Rensselaer Republican, Volume 14, Number 47, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 10 August 1882 — AT CROSS-PUEPOSES. [ARTICLE]

AT CROSS-PUEPOSES.

A Woman’s Story* CHAPTER I. —TOM RATHBONE. “I am sure that we shall be very happy, Kate!” “Yes,” I replied, frankly, as I looked up into his handsome brown face, “1 think we shall, Tom. Tom Rathbone was a fine young fe] low, and I was the happiest girl in oui parish. Not that ours was a very largo parish either, for that matter, but somehow or other we had got into the habit of saying so, and the saying stuck to us We4iad been engaged, Tom and I, sot a mouth nearly, and O! the sweet times wc had after work, wandering through the fields, far away out of our smoky town where cotton mills and furnaces sent up a black cloud that sometimes hid the sun itself. Tom was a factory hand, and a steady one. I was then employed in a milliner’s business, and was learning to support myself. You wonder if I was pretty. Well, Tom said so, and he wasn’t the first, but don’t you think I ever cared for any one but Tom. Not a bit! But Ido wish that some people had kept their opinions to themselves; for they made a deal of mischief, as you shall hear. So Tom and I were engaged, and were very happy. Nobody minded us, and we used to enjoy our rambles by the river and ’ the sweet partings at our house. We always had a “parting,” me ana Tom, lor tun nrteen minutes Dy the clock. Tom, bless him! used to declare that Bessie always put the hands on ten minutes, but she said she never did. And I don’t believe she did. And this lasted till Tom went away down South. Bessie was a pretty girl, much prettier than I was; at least I heard so. She was a good, affectionate girl, but a little vain, and apt to encourage attention in all innocence, but with a slice of vanity, too. She was romantic, so ’twas said, and would rather have a lover to talk poetry to her than to show her his books, and his mill-hands going in to Work after dinner. She had a lpver, but none of us knew it at first. Jl must say l rather aid admire Mr. Dawson Temple, who was down in the sheds at the railway, learning to make engines. He used to lodge in the town, but Mr. Akenside, the engineer, thought the fresher air up the hill-side better for him, and, knowing father, he asked him to take a lodger. Father was willing; mother liked Mr. Temple from the first, because of his respectful manner to her, and his tidy ways; and so he became one of our house family, and we did all like him —Bessie especially, i Somehow, whether to hide his real taste for Bessie, as some sweet things will hide each other if taken nigh together, or to make her like him more, as contrariness will do, Mr. Temple began to pay me little attentions, and Bessie didn’t like it. Of course I laughed at her, and we very nearly had a quarrel over it; not that I cared a pin forhim, but because she thought I was unmaidenly, as all know I never was. Bessie is younger than 1 am, and 1 had had

attentions—nor am I ashamed of them as no honest woman need be if proper* ly addressed. She had had none till Mr. Temple made up to. her, and she tackled me about it, and I was a bit aflgry- So when Mr. Temple came in that and asked me .to walk with him, I consented. But you may be sure that Tom was not in the neighborhood, else I would have gone with him; as giving consent in default of spirit to speak out, which no woman should, at proper season be afraid to do. Thus it came to pass that Mr. Temple and I went out that evening, leaving rr Bessie in a flush of tears, up stairs, her faithless lover. He was not faithless, though, for I could see he worshipped her, and I drew his whole heart out and kept it for Bessie; with such news I was sure we should be friends. We had a pleasant walk, and were rather later than usual. I had confided to the young man my impression as to my sister’s feelings—with all reserve—and he was beside himself with joy. When we returned, Bessie had gone to bed, and wouldn’t speak to me when I came up. So I went to sleep, and tried to comfort myself that I could tell her in the morning. But we can’t tell what a night will bring forth, any more than a day, and one’s as true as the other. Next morning Bessie didn’t get up as usual, and when mother came into our room she found her hot »nd flushed, and fetched father. The upshot was that Dr. Carpenter came up from town, and warned us that it was very likely fever, and we must keep away. Of course we couldn’t leave home, so mother took Bessie off over to the old nurserv, out from the house, and we made it the hospital, died. And we never told Bessie—not then, I mean. Thanks to our precautions, it somehow passed us, and I was glad Tom was away—he had got a better situation in Birmingham now--and he couldn’t catch it. Poor fellow! Meanwhile, naturally, Mr. Temple and I were a great deal together. We had such long talks about Bessie that no walks, and agreed to be brother and sister, as was right, under the circumstances. Not a five minutes he spoke but his love for Bessie somehow always passed his lips. I wrote to Tom regularly, but told him nothing about Mr. Temple and Bessie; for it was not my secret, and besides, she didn’t knowhow Mr. Temple loved her yet. So the spring went, and Mr. Temple and I got quite friendly. I think he liked me very much. t One night we were walking in the gloaming, coming home.

