"THERE SHALL BE LIGHT AT THE EVENTIDE."--_Holy Bible._
They shall be blessed exceedingly, their store
Grow daily, weekly more and more,
And peace so multiply around,
Their very hearth seems holy ground.
--Mary Howitt.
The marriage of Capitola and of Herbert and that of Clara and of
Traverse was fixed to take place upon the first of August, which was
the twenty-first birthday of the doctor's daughter, and also the
twenty-fifth anniversary of the wedding of Ira Warfield and Marah
Rocke.
German husbands and wives have a beautiful custom of keeping the
twenty-fifth anniversary of their marriage by a festival, which they
call the "Silver Wedding." And thus Major Warfield and Marah resolved
to keep this first of August, and further to honor the occasion by
uniting the hands of their young people.
There was but one cloud upon the happiness of Capitola; this was the
approaching execution of Black Donald.
No one else seemed to care about the matter, until a circumstance
occurred which painfully aroused their interest.
This was the fact that the Governor, through the solicitation of
certain ministers of the gospel who represented the condemned as
utterly unprepared to meet his fate, had respited him until the first
of August, at which time he wished the prisoner to be made to
understand that his sentence would certainly, without further delay, be
carried into effect.
This carried a sort of consternation into the heart of every member of
the Hurricane Hall household!
The idea of Black Donald being hanged in their immediate neighborhood
upon their wedding day was appalling!
Yet there was no help for it, unless their wedding was postponed to
another occasion than that upon which Old Hurricane had set his heart.
No one knew what to do.
Cap fretted herself almost sick. She had cudgeled her brains to no
purpose. She had not been able to think of any plan by which she could
deliver Black Donald. Meantime the last days of July were rapidly
passing away.
Black Donald in the condemned cell maintained his firmness, resolutely
asserting his innocence of any capital crime, and persistently refusing
to give up his band. As a last motive of confession, the paper written
by Gabriel Le Noir upon his death-bed was shown him. He laughed a loud,
crackling laugh, and said that was all true, but that he, for his part,
never had intended to harm a hair of Capitola's head; that he had taken
a fancy to the girl when he had first seen her, and had only wanted to
carry her off and force her into a marriage with himself; that he had
pretended to consent to her death only for the purpose of saving her
life.
When Cap heard this she burst into tears and said she believed it was
true.
The night before the wedding of Capitola and Herbert, and Clara and
Traverse, and of the execution of Black Donald, came.
At Hurricane Hall the two prospective bridegrooms were busy with Old
Hurricane over some papers that had to be prepared in the library.
The two intended brides were engaged, under the direction of Mrs.
Warfield, in her dressing-room, consulting over certain proprieties of
the approaching festival. But Capitola could give only a half attention
to the discussion. Her thoughts were with the poor condemned man who
was to die the next day.
And suddenly she flew out of the room, summoned her groom, mounted her
horse, and rode away.
In his condemned cell Black Donald was bitterly realizing how
unprepared he was to die, and how utterly impossible it was for him to
prepare in the short hours left him. He tried to pray, but could form
no other petition than that he might be allowed, if possible, a little
longer to fit himself to meet his Creator. From his cell he could hear
the striking of the great clock in the prison hall. And as every hour
struck it seemed "a nail driven in his coffin."
At eight o'clock that night the warden sat in his little office,
consulting the sheriff about some details of the approaching execution.
While they were still in discussion, a turnkey opened the door, saying:
"A lady to see the warden."
And Capitola stood before them!
"Miss Black!" exclaimed both sheriff and warden, rising in surprise,
gazing upon our heroine, and addressing her by the name under which
they had first known her.
"Yes, gentlemen, it is I. The truth is, I cannot rest to-night without
saying a few words of comfort to the poor man who is to die to-morrow.
So I came hither, attended by my groom, to know if I may see him for a
few minutes."
"Miss Black, here is the sheriff. It is just as he pleases. My orders
were so strict that had you come to me alone I should have been obliged
to refuse you."
"Mr. Keepe, you will not refuse me," said Capitola, turning to the
sheriff.
"Miss Black, my rule is to admit no one but the officers of the prison
and the ministers of the gospel, to see the condemned! This we have
been obliged to observe as a measure of safety. This convict, as you
are aware, is a man of consummate cunning, so that it is really
wonderful he has not found means to make his escape, closely as he has
been watched and strongly as he has been guarded."
