Rensselaer Republican, Volume 23, Number 12, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 20 November 1890 — THE MISTER OF THE MINE. [ARTICLE]

THE MISTER OF THE MINE.

By Robert Buchanan.

CHAPTER L ▲ Prolog ce, and the first scene. In a large wooden building, not far from the seashore, a building attached as shoolhouse to ‘Munster's Boarding Academy for Young Gentlemen,’ I, Hugh Trelawney, then scarcely ten years old, was moping alone. I had only arrived two days before from London, where I had parted from my father, a traveling lecturer in the cause of what was then known as the New Moral World. My mother had long been dead, and I had led a somewhat neglected life, ‘sometimes accompanying my father on his wandorings, more often being left to the care, or carelessness. of strangers. At last I had been sent to Southampton to complete a very perfunctory education. It was afternoon, and a half-hol’day; (my new schoolfellows were playing close by. Tor myself, 1 was too used to loneliness to be very miserable. I merely felt an outcast for the time being, and took no interest whatever in my new associations. As I sat thus, I must have fallen into a brown study, from wbioh a slight sound startled roe. Looking up, I met the flash of two dark eyes which were intently regarding me. •Are you the new boy ?’ said a clear voice. I nodded, and stared at my interrogator, a girl of about my own age, whose black eyebrows were knitted in a way very curious in so young a child as she seemed. j Her arms anp neck were bare, and she was fondling a kitten, whoso bright j eyes and lissom movements seemed to have something in common with her 1 own beauty. I noticed, toe, that she wore earings, and that they were very bright and glistening. What is your name? she continued, in the same clear questioning tone, altogether with the manner of a superior who was not to be trifled with. ■ —— : E—“Hugh.” “Hugh what?”_ “Hugh Trelawney.” I felt somewhat overawed by the tone of the little lady, who, to my boyish eyes, seemed much- mote my senior than she was in reality. She continued to regard me with the same keen scrutiny, and then said, looking at my attire: “Who is dead?”

I still wore black*for my mother, and, with a somewhat faltering voice, I told her - so.') She did not seem surprised, and expressed no sympathy; but, walking to l the schoolroom window, looked out, saying, “Why don’t you go out and play with the other boys - ”’ “I don’t care about play. I am tired.’’ | ••Tired with what?” she questioned quickly. I made no reply, for I was not prepared for the question. I had meant to imply that I was low-i spirited and dull, but had not cared to ! confess so much in so many words. She understood me. however, and although she seemed indifferent to my ! condition, troubled mo with no more questions. Glad to direct her attention from myself, for her bright eyes troubled me and made me feel ashamed, I stooped down and stroked the kitten, which she had placed qpon the floor. Even as I did so, I could feel her eyes still fixed upon me; but when I looked up again with an annoyed expression, she turned her eyes away and laughed. This emboldened me, and 1 began to question in my turn. “Are you the schoolmoster’s daughter?” At this she laughed the more—so brightly and pleasantly, with such a good-humored sympathy that my first impression of her began to improve, and I saw hat, besides being a rather imperious, he was a very pretty young lady. ••Why do you laugh?” I remarked. “At you.” she roplied; “because you take me for Mr. Munster’s child. 1 am a stranger here, like yourself. My people live far away in South America, and are very rich. My mother is deadT. and I don’t remember her. My fa°ther has sent me here to be taught; but I shall soon go back to him. Haye you a father?" she added quickly. I nodded. [ • ‘ls he kind to you, and was it he that sent you to school?’’ she asked. But without waiting for ray reply to her questions, she oontinued: “My father cried when I left him, though he is A great man, and when he gavb me these earrings, he told me my mother had worn them before me, and he kis?cd them. We live far away irom here, in a brighter place. Don't yoa hato England?”

