People's Pilot, Volume 6, Number 37, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 4 March 1897 — THE BEACON LIGHT. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

THE BEACON LIGHT.

BY M.T.CALDOR.

INTERNATIONAL PRESS ASSOCIATION;

CHAPTER VII. — (Continued.) “Hbt«l told you how I came to fall? Tog see, I thought I saw a sail off on the wat*r, and I forgot what I was about and lent forward too far. Perhaps I was right, and ye’ll all get away to liberty as well as me. Ye’d better light a fire on the cliff at night if you make out the sail. Poor little Ellie, don’t cry bo. Tom’s dreadful sorry to leave ye all bo lonesome here, but we mustn’t rebel ag’in the Lord, you know.” Immediately he ran off into a rambling, incoherent talk, that showed his mind was away in the little hamlet of his native town. He laughed once, and spoke his sister’s name in a quick, Clad way, like one who has come to a happy meeting. Only once more he epoke—this time with something of his old cheery heartiness. “That’s comforting,” said he. “Oh, Mr. Vernon, how glad I am ye’ve come to love the Bible better’n them rhyming books. Read that again, please, sir, if ye can see for the dark.” “He thinks we are at our evening reading,” whispered the awed, scarcelybreathing Walter. Mr. Vernon looked piteously at the ashy face, and filmed, unseeing eye, and then conquering his emotion repeated solemnly the psalm “The Lord is my Shepherd.” The words seemed to reach the dying ears, for a contented smile played round the pallid lips. Closer and closer drew the sorrowing group. The glassy eye was fixed now; the limbs no longer quivered; only a faint throbbing at the throat told of life. In a few moments that had ceased too. In shuddering horror Walter and Eleanor Bung themselves in Mr. Vernon’s arms. Folding them closely in his arms he groaned: "God have mercy upon us —we three are left alone.” ) The scene that followed is too harrowing to be pictured. Anywhere, at any time, death is sad and awful enough, but there on that lonely island the strongest and stoutest taken from their little number—no tongue can describe the terrible loneliness, the wretched gloom that followed. They made his grave beyond the spring, beneath the Hibiscus tree, and never was mound more tenderly smoothed or sorrowfully bedewed with tears than the lonely island grave of Tom Harris. It was not until the second dismal day after his death that the suggestion of Tom’s came to Mr. Vernon’s mind. The sail he had seen — what had become of it? Was it still in view?

Walter had been Tom’s pupil in those athletic exercises that become a sailor’s second nature, and was, moreover, naturally active and agile. He volunteered at once to ascend the flagstaff, although his cheek blanched and his eye studiously avoided the spot where poor Tom had fallen. Eleanor was nearly frantic at the proposal, but his father, after a few earnest words of eaution, consented that he should make the attempt. It was now three days since the accident, and there had been no breeze on shore, and they had cherished the forlorn hope that if a vessel had actually been near them she could not yet have drifted from sight. Walter’s face was gloomy enough as he descended. There was a faint speck on the water as far as he could see, but he did not believe it was a ship. Mr. Vernon suddenly startled to a consciousness of the insecurity of his own life, had become morbidly anxious to leave the island. Without Tom’s cheery, self-reliant nature to sustain him, he felt incapable of protecting the youthful beings Providence had left in his charge. Moreover, he had long been aware of an inward malady slowly but certainly eating away his strength. For himself he asked nothing better than a grave beside his faithful companion. For the children’s sake the life on the lonesome island seemed intolerable. “It will d® no harm,” said he promptly; “let us kindle a fire on the cliff every night for a week or more.” With dismal alacrity Walter and Eleanor gathered the dry underbrush and moss, and reared the pile on their pretty white coral throne,and as soon as dusk arrived, with eyes that burned feverishly enough to have kindled the pyre, Mr. Vernon plied the tinder and flint,and in a few moments the ruddy beam shot up, flashing a yellow path far off into the sea, and a rosy glow against tile darkened sky. Those three anxious, terribly earnest faces and striking jforms stood' out distinctly and wildly In the flaring light. Even in the midst !ot his own harrowing suspense ter’s artist eye took in the grand sublimity of the scene, and made a mental memoranda that, was thereafter to live fn undying colors. The tears were silently streaming over Eleanor’s check; Walter turned and drew her fondly to his side. It was not the time now to think of formal prudence or to refuse the sympathy so much needed. ! “Oh, Walter, we are fearfully in earnest now. It seems as if we must all perish If no ship is near. Tom’s death has made our island life intolerable. Think how horrible it will be to be the last one!” And, shuddering, she clung convulsively to his arm. He Stroked softly the trembling bands. “You are exhausted with grief and nervous with excitement, Ellie. Things will. look mofe cheerful by-and-bye.