"Ah, but Mr. Keepe, his cunning was no match for mine, you know!" said
Capitola, smiling.
"Ha-ha-ha! so it was not! You took him very cleverly! Very cleverly,
indeed! In fact, if it had not been for you, I doubt if ever we should
have captured Black Donald at all. The authorities are entirely
indebted to you for the capture of this notorious outlaw. And really
that being the case, I do think it would be straining a point to refuse
you admittance to see him. So, Miss Black, you have my authority for
visiting the condemned man in his cell and giving him all the comfort
you can. I would attend you thither myself, but I have got to go to see
the captain of a militia company to be on the scene of action
to-morrow," said the sheriff, who soon after took leave of the warden
and departed.
The warden then called a turnkey and ordered him to attend Miss Black
to the condemned cell.
The young turnkey took up a lamp and a great key and walked before,
leading the way down-stairs to a cell in the interior of the basement,
occupied by Black Donald.
He unlocked the door, admitted Capitola, and then walked off to the
extremity of the lobby, as he was accustomed to do when he let in the
preachers.
Capitola thanked heaven for this chance, for had he not done so she
would have to invent some excuse for getting rid of him.
She entered the cell. It was very dimly lighted from the great lamp
that hung in the lobby, nearly opposite the cell door.
By its light she saw Black Donald, not only doubly ironed but confined
by a chain and staple to the wall. He was very pale and haggard from
long imprisonment and great anxiety.
Cap's heart bled for the poor banned and blighted outlaw, who had not a
friend in the world to speak a kind word to him in his trouble.
He also recognized her, and rising and coming to meet her as far as the
length of the chain would permit, he held out his hand and said:
"I am very glad you have come, little one; it is very kind of you to
come and see a poor fellow in his extremity! You are the first female
that has been in this cell since my imprisonment. Think of that, child!
I wanted to see you, too, I wanted to say to you yourself again, that I
was never guilty of murder, and that I only seemed to consent to your
death to save your life! Do you believe this? On the word of a dying
man it is truth!"
"I do believe you, Donald Bayne," said Capitola, in a broken voice.
"I hear that you have come into your estate. I am glad of it. And they
tell me that you are going to be married to-morrow! Well! God bless
you, little one!"
"Oh, Donald Bayne! Can you say God bless me, when it was I who put you
here?"
"Tut, child, we outlaws bear no malice. Spite is a civilized vice. It
was a fair contest, child, and you conquered. It's well you did. Give
me your hand in good will, since I must die to-morrow!"
Capitola gave her hand, and whilst he held it, she stooped and said:
"Donald, I have done everything in the world I could to save your
life!"
"I know you have, child. May yours be long and happy."
"Donald, may your life be longer and better than you think. I have
tried all other means of saving you in vain; there is but one means
left!"
The outlaw started violently, exclaiming:
"Is there one?"
"Donald, yes! There is! I bring you the means of deliverance and
escape. Heaven knows whether I am doing right--for I do not! I know
many people would blame me very much, but I hope that He who forgave
the thief upon the cross and the sinful woman at his feet, will not
condemn me for following His own compassionate example! For, Donald, as
I was the person whom you injured most of all others, so I consider
that I of all others have the best right to pardon you and set you
free. Oh, Donald! Use well the life I am about to give you, else I
shall be chargeable with every future sin you commit!"
"In the name of mercy, girl, do not hold out a false hope. I had nerved
myself to die!"
"But you were not prepared to meet your Maker! Oh, Donald! I hold out
no false hope! Listen, for I must speak low and quick. I could never be
happy again if on my wedding-day you should die a felon's death! Here!
here are tools with the use of which you must be acquainted, for they
were found in the woods near the Hidden House!" said Capitola,
producing from her pockets a burglar's lock-pick, saw, chisel, file,
etc.
Black Donald seized them as a famished wolf might seize his prey.
"Will they do?" inquired Capitola, in breathless anxiety.
"Yes--yes--yes! I can file off my irons, pick every lock, drive back
every bolt, and dislodge every bar between myself and freedom with
these instruments! But, child, there is one thing you have forgotten:
suppose a turnkey or a guard should stop me? You have brought me no
revolver!"
Capitola turned pale.