' This was rather a startling query, but being in a state of mind bordering on disgust for life in general, I readily assented. Her eyes gleamed. „ ’ --It is a dreary place, "she cried, -dull and ins<. r it rains nearly every day But it is different where I come from. It is always bright there, aud there are flowers everywhere synd lhe~ trees are full of fruit; and there are bright insects, and beautiful snakes without stings, that ran be taught to twine round your neck and feed out of your hand.” • As she spake thus, indeed, it seemed that I was transported to the lard of which she spoke; her eyes were so sparkling, her face bo bright and sunny. her form so foreign m its ■lender beauty—and her earrings glistened, and her beautiful ivory teeth gleamed—aud I saw her walking in that land, a wonder among dll ‘wonders there, with fruits and flowers [Over her head, and brilliant insects floating round her, and luminous

snakes gleaming harmless in her path, and dusky slaves waiting upon her and doing her courtesies. For it must be borne in mind that I had been a studious, boy, fond of reading wild books of travel and adventure, and of picturing in my mind the wonders of foreign lands. Much that I had fancied of dwellers in distant regions was realized in the face I now beheld for the first time. . At what age is a beautiful human creature—and more particularly one belonging to the gentler sex—insensible to admiration? lam certain that my nefcr friend perceived mine, and that it did not displease her. It was, at any rate, genuine homage, quietly expressed, almost against my will,in the pleased yet timid glances of my eyes. When she next spoke, her clear impetuous tone was greatly changed and softened, and kindor lightdwelt on her face. ■ i “If you will come with me,” she said, “I will show you the place. There is not much to see but the garden, and that I like well enough. Will you come?” I rose awkwardly, as if at a word of command, and taking my cap from the peg where it hung, swung it in my hand as I followed her to the door. Ashamed, yet pleased, to be chaperoned by a girl, 1 wondered what my schoolfellows would think of it. Close to the schoolroom was the playground, or rather the capacious piece of lawn dignified by that name. My schoolfellows were playing cricket thereon. They paid no attention to me as I passed, but looked at my companion with a curious and not too friendly expression. She, for her part, passed along imperiously, without deigning to cast a single look in their direction; and I noticed that her look had changed again, and that her dark brows were knitted with the former unpleasant expression. She said nothing, however, for some minutes. _____ . .... . . g Our first visit was to the top of a high knoll behind the house, whence we could seethe surrounding country, and. some miles to the southward, the distant sea. with a white frost of billows on the edge of liver-coloured sands.

It was a quiet, sunless day; but far away there were gleams of watery light on the whits sails passing by under full canvas. The girl looked seaward at the parsing with much the same peculiar expression she had tforn on our fir§t encounter. “Are you clever?” she asked suddenly. This was a question which I as a modest totally unprepared to answer. I looked at the ground, peeped at her, and laughed. Her expression did not change. “I mean do you know much?” she continued in explanation. -‘Have you learnt much before.” I explained to her, as well as possible. that my acquirements were very slender indeed, and merely consisted of the stray crumbs of knowledge which I had been enabled to pick up at day sohools in the various towns where my father had resided during my childhood../ In point of fact, I was a thoroughly uncultivated little boy, and had never been cram med with th ■ solid pabulum so much in vogue at our public schools. I could read and write, of course, and knew arithmetic as far as the rule three, and had got through the first four declensions in the Latin grammar; but all was a chaos, and 1 had lid accomplishments. I did not explain all thi? tyj my interrogator ; for I was too proud*. “If you are clever and know so little.” observed the girl thoughtfully, .“take care of the other boys. Why don't you make friends with them? Why do you like to sit alone, and be Bullen? If there were girls here 1 should make friends, I know. But boys are different; they have cruel ways, and they hate each other. ” All this was said in a tone rather of reflection than of conversation; and she still kept her eyes on the distant ships, as if from some secret source far away the current of her thoughts was flowing. The boys hate me,” she pursued, “because they think me proud. lam not proud, but I am quicker and cleverer than they are, and I come from a better place. I beat them in the class and at all things, except figures; and I have helped the biggest of them sometimes, when they were too stupid to understand.”

All this wa3 a revelation to me. Until that moment I had never supposed that my companion’s place was among the common scholars. During my first two days in school she had been absent—a circumstance which she soon explained to me without any questioning. •‘I have been away on a visit, and only returned this morning. Ido not come to school every day, because I have headaches, and my father will only have me learn When I please. Now let us go down and look at- the garden. There, are fruit bushes there and some of the fruit is ripe.” ’ Still respectful and submissive. I followed, aud we wdre sooh wandering side by side in the quiet garden in the neighborhood of the schoolliduso. Ever and anon, as we walked, I heard the shouts and cries of my playmates; but they were wafted to me as from some forsaken life. A spell had been passed upon me, and I was in a dream. As I write, the dream surrounds me still. Yearß ebb backward, clouds part, the old horizons come nearer and nearer, and I am again wandering in the quiet shade Of trees with the shining young fee*

