Rensselaer Republican, Volume 23, Number 31, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 2 April 1891 — THE MASTER OF THE MINE. [ARTICLE]

THE MASTER OF THE MINE.

By Robert Buchanan.

CHAPTER XXIX—CostiXTED. * As (or the chance ot ary stray rumor reaching me concerning changes at St. ’’Gurlott’a. it was fnily'as remote as if I had been a dwelled on the other siue of the carpi. The village where I dwelt resemble! an island surrounded 7by 4a itohhMgable sea; and the people in it knew as much or more of Kamsehatka as they knew of St- Gurlot'.’s, Fforh generation to generation, that dwelt apart; Troglodytes of the oiino. they know of nothing beyond it. Very fe vv among t era had 6'er beheld the sea though itanenrest point of coast was under forty miles distant. 1 The place eor.ta nod a church and a school home: the former a sort of a chapel of ease of the Rev. —William Ste, henson. known as Billy S ephen*©o, ihe famous "hunting parson ” the latter superintended by'a schoolmi>tresß about'’ one degree removed aliose the igno: ai.ee of the children she taught, or was supposed to teach. Billy Stephenson or his deputy preached a sermon every Sunday, generally a short one. and conventional in its news of both this world and another; but the reverend gentleman was most welcomed when he rode over on week day business, marrying, burying, or visiting the sick, and when his conversation was secular, not to say horsey, in the character, l-.ver top-booted, spurred, and rondy for a gallop after the fox or the wild red-deer, and ever ready to exchange a coarse joke or repartee with the moanest of his parishioners. he was highly popular; though it is needless to say that he did Rule or nothing, .shining light though he wn\ to scatter the mental darkness of his savage Hock. One Sunday, the second after my arrival, ns I was preparing to go and hear tbi* worthy preacher (having just seen him pus- by at a trot, riding in the direction of the old church* I was astonished to see a light country cart draw up at the door, containing John Rudd "and imy cousin Annie. Startled, and fearing some bad news, I stepped out to greet them.aod learned that they had driven over from Barmouth. a town some twenty miles distant, where they had arrived in the carrier's wagon on th'previo.is night. I assisted Annie down, and saw that 6he was very pale and trembled. Then while. J.oJhn Rudd drove away to the beer-house, where he w.is to put up the i or.-o, I led my cousin into the cot'age. D redly wo were alone, she burst into tears*- • •‘Something has happened,” I cried. “Speak, Annie! don’t keep me in suspense! Is anything wrong at home?” My fear was that some evil had befallen my poor uncle, but I was immediately'reassured. ••A.Ts well at home, Hugh dear; it's not that which brought me over. I came to te.l you that the marriage, day is fixed. They are to be married in - St. <»urlot-.V next Wednesday morning ” I knew of whom she spoke, though she mentioned no names and I was both surprised and angry that she should travel to me with so sorry a message. She saw the dqrknoss feathering on my face, and cried eagerly: "Hugh dear, don’t be angry! I felt I must oorae and tell you—for oh! it is breaking my heart, as well as yours.” 1 looked at her in amazement. ‘•Breaking your hear;?” I echoed. '•Whatis it to you?” "It is everything to me. Master George, though he is going to wed Miss Graham.- is my- husband in the sight of God i” "Then 1 was right!” I cried. "I was right from the first The villain! —HeTed-yrm from ytmrharng” 1 * ~ She bent her head in weeping acquiescence. All my spirit arose once ! more against her. for though i had i suspected the truth, her confession j came up. n me like a thunderbolt. I I looked at her in horror as Stretching out her hands pitifully to me, she proceeded; \ ‘‘Hugh, dear, I promised that I would one day tell you everything, and it is for that I came. I wa ted on till the j last 1 thought to hold my peace, I j hoped and prayed that he would not ) go so fur; but wheir I heard the day was fixed, my mind was made up—to hold my peace no more. Bat first I went to him, and prayed to him on my knees. Then, finding that it was all In vain, I determined to come here.” ••You are speaking of George Redruth ?” 1 asked sternly. { ,*.• Ye»—ot the young master." * "You left home in his company? You wire togdtfier in London?” 1 “God help mo—yesi’l •‘Why have you screenod him so long?” ‘•Because I made him a promise. Becau e I believed until the very last that be might make amends. Because j —because—l did not wish to see him harm, d! Oh, Hugh, forgive me'don’t at me like that! You promised to lie a brother to me always. Keep your promise now.” Hew could 1 resist her sad appeal? I was a churl to repulsq her, even for j a moment. But, casting off the mask ! of sever'ty. I kissed ner. and placed her in a chair. As she looked up at me with her pleading tearful eyes. I j ailently cursed the , scoundrel who had j been the cause of her trouble, but for \ her, poor girl, £ had only sympathy >and love. Then a thought crossed my mind: and I a iced eagerly: * "Have you spoken of this to anyone hlSe? Ikies my uncte know?” £ She shook her head: * "No one knows but yourself,” she replied. "How could I speak of it to Anyone but you"?” . "So much the better. I returned