"Donald, I could easily have brought you a revolver; but I would not,
even to save you from to-morrow's death! No, Donald, no! I give you the
means of freeing yourself, if you can do it, as you may, without
bloodshed! But, Donald, though your life is not justly forfeited, your
liberty is, and so I cannot give you the means of taking any one's life
for the sake of saving your own!"
"You are right," said the outlaw.
"Listen further, Donald. Here are a thousand dollars! I thought never
to have taken it from the bank, for I would never have used the price
of blood! But I drew it to-day for you. Take it--it will help you to
live a better life! When you have picked your way out of this place, go
to the great elm tree at the back of the old mill, and you will find my
horse, Gyp, which I shall have tied there. He is very swift. Mount him
and ride for your life to the nearest seaport, and so escape by a
vessel to some foreign country. And oh, try to lead a good life, and
may God redeem you, Donald Bayne! There--conceal your tools and your
money quickly, for I hear the guard coming. Good-by--and again, God
redeem you, Donald Bayne!"
"God bless you, brave and tender girl! And God forsake me if I do not
heed your advice!" and the outlaw pressed the hand she gave him while
the tears rushed to his eyes.
The guard approached; Capitola turned to meet him. They left the cell
together and Black Donald was locked in for the last time!
"Oh, I hope, I pray, that he may get off! Oh, what shall I do if he
doesn't! How can I enjoy my wedding to-morrow! How can I bear the music
and the dancing and the rejoicing, when I know that a fellow creature
is in such a strait! Oh, Lord grant that Black Donald may get clear off
to-night, for he isn't fit to die!" said Cap to herself, as she hurried
out of the prison.
Her young groom was waiting for her and she mounted her horse and rode
until they got to the old haunted church at the end of the village,
when drawing rein, she said:
"Jem, I am very tired. I will wait here and you must just ride back to
the village, to Mr. Cassell's livery stable, and get a gig, and put
your horse into it, and come back here to drive me home, for I cannot
ride."
Jem, who never questioned his imperious little mistress's orders, rode
off at once to do her bidding.
Cap immediately dismounted from her pony and led him under the deep
shadows of the elm tree, where she fastened him. Then taking his face
between her hands, and looking him in the eyes, she said:
"Gyp, my son, you and I have had many a frolic together, but we've got
to part now! It almost breaks my heart, Gyp, but it is to save a fellow
creature's life, and it can't be helped! He'll treat you well, for my
sake, dear Gyp. Gyp, he'll part with his life sooner than sell you!
Good-by, dear, dear Gyp."
Gyp took all these caresses in a very nonchalant manner, only snorting
and pawing in reply.
Presently the boy came back, bringing the gig. Cap once more hugged Gyp
about the neck, pressed her cheek against his mane, and with a
whispered "Good-by, dear Gyp," sprang into the gig and ordered the boy
to drive home.
"An' leab the pony, miss?"
"Oh, yes, for the present; everybody knows Gyp--no one will steal him.
I have left him length of line enough to move around a little and eat
grass, drink from the brook, or lie down. You can come after him early
to-morrow morning."
The little groom thought this a queer arrangement, but he was not in
the habit of criticising his young mistress's actions.
Capitola got home to a late supper and to the anxious inquiries of her
friends she replied that she had been to the prison to take leave of
Black Donald, and begged that they would not pursue so painful a
subject.
And, in respect to Cap's sympathies, they changed the conversation.
* * * * *
That night the remnant of Black Donald's band were assembled in their
first old haunt, the Old Road Inn. They had met for a twofold
purpose--to bury their old matron, Mother Raven, who, since the death
of her patron and the apprehension of her captain, had returned to the
inn to die--and to bewail the fate of their leader, whose execution was
expected to come off the next day.
The men laid the poor old woman in her woodland grave, and assembled in
the kitchen to keep a death watch in sympathy with their "unfortunate"
captain. They gathered around the table, and foaming mugs of ale were
freely quaffed for "sorrow's dry," they said. But neither laugh, song
nor jest attended their draughts. They were to keep that night's vigil
in honor of their captain, and then were to disband and separate
forever.
Suddenly, in the midst of their heavy grief and utter silence a
familiar sound was heard--a ringing footstep under the back windows.
And every man leaped to his feet, with looks of wild delight and
questioning.