Come to the house and hear me sing the hymn my father taught us. I will rock you in my arms, my poor frightened darling, till 3leep shall come; and then my father shall sleep in Tom’s room, so you need not feel lonely, while I shall keep the fire blazing brightly all night. Will you try and sleep, Ellie?” He drew her gently down the cliff into the pretty parlor that was called her room, and as he had said, took her in his arms, and sat down in the rockingchair he himself had made for her, and in his clear, sweet voice began a low hymn. His soothing tones stilled the tumult in Eleanor’s heart; the sobs ceased, the tears no longer trickled down her cheek, and presently the weary, swollen eyelids closed softly, and her quiet, regular breathing told him she slept. Laying her carefully upon the couch, Walter went back to his father, who stood with bowed head and folded arms at the foot of the cliff. “Have you any hope, father?” he asked calmly. "Yes, my son, the hope that depends upon prayer. Heaven knows how I have poured out my soul in petition that help may come to you. Joyfully, gladly would I propose that the price of your safety might be my own worthless life. I am content if the ship will come to take your two fresh young hearts to human companionship, though I myself mat never set foot upon the land of my birth. I have so much hope, Walter.” “You talk so lightly of your life it grieves me deeply. What it has been I know not; you have never told me, but that it is now our greatest consolation and joy, I feel more deeply than words can say.”

“Some time, Walter, you shall know all. Perhaps It is selfish in me that I would hide the past till the last moment. It wll not be long before you will understand everything. Go in now, and leave me to tend the fire.” “No, indeed,” was Walter’s decisive reply. “I am young and strong, fit for night watches. Besides, Eleanor is restless and nervous; when she wakens you can best comfort her.” The last suggestion overruled his determination, and Mr. Vernon went back to the house. What eager eyes scanned the empty horizon when morning broke over the sea! What dispirited faces gathered round the breakfast table! What listless melancholy pervaded the whole day! Without a word of explanation, just before nightfall, Walter went to work and gathered a fresh pile of brushwood. Mr. Vernon’s head was bowed upon his hands, and he dyl not notice, the movement; but Eleanor followed sadly, and pointing to the charred, blackened rock, said mournfully: “It is like our hopes, our lives, Walter.” Walter’s lips quivered. He would not show the weakness to her, but leaping lightly upon the rock began to arrange the wood. Heedlessly his eye fell upon the distant sea, and lo! a wild transport dashed off his black look of despair; an eager light irradiated his eagle eye. “Saved! saved!” shouted he, reeling into the arms of the astonished Eleanor, weeping like a girl. She thought him crazed and shrank back in terror. Recovering himself, he cried earnestly:

“The ship is there—she is coming. Oh, Ellie, we are saved!” When Eleanor at length comprehended his meaning, she bounded forward to the rock, and satisfied that it was indeed a large ship—masts, hull and all plainly visible—she flew like a frantic creature to Mr. Vernon, and flinging her arms around his neck, sobbed herself in a transport of delight. Walter had grown more calm, and hastened to state the joyful intelligence clearly. Mr. Vernon took their hands and solemnly lifted his eyes upward. Never came prayer more thrillingly from the innermost soul than rose on the twilight air from that lonely island. “Now, then, we must work, Walter,” said his father quietly. “Night is close at hand, and the reef is dangerous. I think you and I can get poor Tom’s canoe out itito smooth water and warn them from the sunken rocks. At such a time as this Eleanor will not shrink to be left alone to tend faithfully the beacon light. Our preservers must not suffer for obeying our signal of distress.”