at my side. I can no longer recall looks and words. All becomes a tremor. I see the one fade only, but the voice becomes in articulator What I remember last is a sudden sound dissolving a speiL A bell rang loudly from the housed and my companion uttered an exclamation: “That is the bell for tea!” she exclaimed. “You had better go.” . And she ran before me up the path. She was nearly out of sight among the garden bushes when, urged by curiosity, T took courage, and called after her. “What is your name?” I cried. She nodded back with a smile. “Madeline,” she replied. ‘Madeline Graham.” With that she was gone. For a moment I 6tood bewildered, and then, with quite a new light in my eyes, I made the best of my way into the house, and. joined the boys at the tea-table. Although Mrs. Munster presided at the board, my new friend did not appear, and as I munched my bread and butter, I thought of her face with a kind of dreamy pleasure, delicious to recall even now. 2E5

CHAPTER 11. NEMESIS INTERVENES. In my hasty sketch of school, I have made little or no mention of the schoolmaster and his wife. Indeed, %o far as my present retrospection is concerned, they are nonentities; and they form part of my story only in so much as they affected my relations with the leading actress in the life drama towhich these chapters are the. prelude; Munster was a feeble looking but talented little man, with a very high forehead, which he w&8 constantly mopping with cold water, to subdue inordinate headaches; and Mrs. Munster was a kind creature, with an enormous respect for her lord, and quite a motherly interest in us boys, she having no children of her own. The manner of these good people Was kind towards all; But their treatment of Madeline Graham wasblonded with a sense of restraint almost bordering on fear. It was obvious that they had been instructed to treat her with more "than ordinary solicitude, and it was equally obvious that they were liberally paid for so doing. When she broke from all restraint, as was the case occasionally, their concern for her personal welfare was not unmixed with a fear lest open rupture might rob them of the installments derived from their wealthiest pupil. Madeline, on her side, was perfectly conscious of this; but, in justice, it must be said that she seldom look undue advantage of her position. The more I saw of Madeline Graham, the more I observed her manners and .general bearing, the more the thought of her possessed me,, and blended with my quietest dreams.

After the first interview she held somewhat aloof for many days, bather eyes were constantly watching mo in school and at meals, though without any approach to further familiarity. She seemed desirous of keeping mo at a distance, for reasons which I could not possibly penetrate. Gradually, however, we came together again. Madeline had not exaggerated when she boasted of excelling the other scholars, and tasks which taxed all the energies of boyhood were easily mastered by her_quick and restless brain. .. . She was taught with the rest of us in the open school, and was generally at the head of her cia’ss. It so happened that I myself, although in many things dull and ipdifferent, was also gifted with a memory of uncommon tenacity. In all tasks which demanded the exercise of this function I took a foremost place. Madeline was my most formidable rival, and we began, quietly at first, but afterwards with energy, to light for the mastery. - The competition, instead of severing brought us closer to each other. Madeline respected the spirit which sometimes subdued her, and l, for my part, loved her the better for the humanising touches of passion which my victory frequently awakened. We had been friends six months, the quiet round of school life had become familiar and pleasant to me, when, one day, at breakfast, I noticed that Munster wore a very troubled expression as he broke open the largest of a number of letters lying before him The envelope was of peculiar yellow paper, and the postmark looked foreign. Madeline, who sat close by, turned white, and eager, and her great eyes fixed themselves ou the strange missive. \\ ithin the letter to Munster was a smaller one, which he handed to Madeline silently.

With impetuous eagerness,she opened and read it It was very short. As she glanced over it, her bosom rose and fell, her eyes brightened and tears. To hide her trouble, she rose and left the room. Meanwhile, Munster evinced similar surprise and consternation. He bit his lips as he read his letter, and passed his bund nervously through his hair. Then, with a significant look, he p.is -ed the letter to his wife. who. reading it, iu her turn became similarly troubled. As he passed the letter to her somethingdropped rustling to the floor, and Munster, looking rather red, stooped and picked it up. It was a curiously printed paper, and looked like the note of some foreign bank. Breakfast was finished—school began —hut Madeline did not appear. Munster still looked fidgety and annoyed. As for myself, I was torn by sensations to which my lifo had been hitherto a stranger. I felt on the brink of a precipice, down which all that I held dear was disappearing. I could not eat, I could not say my tasks, l could not think. W hat was going to happen?