And the next instant the door was flung wide open, and the outlaw chief
stood among them!
Steve stopped rolling and curled himself around Black Donald's neck,
exclaiming:
"It's you--it's you--it's you!--my dear, my darling--my adored--my
sweetheart--my prince!--my lord!--my king!--my dear, dear captain!"
Steve, the lazy mulatto, rolled down upon the floor at his master's
feet, and embraced him in silence.
While Demon Dick growled forth:
"How the foul fiend did you get out?"
And the anxious faces of all the other men silently repeated the
question.
"Not by any help of yours, boys! But don't think I reproach you, lads!
Well I know that you could do nothing on earth to save me! No one on
earth could have helped me except the one who really freed
me--Capitola!"
"That girl again!" exclaimed Hal, in the extremity of wonder.
Steve stopped rolling, and curled himself around the feet of his master
and gazed up in stupid astonishment.
"It's to be hoped, then, you've got her at last, captain," said Demon
Dick.
"No--heaven bless her!--she's in better hands. Now listen, lads, for I
must talk fast! I have already lost a great deal too much time. I went
first to the cave in the Punch Bowl, and, not finding you there, came
here at a venture, where I am happy to meet you for the last time--for
to-night we disband forever!"
"'Twas our intention, captain," said Hal, in a melancholy voice.
Black Donald then threw himself into a seat at the head of the table,
poured out a mug of ale, and invited his band to pledge him. They
gathered around the table, filled their mugs, pledged him standing, and
then resumed their seats to listen to the last words of their chief.
Black Donald commenced and related the manner of his deliverance by
Capitola; and then, taking from his bosom a bag of gold, he poured it
upon the table and divided it into two equal portions, one of which he
handed to "Headlong Hal," saying:
"There, Hal, take that and divide it among your companions, and scatter
to distant parts of the country, where you may yet have a chance of
earning an honest livelihood! As for me, I shall have to quit the
country altogether, and it will take nearly half this sum to enable me
to do it. Now I have not a minute more to give you! So once more pledge
your captain and away!"
The men filled their mugs, rose to their feet, and pledged their leader
in a parting toast and then:
"Good luck to you all!" exclaimed Black Donald, waving his hat thrice
above his head with a valedictory hurrah. And the next moment he was
gone!
That night, if any watchman had been on guard near the stables of
Hurricane Hall, he might have seen a tall man mounted upon Capitola's
pony, ride up in hot haste, dismount and pick the stable lock, take Gyp
by the bridle and lead him in, and presently return leading out
Fleetfoot, Old Hurricane's racer, upon which he mounted and rode away.
The next morning, while Capitola was dressing, her groom rapped at the
door and, in great dismay, begged that he might speak to Miss Cap one
minute.
"Well, what is it, Jem?" said Capitola.
"Oh, Miss Cap, you'll kill me! I done been got up long afore day and
gone to Tip-Top arter Gyp, but somebody done been stole him away afore
I got there!"
"Thank heaven!" cried Capitola, to little Jem's unspeakable amazement.
For to Capitola the absence of her horse meant just the escape of Black
Donald!
The next minute Cap sighed and said:
"Poor Gyp! I shall never see you again!"
That was all she knew of the future!
That morning while they were all at breakfast a groom from the stables
came in with a little canvas bag in his hand, which he laid, with a
bow, before his master.
Major Warfield took it up; it was full of gold, and upon its side was
written, in red chalk:
"Three hundred dollars, to pay for Fleetfoot.--Black Donald, Reformed
Robber."
While Old Hurricane was reading this inscription, the groom said that
Fleetfoot was missing from his stall, and that Miss Cap's pony, that
was supposed to have been stolen, was found in his place, with this bag
of gold tied around his neck!
"It is Black Donald--he has escaped!" cried Old Hurricane, about to
fling himself into a rage, when his furious eyes encountered the gentle
gaze of Marah, that fell like oil on the waves of his rising passion.
"Let him go! I'll not storm on my silver wedding day," said Major
Warfield.
As for Cap, her eyes danced with delight--the only little clouds upon
her bright sky were removed. Black Donald had escaped, to commence a
better life, and Gyp was restored!
That evening a magnificent old-fashioned wedding came off at Hurricane
Hall.