Walter was already on his way to the beach. The experience of the last few days had swept away all trace of boyishness. With the firm, elastic tread of confident manhood he dashed down to the boat. A sigh went out to the memory of him whose hand had last secured the rope of bark, but the eagle eye was fixed steadfastly on the outer sea—and this was time for action and not for lamentation. His father, with something of youth’s vigor, leaped to his side, carrying a bunch of the knots they had long ago prepared for evening illumination, the flame of one among them streaming up sickly and pale in the waning daylight. What wild, exultant hopes, what sad, bitter memories stirred those two tumultuous hearts—who shall say? But the oars were plied in silence, and silently, too, when a fresh breeze sprang up, was the little sail raised, and before the dusky wings brooding above them folded the white sails of their hope from Sight, they had gained the desired

station close beside the treacherous reef, and with their little torch flaring brightly over the gray ridges of leaping water, moored their tiny lighthouse as securely as possible, and waiting, gazed not at the burning stars above, but far over the sea to the flickering gleam where the unknown ship hung out her signal lamp, or back to the cliff where Eleanor tended faithfully the rosy bonfire. Eleanor was lonely and intensely agitated, but no thrill of fear mingled with her sensations. Vigilantly and steadily she kept the blaze bright throughout the night, now straining her ear to catch a fancied hallo, now turning sadly in the direction of that newmade grave, whose cold, unconscious occupant could hear never more the glad huzza of rescue for which he hoped so long. CHAPTER VIII.

£sfi> OK ITH the first weliVi jj come glimpse of * day l ig kt to her weary eyes came a sound that brought her heart fluttering t° her throat —a cheery shout mtngled with the meaeured dash of oars. Eleanor threw down her torch, and

sweeping back the cloud of damp curls • that fell heavily over her face as she ran, she flew down the path to the little cove where the boat was kept, which was the natural inlet, since no other was free from surf or convenient for landing. A strange boat, packed closely with men, was aiming steadily for the shore. Her eager eye ran rapidly over the company to find Walter and his father. They were there in the stern, in earnest conversation with a tall officer in the lieutenant’s uniform of Her Majesty’s service. Eleanor stood on shore, half shy, half dignified, the early morning light playing softly around her graceful figure, the light breeze dallying with her robe of native cloth, and stirring a golden sunshine of their own among her curls.

“A romantic picture, truly,” said Lieutenant Harry Ingalls, looking admiringly upon the beautiful girl, half child, half woman, poised there upon the rock as lightly as a bird, fit ideal of the tropic loveliness of the whole scene. “By my sword, one might believe yonder was another Aphrodite freshly risen from the foam. It were worth treble the voyage the ‘Hornet’ has made to rescue and return so fair a flower to England’s generous heart. In truth, young sir, I have done pitying you for this long exile. In faith, I should ask nothing better myself with so fair a companion.”

He turned his gay blue eye to Walter merrily, but a frown was on the latter’s forehead, and his looks were bent gloomily upon the water, and it was his father who answered quietly, just a little reprovingly: “We have endeavored to do our duty faithfully toward one so gentle and good, especially never to forget amidst the unavoidable familiarity of circumstances the probable high birth and elevated position of the young lady. The same respect and delicacy, I trust, will be observed by all others, until she is safely under the protection of her own relatives.” The young officer colored a little, and replied frankly: “You need have no fear of me, my good sir. I trust a British sailor knows what is due to his own character, as well as what is required by a beautiful woman in need of his protection. Our queen herself could not be more honorably dealt with than Will this young lady on board our ship. Come, boys, bend to it steadily—a long pull a stron pull, and a pull all together,” he added, turning his eyes away from the shore. (TO BE CONTINUED.)