vfivil enpu£h haacome of this already, and 1 would not for the world that it -ho Id reach the old man’s ears, tie bel.ete* George Redruth blameless. God knows wh it be might do if hoj knew him to be as guilty as you say.” , Fo.lof the new thoughts,,her confession had awakened, Twalked up and down the : oouit alter adititie while 1 ‘bent over her again, and took her band. ■ • —- "Amrib, l' must know everything; not part of the truth, but the whole; then, perhaps. I can help you. But first, about this marriage? You say it is'now a certain thing?” —__ • Yes. Hugh. That is why I canto.’, "You did well,” I answered. "Now ( tell me the story.” She obeyed me, and I listened in dedp agitation. Simply, clearly, she described to mo all that had taken place, from the day she had first left her home.

CHAPTER XXX. annie’s story. It was a long and painful story, delivered not consecutively, but brokenly, in a series of vivid episodes; and so agitated WaaT hy what ITieard that it was some time before 1 was able to piece it all together. At last, however, the whole truth was made clear to me; add Ishall now do my beat, in form, to make it clear to the reader. For a long time Annie had resisted George Redruth’s solicitation that she should leave her home. Her whole nature revolted against the pain which such a step might cause; besides, he had persistently averred that it was his intention to make her his wife, and AnDie. bro lght up as 6he had been, with a s’ tuple faith in human nature, since all was straight and honorable, for so much secrecy in the matter. ■•lt would break my father's heart," she said to him, again and again, "It will bring dishonor upon my home and upon myself. Why should wo act so?”

But George Redruth was specious in his pleading. He pointed out to her that since they were to bo married, there would be no dishonor. That if her good mme was tarnished for a time through enforced secrecy of the whole proceedings, it would suine all the brighter afterwards,’ and as for himself—why. he would love her a hundredfold for this slight sacrifice; in fact, ho took full advantage of his genthm mly manners and superior education to lure her on to destruction. •T am sure ho really and truly loved me then,” said poor Annie, as she re-count-d those sconces to me. "Ah. Hugh, the™ was love in his voice and in his eyes, real true love that no one could doubt;., and was it, any wonder then that I never doubted it? When ho took mo in his a -ras and kiss 'd me I feit that 1 could go to sleep and never wish to waken again.” Nevertheless, poor Annie brought all the strength of her nature to her aid, and resisted him almost to the last. "" , Even after she had finally been brought to consent to his proposition, she repented before many hours had passed away, and went to him again wlth-a deter:nination in break with him once and for all. It was the night preceding that on which she left her home. They had arranged not to meet again, but Annie,reckless of consequences, had sent a note to him, asking him to meet her. She got no answer to the nbte, but at ten o’clock, the time she had named, she went to their usual place of meeting, and hero she was soon joined by George Redruth. He looked impatient, and even angry. Instead of taking her in his arms and kissing her as usual,he began to chide her for her thoughtlessness in sending up the note. "If my mother had seen it,” he said,