The double ceremony was performed by the bishop of the diocese (then on
a visit to the neighborhood) in the great salon of Hurricane Hall, in
the presence of as large and splendid an assembly as could be gathered
together from that remote neighborhood.
The two brides, of course, were lovely in white satin, Honiton lace,
pearls and orange flowers. "Equally," of course, the bridegrooms were
handsome and elegant, proud and happy.
To this old-fashioned wedding succeeded a round of dinners and evening
parties, given by the wedding guests. And when all these old-time
customs had been observed for the satisfaction of old friends, the
bridal party went upon the new-fashioned tour, for their own delight.
They spent a year in traveling over the eastern continent, and then
returned home to settle upon their patrimonial estates.
Major Warfield and Marah lived at Hurricane Hall and as his heart is
satisfied and at rest, his temper is gradually improving. As the lion
shall be led by the little child, Old Hurricane is led by the gentlest
woman that ever loved or suffered, and she is leading him in his old
age to the Saviour's feet.
Clara and Traverse live at Willow Heights, which has been repaired,
enlarged and improved, and where Traverse has already an extensive
practice, and where both endeavor to emulate the enlightened goodness
of the sainted Doctor Day.
Cap and Herbert, with Mrs. Le Noir, live at the Hidden House, which has
been turned by wealth and taste into a dwelling of light and beauty. As
the bravest are always the gentlest, so the most high-spirited are
always the most forgiving. And thus the weak or wicked old Dorcas
Knight finds still a home under the roof of Mrs. Le Noir. Her only
retribution being the very mild one of having her relations changed in
the fact that her temporary prisoner is now her mistress and sovereign
lady.
I wish I could say "they all lived happy ever after." But the truth is
I have reason to suppose that even Clara had sometimes occasion to
administer to Doctor Rocke dignified curtain lectures, which no doubt
did him good. And I know for a positive fact that our Cap sometimes
gives her "dear, darling, sweet Herbert," the benefit of the sharp edge
of her tongue, which, of course, he deserves.
But notwithstanding all this, I am happy to say that all enjoy a fair
amount of human felicity.
THE END.
Good Fiction Worth Reading.
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A COLONIAL FREE-LANCE. A story of American Colonial Times. By Chauncey
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This romance of the "Tower of London" depicts the Tower as palace,
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GARTHOWEN. A story of a Welsh Homestead. By Allen Raine. Cloth, 12mo.
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* * * * *
DARNLEY. A Romance of the times of Henry VIII. and Cardinal Wolsey. By
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In point of publication, "Darnley" is that work by Mr. James which
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This most popular novel and thrilling story of early frontier life in
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This new and tasteful edition of "Nick of the Woods" will be certain to
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For sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of price by
the publishers, A. L. BURT COMPANY, 52-58 Duane St., New York.
Good Fiction Worth Reading.
A series of romances containing several of the old favorites in the
field of historical fiction, replete with powerful romances of love and
diplomacy that excel in thrilling and absorbing interest.
* * * * *
GUY FAWKES. A Romance of the Gunpowder Treason. By Wm. Harrison
Ainsworth. Cloth, 12mo. with four illustrations by George Cruikshank.
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The "Gunpowder Plot" was a modest attempt to blow up Parliament, the
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THE SPIRIT OF THE BORDER. A Romance of the Early Settlers in the Ohio
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A book rather out of the ordinary is this "Spirit of the Border." The
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a matter of course, is Lewis Wetzel, one of the most peculiar, and at
the same time the most admirable of all the brave men who spent their
lives battling with the savage foe, that others might dwell in
comparative security.
Details of the establishment and destruction of the Moravian "Village
of Peace" are given at some length, and with minute description. The
efforts to Christianize the Indians are described as they never have
been before, and the author has depicted the characters of the leaders
of the several Indian tribes with great care, which of itself will be
of interest to the student.
By no means least among the charms of the story are the vivid
word-pictures of the thrilling adventures, and the intense paintings of
the beauties of nature, as seen in the almost unbroken forests.
It is the spirit of the frontier which is described, and one can by it,
perhaps, the better understand why men, and women, too, willingly
braved every privation and danger that the westward progress of the
star of empire might be the more certain and rapid. A love story,
simple and tender, runs through the book.
RICHELIEU. A tale of France in the reign of King Louis XIII. By G. P.