CHAPTER VHl. — ( Continued. ) | Mr. Vernon was the first to touch the beach. ! "I welcome you gladly to our retreat, my gallant countryman,” he said, Waving his hand courteously, ‘‘and here I introduce to you its princess.” | As all hats were doffed and the eyes of the party bent in respectful admiration upon her, Eleanor blushed deeply; then regaining her self-possession she bowed gracefully, and hastening to Walter’s side, whispered: i ‘‘Come, Walter, do come and tell me iall about it, the time has seemed so long since you went away.” ; The affectionate tone —more than that, the tenderness with which the small hand was laid upon Ills arm — brought back the light to Walter’s face, and he cast a half-defiant look backward where the handsome officer was left to Mr. Vernon’s care, while he himself was drawn away by the beautiful object of their mutual admiration, i A brief but comprehensive recital of the events of the past ten years was given to the lieutenant by Mr. Vernon, and then he called Eleanor to bring the diamond necklace found in her relative’s trunk. i The young girl brought the trinket, laid it in his hand and looked up anxiously into his face. I The lieutenant started. 1 ‘‘l have seen a face like yours before —where can it have been?” i “I am not given to inquisitiveness myself,” said Mr. Vernon. “I knew my fellow-passengers were far my superiors in rank—they had the private cabin, and I seldom saw them. I never asked either their rank or family. For Eleanor’s sake I have always regretted my indifference. I hoped some of your company might know the crest.” j Lieutenant Ingalls turned the cold clasp to find it, and started. “Ah,” said he, and paused. Walter’s hand was clenched firm and tight on the arm of the bamboo sofa. Mr. Vernon looked earnest and interested, but Eleanor’s wild, imploring eyes never left his. j “My name—what is it,” she gasped. !' Lieutenant Ingalls hastened to answer in earnest sympathy, j "My dear lady, I cannot tell you, but there is one near at hand who can, for your crest is that of our admiral, the Right Hon. Charles Lord Collinwood, commander of Her Majesty’s ships in the Indian and Pacific oceans. His flagship lies but a few leagues beyond the ‘Hornet,’ and she signaled us to lay by and ascertain the meaning of your light the night before last. We have orders to repair to him with news of our discovery, and you may speedily see him. I must soon return and report to the captain, who will come down to the island himself, I doubt not.” j “You will find an abundance of fruit. You may help yourself freely to our jsupply for the rainy season,” said Mr. Vernon, rising to accompany him to the cove. i “Is your water good? We were running close to find some, or we had never come so far to the eastward.” i Neither of the party accepted his invitation to visit the ship. They preferred to remain on the island till their final departure, and busied themselves in packing the few mementoes and relics of their island life ready for transportation to the ship, i In the afternoon the captain’s g-ig made its appearance. The captain, Sir John Wilson, was much interested in the communication his lieutenant brought to him, and the moment he landed, passing Mr. Vernon and his son, advanced to Eleanor, and removing his laced hat from his gray head, said respectfully: “My best greetings and congratulations to you upon this fortunate escape from a lonely island, fairest Lady Eleanor Collinwood.” Eleanor’s tears bedewed the outstretched hand.

“You know me then? And that *.s my name?” i “Without a doubt, even if your face bore not the youthful likeness of our much-admired Lady Collinwood, the widow of our noble admiral’s elder brother. Well do I remember how we all sympathized with her grief when, in addition to the death of her husband, came the mysterious loss of the ‘Petrel,’ which was bringing home from India the relatives who had charge of her only child. Dear Lady Eleanor, how I rejoice that we sfyall be the humble instrument of bringing so much happiness to that lovely and estimable lady, the pride and pattern of our court. As for you,” he continued, turning somewhat patronizingly to the attentive Vernons, “you will be generously rewarded for yotir services, you may consider your fortune made, for no office you may ask will be denied you.” “We shall claim none,” replied Mr. Vernon quietly, while Walter’s proud eyes flashed. “Lady Eleanor knows whatever assistance we may have rendered has been well repaid by her sweet presence. Her noble relatives will find that, although for ten years debarred from all save our society, she is neither uncultivated in her tastes, unlearned in her mind or ignorant in manners. For ourselves, if such humble persons can interest you, we shall forego our original purpose to reach England speedily, and take passage in the first ship that crosses our path that will take us nearer Italy, My son has received all the in-