I asked myself wildly again and again. At two o'clock, when we were summoned to dinner, no sight of But by this time some hintof the truth was forcing itself upon me. A whisper had passed round the school—Madeline Graham is going away! > - Going away? Whither? To that far-distant, that mysterious land whence she had come, and whither I might never follow her? Going away for ever! Passing westward, and taking with her all that made my young life beautiful and happy. Could this be? I shall never forget the agony of that day. I have had blows since, but none harder. I have felt desolation since, but none deeper. After school, I hung around the Bouse, haunted every, spot where she might be expected to,appear. I yearned to hear the truth from her own lips. I paced to and fro like a criminal awaiting his sentence. I could not bear the sjght of the other hoys, but kept to the secret places, moody aud distracted. Quite late in the evening. I wancei-ed into the garden—a favorite resort, of ours. The sun had sunk, but his j slowly fading light was still tinting the quiet place, and the shadows of trees and bushes were still distinct upon the ground-—' ■ ; I had not been here long when I heagd the foot I know, and, turning 1 behold my little friend hastening towards me. She was pale, but otherwise composed, and said at once: “Have you hea/d that lam going away?” I stammered something, I know not what; it must have beep inaudible. I had a sharp, choking sensation, and drooped ray looks from hers.""” —t- have just got a letter from my father. I am to go back home immediately. See! So saying, she placed in my hand the small enclosure which she had received from Munster in the morning. Seeing my puzzled look, she exclaimed: “You may read it,” I didread it. in one quick, painful glance. 1 remember every word of it now- It was written in a large, bold hand, and ran as follows: “Mr Darling.Littlk Madeline. —You will hear from the good people with whom you are living that a great ehange has taken place, and that you must come home tit otjee. With a kind good-bye to all your friends in England; perhaps you may never see them again. Come without delay toyour loving father, Rode kick Graham.

Prepared as I had been for the blow, it did not fall so heavily as it might have done. I struggled with my feelings, and choked down a violent tendency to cry. She perceived .my constornation. and was herself moved. But there was a quick, strange light in her eyes, as if she was contemplating something -faraway. ‘T have prayed many a night thatiny father would send for me," she said thoughtfully; and now he has done so, 1 scarcely feel glad . lam afraid there is something wrong at home. Shall yon be sorry, Hugh, when f go?” At this open question I broke down utterly, and burst into a violent sob. She puj her hands in mine, and looked earnestly into my’face. * I thought you \vouldbe sorry. None of them will miss me so much as you. We have been great friends; I never thought I could be such friends with a boy, I shall teiJ my father pf you, and he will like you, too. Will you kiss me, Hugh, and say good-bye?” I could not answer for tears; but I put my arms round her neck, and I did kiss her—a pure, true, loving boy’s kiss, worth a million of the kisses men buy or steal in the broad world. My tears moistened her cheek as 1 did so, but she did not cry herself. In the midst of my agony, I found words to inquire how soon our dreaded parting was to take place. What was my astonishment to hear that she was going to leave Munster’s at once. “There is a ship to sail in two days, and I must go away to Liverpool tomorrow, early in the morning. My poor father! There is, something vei y wrong indeed, and it will be many a week before we meet, though the ship should sail ever so fast. ”

As I write, recollection darkens, the sun sinks behind the little garden: tne little” shape fades away, and it is dark night. I seem to remember no more. But what is this that gleams up before me? -- ; —— It is the faint grey light of dawn. I have been in a very disturbed sieup. and am awakened by a harsh sound in the distance. It is the sound of carriage wheels. I start up; it is daylight. I hear a hum of voices in ihe house below. Without awakening any o' m companions in the room, 1 creep to the window, and look out. A travelling carriage stands at the door, and a sleepy eytd coachman yawns on the box. Hush! yonder from the house porch comes Mrs. Munster, an I by her shii tho little figure that l love. Tho proud spirit is bid'.on tbi morning, and the little eyes look s fi and wet. Madeline clings to her pro tectross. and nods adieu to the servants, who flock around to bid lie farewell. The coachman cracks his whip, the horses break into a'trot, the little out leans out, and waves her handled ch ic: until the carriage rounds the cqrm r. and is hid from view. Madeline! Little Madeline! I have fallen upon ray fence: by bedside, and am passionately kissing the lock of hair I begged from her lanight. My heart seoms breaking. A 1 the world has grown dark for me in ; moment. To what, new trouble L this that I am about to waken, nor ' that the one star of my life’s dav, n h. : faded away? [TO BE CONTINUED.]