accents my victim sobbed out, "Oh! Sir! Sir! as sure as I live, I have nothing to confess, but—that I was plucking out mistress's gray hairs !"