“I am so glad, Katie, that Bessie is nearly well again. I hope soon to see her, and then we shall all be happy.” “Yes,” I said; “if Tom would only come home. He can’t just yet, he says, but he will joon.” “Are you going to be married then Katie P” “O, dear, no,” I said. “Not for quite a long time yet!” and I laughed. But I should not have laughed had I known how near the grim, dreadful truth I was that night. “When we are married,” said Mr. Temple, “it will be splendid. We will go abroad then, and you will be my own sister, Katie. For I do love you very dearly indeed.” He put his face down to mine as he spoke, and kissed my forehead. I did not prevent hint, ana just made no sign; but at that instant a dark figure came behind us, and caught Mr. Temple by the collar, and with one immense heave sent him right off his feet into the river, a distance of six feet or more below us. Then, turnincr towards me, Tom—for OJ it was lom, anu I knew lnm in that one second how his poor heart was breaking —came and stood over me, and hissed out: “You faithless jade! It is true then, and you all the time writing to me. Yah! I hate ye. Go and find your new lover. You’ll never see me again.” I put up my hands, I begged him to listen, I entreated for pity’s sake. “I heard you!” he exclaimed, “1 heard you! Go. leave me! O has it come to thisr May God reward you as you deserve. My heart is broken!” He turned away—l clung to him; but, dashing me backward, he escaped, and with a loud scream I fell back lifeless on the path by the river.

CHAPTER II. —“OUT OF THE DEPTHS.” It was nearly autumn-time when I awoke to see the light again, at least to remember it. I was in our bedroom and Bessie was sitting beside me. looked up, and she saw I knew her, and she stopped and kissed me. I felt tears upon my cheeks, but I did not try to wipe them off. All seemed unreal and strange; even the twittering of the swallows in the eaves sounded far away and as heard in a doze beside the stream in summer. “What has happened, Bessie?” I whispered. “Tell me, tell me all!” Bessie began to cry. I looked at her calmly, with no sense of sorrow or sympathy. I was stony at heart. “You have had brain fever,” she whispered; “and O! Katie, my darling, it is all my fault” I stared at her; I didn’t in the least child. Bessie stooped as I made a movement with my lips: “Call mother.” She went down stairs, and mother came in cheerfully and kissed me gladly. I was better. I asked no questions—they have told me so since—and took no interest in anything. And this lasted for a fortnight. Then I come down stairs, and then I caught site of Mr. Temple, and hated him. His appearance distressed me. He came up to me, and I remember quite well I recoiled I got stronger and better, and recovered my looks, but never felt quite the same. I was not unhappy. I enjoyed the singing of the birds and the murmur

