People's Pilot, Volume 6, Number 36, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 25 February 1897 — THE BEACON LIGHT. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

THE BEACON LIGHT.

BY M.T.CALDOR.

INTERNATIONAL PRESS ASSOCIATION;

CHAPTER V.—fCoxTivuKD.* “Ah,” said she, fixing her eyes steadfastly on the dim line where sky and ocean blended into one, “when I sit here I grow so impatient, Walter; I long to skim like the albatross yonder with daring wing, along, above the heaving waves. The world —the world —so beautiful—so grand—l would see it. My spirit tires of this sameness; it pants like an imprisoned thing longing for one taste of the pure air of freedom.” “Silly girl! What is freer and purer than this sea breeze, playing so daintily with your curls? What more boundless, vast and grand than this ever-changing ocean at your feet? Why should you sigh for anything fairer?” “Because, fair as it is, it is our prison. We can go no farther; her we must stay, confined to the narrow breadth of this little island, when the wide illimitable world is before us. Ah, Walter, I fathom your kind wish to cheat me into contentedness. Can I not read your sympathy with my own yearnings? Do I not see your eyes flash as they turn toward the point, where, far away, our home and mother-land waits for us? Am I so dull that I cannot perceive the noble ambition imprisoned in your soul? What a glorious name might not the talents and germs of genius, dormant and passive here, carve out for you in the great arena of the world. When I think of it I grow restless — angry almost.” [ She started up vehemently and stretched out her imploring hands to the ocean. , “Come, come!” she cried, as passionately as though the onleaping Waves ■would bear her -words to friendly ears. “Oh, ocean, mighty ocean —that spared us from thy yawning graves for a living tomb, be merciful. Send hither a bark to bear thy foster children back to the embrace of mother earth—a messenger of hope and mercy. Mighty Neptune, where are thy spells now ?” The girl stood, frozen by the spell of her own emotion into a statue of such wild and matchless loveliness that the gazers almost hushed their breath in sudden fear that the myth she had invoked might rise from his foamy couch to seize and bear her away for his bride, i The only reply came in the hoarse beating of the surf that seemed to moan .wildly, “Not yet—not yet.” 1 Her outstretched arms drooped dejectedly, the glow died from off ber face, and with a deep, deep sigh she sank slowly back to her seat again. ) Her sigh was echoed dismally, yet jWalter answered soothingly: | “Nay, nay, dear Ellie, do not look so [hopeless. I confess you have spoken the truth. I, too, have these longings—these wild, intense cravings for action —this dismal lamenting for talents buried in obscurity—and yet often and .often comes a strong conviction that iwere our wildest hopes gratified, and [we safely restored to all the pleasures, excitement and honors of the world, we Would look back with a sigh of regret [to the peaceful innocence of our life here.”

| She shook her beautiful head doubtingly. j “I can scarcely agree with you—betiter sorrow and sore trouble than supineness and inaction.” t Walter was looking fondly in her face. ! “It is not strange that you fret and pine, Ellie dear. A brilliant lot amidst the noblest and best of our happy land doubtless awaits you, but for me it would be one continued struggle; and though I would welcome it gladly, yet it comforts me to think that in its absence I enjoy a blessing which freedom from the island would take forever from me.” I She looked down at him questioningly. “Do you not guess, dearest, that once in your own circle humble Walter would scarcely presume to intimacy with the noble heiress.” CHAPTER VI.

LEANOR reached CAA-jti down her little i pegCTj hand to his shoul(i der, and her blue ! eyes shone Indignantly. “Had it been any one but you, Walter, to make that heartless speech—” U And breaking Into sobs, she added tremulously:

“Oh, what does not the helpless, friendless child owe to you and your father, but for whose untiring love and care I might now be an ignorant, uncouth and awkward creature, of whom, if ever re3Ci»3d, my relatives would be ashamed? No, no, Walter; come what may, you will always be the best and dearest —no one else can fill your place.” Walter touched with his lips the white little hand flung toward him in the earnest gesture. What more might have been said was prevented by the quiet advance of Mr. Vernon. 1 “Here is our father,” cried Eleanor, springing down from the rock and running to hang fondly on his arm. “Ah, mon pere, we have had such a delightful excursion at the brook up in the country, and we were industrious, too, so that even Tom praised our fine string of fish.” / Mr. Vernon passed his hand caressingly over her bright curis.

“And yet my canary is weary of her pretty cage, her seeds and sweetmeats, and beats her wings against the bars and pines for freedom!” Eleanor colored. “Ah, you overheard our silly talk. I never meant you should know it, but, oh, papa, is it not very hard for us as well as you?” “My child,” answered he, solemnly, it will be of little use for me to tell you what a bitter cruel enemy I have found this same world for which you sigh. I may bid you prize this calm peace, this freedom from sin and sorrow, but you will be deaf to my words, because of the siren song the radiant-faced Hope sings ever to the ears of youth. No, my children, I long no more for the busy haunts of men. lam ready to pray that this peaceful Eden may prove my grave.” The young creatures, dimly guessing through what waves of grief and pain he had reached the peaceful shore of content, looked up wistfully into hi 3 pensive face and kept respectful silence. “Now, then,” said he, rousing from his reverie, “I shall send you, Ellie, to the house. You will find the French lesson I prepared on your table, and you may translate it as neatly as you can. Tom has plenty of freshly-made paper in the drawer.” Eleanor obeyed at once, glancing at Yvalter as if expecting him to follow; but his father laid a restraining hand on his arm, and Walter remained at his side. “My son,” said Mr. Vernon gravely—so graevely that Waited felt the tears rising to his eyes—“you are pining for action; you long for the excitement and effort required in the battle of life. See, here in this deserted island is a grand opportunity for heroism that you have quite overlooked. Do not be startled, Walter, when I tell you that I have made a painful discovery today—that you love Eleanor with an affection more fervent than a brother’s or a friend’s. I put it to your own conscience and manliness—is it honorable to take advantage of the isolation of her life here, and win her love before she has opportunity to see others and judge for herself? There is no doubt, judging from the jewels in the trunk, the coat of-arms on her clothing, and Tom’s account of the servant’s idea of the family’s importance, that Eleanor is the child of noble and aristocratic parents. You know the exclusive pride of such, for I have often told you of it. Now, then, have you a right to profit by the accidental circumstance of the shipwreck, and take advantage of her guileless, unsophisticated nature? Here is your task, grander and nobler than any struggle for worldly fqme and prosperity—conquer yourself, Walter; be a man thus early in your boyhood.” There was a yearning, pitying tenderness in the tone that belied the calm, reasoning words. Walter knew that his father grieved for him, and looking up proudly, although his lip quivered, he said:

“I know what you mean, father, and I will be worthy of your goodness. Ellie shall never hear a word or hint from me to suggest there is anything else in the world besides a brother’s friendship.” His father bent down suddenly and left such a kiss on his forehead as in his dreams Walter had received from ah unknown angel mother, and was gone. Walter continued on to the little wood beyond the cliff, and only himself, and the pale-leaved blossoms that were wet with briny dew knew of the passionate flood of boyish tears that were shed there. Thenceforward there was a quiet dignity of manliness about Walter’s demeanor that puzzled Tom and Eleanor as much as it pleased his father. He did not take so many strolls alone v/ith Ellie, but always managed to find pretext for Tom’s company. He no longer used the slightest freedom in word or act, but treated her with as much honorable delicacy as he might have used toward his queen. Her probable rank and superior station were more frequently alluded to, until, pouting with pretty vexation, Eleanor declared that she would throw into the .sea the sparkling chain of diamonds whose unknown crest had raised such a formality between them. Tom in his droll way coincided with her. “I know,” said he. “I’ve allers been brought up to think nature made a great difference in folks when she brought ’em into the world'. Why, our folk in county thought we were hardly fit for my Lady Somerset to speak to; but the older I grow the more I come to reason that our souls are pretty- much equal in the Lord’s sight, if so be we all do right. Shiver my timbers if I didn’t use to get into a corner when one of my shipmates that went down off here in the ‘Petrel’ argued with me about it. Ye see, he came from Americky, where, if they behave, all the folks are lords and ladies, and, ,’cording to his account, they live amazingly happy. Well, well, the Lord knows all about it —where’s the use of puzzling over what don’t concern us? —though sartiD, here in this ’ere forrin place, we don’t get any special sign that little Ellie’s any better’n the rest of us, only for having the angel natur’ of all womanhood.” “There,” said Eleanor, laughing gayly, “see what a philosopher our Tom has become! Look that you take a les-

son from him, Sir Walter. lam becoming much aggrieved, you are so formal and polite. You don’t frolic with me; you don’t pet me. I declare, Walter, you haven’t kissed me for these three weeks!” As she spoke she held up her beautiful face, the crimson lips pouting archly. Poor Walter colored crimson, stammered incoherently, and then darted away. Ellie burst into tears; Tom whistled, and Mr.- Vernon, closing his book, followed after his son. CHAPTER VII.

7 RECKON I’ll find Walter and fix the flag as we agreed,” said Tom, looking ruefully at the weeping girl. He i— had hardly disappeared when Mr. Vernon returned, and began quietly wiping away the tears from the girl’s An earnest, serious

conversation ensued, from which they were interrupted by Walter, who came rushing in with a face so ghastly they both sprang up in alarm. “Quick, father, quick! Come up to Tom. He is hurt; he is dying, I am afraid.” Mr. Vernon seized a flask of brandy, preserved carefully for such exigencies, and darted after his son, who had flung an arm around Eleanor, and almost carried her in his rapid flight back to Tom. At the foot of the tall tree to which the flag staff was nailed, they found poor Tom. He was lying just as Walter had left him, with a face wearing the awful, unmistakable signet of death. Mr. Vernon shuddered, and flinging himself frantically beside him, groaned: “Oh, Tom, Tom, what terrible thing has come upon us? What has happened to you?” The glaring eyes turned lovingly to the distracted group. “My hour has come this time. The ‘Petrel’s’ ribs wasn’t cleaner stove up than mine are now. Tom’s last voyage is nigh on it ended.” “It can’t be, it shan’t be,” shouted Walter fiercely, and passing his arm under the drooping head he poured a little brandy in his hand and wet the clammy, parted lips, and turning impatiently to his father, said almost angrily: “Why do you look so hopeless? Help me take him up; help me to do what will make him well again.” “No, no, lad, don’t move me; it’s no use. Tom tells ye so himself—he’s sighted the promised land already. Good children, dear children, ye’re sorry to lose poor Tom; he thanks you kindly. Mr. Vernon, sir—” “Tom, my best friend, my preserver and savior, say on, I hear you,” sobbed the strong man, hiding his quivering face. “I’m going fast, and I must say quick while I can talk all I want you to do. I’ve wrote down where my sister lives long ago; you’ll see it, and if you ever get away from here I know you’ll see her. Tell her I was willing to die, that I allers tried to do the best I could, and I know the Lord is merciful.” Mr. Vernon could only take the cold hand in his and press it tenderly for a response. “I know ye’ll miss me, but the use of the change will soon come. I’m 3orry so much hard work will fall to you without Tom’s stout arm to do it, but the Lord’s will be done. He knows what’s best, and can take care of you.” He paused again to rest, and seemed sinking into a stupor, until Walter tried to move him to a more comfortable position, when he smiled feebly in thanks, opened his eyes, and said with considerable energy.