R. James. Cloth, 12mo. with four illustrations by J. Watson Davis.
Price, $1.00.
In 1829 Mr. James published his first romance, "Richelieu," and was
recognized at once as one of the masters of the craft.
In this book he laid the story during those later days of the great
cardinal's life, when his power was beginning to wane, but while it was
yet sufficiently strong to permit now and then of volcanic outbursts
which overwhelmed foes and carried friends to the topmost wave of
prosperity. One of the most striking portions of the story is that of
Cinq Mar's conspiracy; the method of conducting criminal cases, and the
political trickery resorted to by royal favorites, affording a better
insight into the state-craft of that day than can be had even by an
exhaustive study of history. It is a powerful romance of love and
diplomacy, and in point of thrilling and absorbing interest has never
been excelled.
For sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of price by
the publishers, A. L. BURT COMPANY, 52-58 Duane St., New York.
Good Fiction Worth Reading.
A series of romances containing several of the old favorites in the
field of historical fiction, replete with powerful romances of love and
diplomacy that excel in thrilling and absorbing interest.
* * * * *
WINDSOR CASTLE. A Historical Romance of the Reign of Henry VIII.,
Catharine of Aragon and Anne Boleyn. By Wm. Harrison Ainsworth. Cloth,
12mo. with four illustrations by George Cruikshank. Price, $1.00.
"Windsor Castle" is the story of Henry VIII., Catharine, and Anne
Boleyn. "Bluff King Hal," although a well-loved monarch, was none too
good a one in many ways. Of all his selfishness and unwarrantable acts,
none was more discreditable than his divorce from Catharine, and his
marriage to the beautiful Anne Boleyn. The King's love was as brief as
it was vehement. Jane Seymour, waiting maid on the Queen, attracted
him, and Anne Boleyn was forced to the block to make room for her
successor. This romance is one of extreme interest to all readers.
HORSESHOE ROBINSON. A tale of the Tory Ascendency in South Carolina in
1780. By John P. Kennedy. Cloth, 12mo. with four illustrations by J.
Watson Davis. Price, $1.00.
Among the old favorites in the field of what is known as historical
fiction, there are none which appeal to a larger number of Americans
than Horseshoe Robinson, and this because it is the only story which
depicts with fidelity to the facts the heroic efforts of the colonists
in South Carolina to defend their homes against the brutal oppression
of the British under such leaders as Cornwallis and Tarleton.
The reader is charmed with the story of love which forms the thread of
the tale, and then impressed with the wealth of detail concerning those
times. The picture of the manifold sufferings of the people, is never
overdrawn, but painted faithfully and honestly by one who spared
neither time nor labor in his efforts to present in this charming love
story all that price in blood and tears which the Carolinians paid as
their share in the winning of the republic.
Take it all in all, "Horseshoe Robinson" is a work which should be
found on every book-shelf, not only because it is a most entertaining
story, but because of the wealth of valuable information concerning the
colonists which it contains. That it has been brought out once more,
well illustrated, is something which will give pleasure to thousands
who have long desired an opportunity to read the story again, and to
the many who have tried vainly in these latter days to procure a copy
that they might read it for the first time.
THE PEARL OF ORR'S ISLAND. A story of the Coast of Maine. By Harriet
Beecher Stowe. Cloth, 12mo. Illustrated. Price, $1.00.
Written prior to 1862, the "Pearl of Orr's Island" is ever new; a book
filled with delicate fancies, such as seemingly array themselves anew
each time one reads them. One sees the "sea like an unbroken mirror all
around the pine-girt, lonely shores of Orr's Island," and straightway
comes "the heavy, hollow moan of the surf on the beach, like the wild
angry howl of some savage animal."
Who can read of the beginning of that sweet life, named Mara, which
came into this world under the very shadow of the Death angel's wings,
without having an intense desire to know how the premature bud
blossomed? Again and again one lingers over the descriptions of the
character of that baby boy Moses, who came through the tempest, amid
the angry billows, pillowed on his dead mother's breast.
There is no more faithful portrayal of New England life than that which
Mrs. Stowe gives in "The Pearl of Orr's Island."
For sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of price by
the publishers, A. L. BURT COMPANY, 52-58 Duane St., New York.
End of Project Gutenberg's Capitola's Peril, by Mrs. E.D.E.N. Southworth