struction I could give with such crude materials as Nature furnishes. I mean he shall be taught further by the best artists in Rome. Once given to her uncle’s protection, we shall feel that the noble companion of our exile is parted from us effectually, until we reach a fairer and brighter shore than that of England.” CHAPTER IX.

fa.-~ LEANOR had drop- | || ped Sir John’s hand, j and wlt b a frightened, indignant look she sprang to the speaker’s side, •iff “What do you say mi —what do you 55) mean,my friend,my benefactor, my preserver? Do you

think I have a heart of stone? Do you think for luxury and gradeur I shall renounce you and Walter? No, no; if that is the penalty of liberty, let me stay here forever.” Mr. Vernon looked sadly at the kindling eye and flushed cheek. “My dear child,” he said kindly, “I shall never wrong your noble nature by a single such unkind thought. You will never forget us, but time and new associations, more than all your duty to a mother, this gentleman has pictured so lovable and beautiful, will make you acquiesce contentedly in a decree longstanding customs have made more binding than the edicts of a sovereign.” Eleanor was looking beseechingly at Walter, but he neither spoke nor moved, nor seemed to have heard a word that had been spoken. She went to him and touched his hand timidly. “Walter,” said she, pleadingly. “Lady Eleanor!” The girl stood silent a moment, and then burst into tears.

“I am not Lady Eleanor —I hate the name!” cried she passionately. ‘I am your Ellie, that you loved and cared for once. If I cannot be the same still, I will fling myself on Tom’s grave, and no force shall tear me from it. Oh, I thought I was so happy when I knew a ship had come at last, but now lam so miserable!” “Ellie, dear Ellie,” said Walter, forced from his icy formality by her tears, “let us go to Tom’s grave now for the last time.” She obeyed instantly, and unmolested by any of the party, they went down the path Tom’s feet had worn so plainly in the green, and sat down beneath the Hibiscus tree. Then Walter spoke. How clear and strong and hopeful his tone was. “Ellie,” he said, “you know how my father has taught me, what sentiments he has instilled, for you have shared them. You know I must not swerve from the path honor and conscience point out to me; you know I will not though the way is strewn with, thorns. You are restored now to the topmost round of noble society, while I, even for your sweet sake, though life holds no prospect so dear as the hope of your love —I will not be lifted up to a place beside you by any one’s pity or gratitude or charity—no, nor by sweet love itself. My place is far below; but if I can, by my own exertions, industry, perseverance and genius mount up to your side, I will do it. Day and night I will strive and pray for it; your dear memory shall keep my soul strong in the struggle; no other can usurp your throne within my heart. Hush, Ellie, do not speak! I ask—l will accept no promise from you; I have no right to do it.”