of tb« stream, and the sunshine and harvest-time, and went to church. But I never did any work, and nobody asked me to. said any thing to hurt my feelings, and I never spoke to Mr. Temple. - He was a great deal with Bessie now, and I supposed they were engaged to each other. Bessie would often leave him to come to me. She was so kind and gentle and forbearing. There was a deprecating way with her which I could not then understand, a wish also to tell something, and at last it came. “Katie,” she said, one evening, one of the -last evenings when we should sit out of doors that year, “do you remember that night when you were found 5 *” “No,”‘l replied, calmly enough. “1 remember that ‘Joe 1 of yours being chucked into the river; I suppose Tom did that.” “Katie, dear, don’t be spiteful,” said Bessie, who was much relieved to hear me speak of Tom again. “But you must hear what I have to tell you.” “Go on,”T said. “Nothing very unpleasant, is itP" “Will you forgive me?” she begged, earnestly. “What for?” I said, carelessly. “For my conduct. I wrote to Tom. O, Kate! don’t look like that. I wrote to him and told him about you and Mr. Temple—and—” I never heard her finish. I got up without a word and walked up stairs. For three months I never came down on my feet. Then I was better, and, without a look at Bessie or her intended, I was carried away to Lancashire for change of air. Here I really did receive new Bfe. I remained with my father’s friends for many weeks. Winter passed awav. and I still stayed on; I went home in the spring, but the summer again found me at W.

Mr. Lington was something for a firm of coal owners, and had two pleasant daughters. Their mother had known my mother in her girlhood, and the old friendship had been heartily kept up, though at a distance, for many years. I was then quite restored to health, and had in a measure recovered my usual spirits. “Annie,” I said one morning at breakfast to Miss Lmgton, “were you ever down one of those mines? I should dearly like to go.” “Should you really? Well, then, nothing is easier. I have been down frequently. Papa can get the manager to make things as comfortable as possible When shall we go? “To-morrow, I said. “Will that do?” “Famously,” replied Annie. “WaltcT shall accompany us, and May will come, unless she is afraid to leave her children. She generally makes her will on wp should descend; and at thh time appointed we were encased in nondescript garments, and had a piece of candle given us and a lamp. Then we got into a bucket or box, and in two seconds, and one turn of an enormous wheel, we were in the first gallery. Looking up, the daylight was like a pin-hole. I began to get frightened. “Come along, if you please, ladies,” said the ,manager; “this way.” We followed along the coal-seams, passing into air-filled compartments which were closed behind us, and sometimes crawling beneath little tunnels of coal on our hands and knees. We gQt farther and farther away from the entrance, and at length we came to a place where a great block of coal was hanging over, just ready to drop. I hurried tnen a laden trucx would come along, running by itself on trams, and we had to get out of the way. “I’ll go back,” [ whispered to the manager. “Let me go; the others can proceed. lam terribly frightened!” I was really crying with terror by this time. “All right, mum,” he replied. (I do not reproduce his accent.) Here he called to a young miner, and x*eqnested had passed tho impending mass of coal. Even as we gazed a bit fml off. I took his arm, and we hurried on to the shaft. The young man said little. We reached the bottom of tho shaft in safety. I turned to thank him. The lamplight fell upon his face. It was Tom! I neither cried nor screamed. 1 couldn't speak! I put out my hand. He took it in his own —in both his own—and, dirty as he was, he stooped and kissed me once, twice, thrice! Was I not dirty, too? And I rejoiced in his embrace.

At last I found my voice and told him all; and he stood and listened, as the great black tears rolled down his cheeks, there at the "bottom of the upper seam. “To think that I misdoubted you and caused you all that misery! But I fancied more than I heard that evening, and Ihen—O, Kate! I have behaved like a brute! But if you’ll forgive me—” Forgive him—dearest Tom! Of course I forgave him on the spot, and kissed him of my own free will for the very first time in my life, I believe, and at last we were quite, quite happy. The astonishment of my friends, and of Bessie when she heard of it, need not. be described. All clouds had at length been cleared away. Tom and I are married now. Bessie and Mr. Temple were married upon the same day. I have never been down a mine since then, nor will I let Tom go. I am quite satisfied to have received my dear husband once “out of the depths.” Davis Bruno, of Corsica, Ohio, aged about sixty, was run over by a train on the Baltimore A Ohio road, near Mansfield, Ohio, and his head and one arm severed -from his body. The loss to the Lake Shore A Michigan Soutbernßailroad, at South Bend, Ind., is put at about $150,000. The six or eight bodies of burned tramps have not been recovered.