Her eye was fixed upon him in proud affection. “It is like you, Walter, to talk so. No matter, if you will not hear it. Here at Tom’s grave, which I shall never see again, I say to the wind and sea and sky, if your ears are deaf, I know Walter will succeed, and I shall wait for him.” The soft, exulting tone, half shy, half bold, was irresistible. Walter was not so heroic that he could turn away without one grateful kiss to the archly-smil-ing lips. This was all that was said — was it a betrothal? Sir John evidently thought Lady Eleanor Collinwood had talked • long enough with an obscure plebeian’s son, for he came sauntering down the path with a significant cough. Waiter quietly retreated to his father’s side, and the gallant old officer, exerting himself to the utmost to entertain her, began a flattering account of her mother’s high position, exceeding loveliness and irreproachable character. “Ah, my dear young lady,” said he, “you cannot imagine how all London idolizes, venerates and yet fears Lady Annabel, because her unparalleled goodness is a constant reproach to the folly and indiscretion of ordinary mortals. She is at once the pet of our royal mistress and the pride of the whole court.” "Ah,” sighed Eleanor, her sparkling eyes welling over with tears, “so superior herself, how will she be able to love a single Wildwood’s daughter like me?” Sir John gazed in smiling scrutiny upon the lovely face turned toward him so ingenuously. “Never fear; tliat you are your mother’s own child is plainly shown by the fact that this long isolation on a lonely island has not impaired your native

grace and refinement. I shall not venture to depict the maternal love awaiting you. But come —time presses, and we must reach the ship before nightfall. Without doubt the commodore is already on board the ‘Hornet’ awaiting our arrival. Say your farewell to your prison joyfully, sweet lady, for freedom and happiness and honor lie before you.” Admiral Lord Collinwood received his niece with a tenderness that banished at once all her fears of coldness. His agitation was nearly as great as her own. Folding her closely in his arms he sobbed: “My sweet child, my precious one, you know not how joyfully your poor old uncle welcomes your return to life and liberty. Your mother and I thought to pass our dreary lives alone, without a young heart to love, leaving the proud old name to pass to a distant branch of the family. Dear relic of my dead brother, you will bring new life to us.” * Eleanor nestled in his arms with the happy consciousness of at last finding the affection that rightfully belonged to her. Toward Mr. Vernon and his son the admiral was exceedingly cordial, as well as grateful. He was one of those true noblemen and native gentlemen who are as far above arrogance and haughtiness as they are too dignified for obsequiousness. “No reward we can give will compensate for what you have done for our dear child,” said he warmly to Mr. Vernon. “My sister-in-law will feel the debt more keenly even than I. If there is anything we can do for you, either through influence or pecuniary assistance, I beg you to ask it freely as a right.” Mr. Vernon shook his head.

“There is nothing whatever that we need which our own exertions cannot procure, even were we not too proud to receive reward for what has been a pleasure more than a duty. And yet we gratefully appreciate your lordship’s kindness.”

“You are a noble fellow. I can tell you, Vernon, if Eleanor were my own child I would give a speedy return to your gallant son. I would say, ‘Here, my brave lad, you have guarded and served her in her need; you have been as delicate and honorable in your lonely island as you could have been at St. James. The jewel you have polished shall sparkle on your bosom still.’ I would do it, I say, but the child belongs to Lady Annabel. Bless your soul; if you only knew her, it would save me a deal of talking, but you see my sister-in-law is so superior, so elevated above everybody else in perfect life and character, we are all a little afraid of her; and as I can’t tell how she would like it, I dare not say a word either to encourage your son or justify Eleanor In clinging to her attachment. That’s just the predicament I’m in.” Mr. Vernon smiled at the noble-heart-ed admiral’s embarrassment.

“Thank you again, my lord, for your kind wish to aid us. I assure you, long ago, before your ship came, my son saw the presumption of his love for one so far above his station, and wrestled with himself until, if It was not suppressed, it was overmastered. With your permission I propose we part from the dear girl at once. I understand that the ‘Hornet’ separates from you to cruise in the Mediterranean. I propose to proceed as soon as possible to Italy, that Walter may have the best instruction which his artist genius deserves. My own personal hopes are dead long ago; even were they not, this wasted lamp of life would make them futile; but Walter must redeem the lost years by incessant application. The belt of gold I hung round my waist ten years ago is still with me. With economy it will supply all Walter’s wants until his brush is able to provide more. I myself shall only need —a coffin.” Lord Collin Wood’s honest eye overflowed with tears at the quiet resignation of the tone. He stretched out his hand. (TOBB CONTI NUB I). 1