And questioned m about it,it -would have boen awkwai-d. What do you want. AnnieP I thought everything; was settled last night.” ginning to tremble at her own boldness. ‘‘But I wanted to see you tonight to say that I have changed my mind.” “Changed your mindJ What the deuce do you mean?” “Just this, sir,” continued Annie, who grew bolder as she went on. “I am sure that what we are going to do is not right and can never bring happiness to any soul; let us just wait as we are, and be as we are till you can marry me openly and take me to your home.” ••You are a little fool,” returned Redruth impatiently; “but you will find lam not to be befooled. If you wish to break with me say so, and we will not see each other after to-night." It would have been well for poor Annie if she could have taken him at his word; but, alas! it was too late. He had made her love him so passionately, that sooner than lose him altogether, she felt she would make any sacrifice on earth. Therefore she clung helplessly to him, sobbing bitterly. “Do, do not go from me—l cannot bear to lose you!" He saw he had gained his point, and grew soft again. He laid her head On his shoulder, stroked her tear-stained cneek. and kissed her. “Oh; Annie, Annie,” he said, “you are a silly little think. When you talk as you did just now, you make me think that you don't care for me at all, and that your only reason in wishing to marry me is the temptation to fill the position I offer you as my wife. My dear, if I did not love you so de- ' votedly I should not doubt your love. They say to love is to have implicit faith: you have no faith in me!" “Oh, yes?-1 have!” ••Then why not show it? Come, tell me‘that! Why hesitate and cry as If I am about to bring you to some dire distress? Yet, after all, what have I asked you to do? Only what hundreds' of girls have done before you—to be married secretly instead of openly, to

conceal the fact of our marriage for a few weeks only, and then tocomabnck with-me, my honored wife, to share my home.” 4 Yes; the story was specious enough: little wonder indeed that Annie was befooled, seeing that she loved him so. Once more she promised implicit obedience to ail his. .wishes, and left him , - • - - It was the last*- night she was to spend in the cottage, and during that night she never closed her eyes; but she lay awake, watching the moOtibeams as they crept in at the window, thinking of all that was passed and what might possibly lay before her: If George Redruth had spoken fait^y—and why. she asked herself, should she doubt him?—she had really very little to dread. If father —and n o her suffered pajn at her sudden flight, it would be for such a very little while; and afterwards the great joy whieh her return would bring them would make amends for all. Still; Ancle was not satisfied; her training had been rigid, and now her conscience troubled her sorely; but it'was too late to>epentosince thaj interview of the night before she felt she dare not dis- | obey her lover. She rose early and came out of her bedroom while my uncle aDd I were preparing to pay oar early visit to the mine. We were both astonished to soe her up, but she said, as an excuse for her excessive paleness, that she had a bad headache and could not rest in bed. My uncle took her face between his hands and kissed it fondly, murmurings: ■ . "This won’t do; we maun ha’ roses in these cheeks o’ yourn. What would I do wi’oot my little lass!” Annie stiff ed a sob, and turned awhy with her eyes full of tears. She put on her hat and walked with us half the way to the mine—a thing she had never done before. She held my uncle's hand all the way. I remember, and asked him to kiss her when she decided to go back and make things ready for the day at horns. We got home rather earlier thatr usual that evening, and when we reached tne cottage we found Annie busy setting out the things for tea. It had been baking-day, and it seemed as if she ha i been assisting at the work, for

her cheeks were flushed now, and all her listless tearful manner of the morning had entirely disappeared. I could not help noticeing that her h inds tremb ed, that she seemed excessively nervous, and was strangely eager to anticipate my unelo’s every wish. My aunt rebuked her once or twice for what she termed her light,-headeduess. but Annie only put her arms round my neck and kissed her. "Don’t scold, mother, don’t dfcold,” she said, "you wouldn’t like it if I wasn’t here!” We sat up pretty late that night, and Annie was amongst the last to retire. When my un.de rose to go to bed, Annie kissed him several times, and my aunt rebuked her again for her foolishness. Then Annie kissed her again and again. "You don’t mean half you say, you love me!” When we had all retired, and Annie found herself in her room atone, she sat down and cried very bitterly. Her last adieus had been said, the time for her departure was near at hand, and all her spirit seemed going. Again she hesitated; and had she been left to herself that night, that fatal step would never have been taken. Suddenly she started: a faint whistle reached her from without. Hurriedly drying her eyes, she opened the window. There was George Redruth, standing just outside. "Are you ready, dearest?” he whispered. “Yes!” she replied. “Is there anyone about?” “No! they are all in bed; I think they mu9t be asleep. It is getting late, isn’t it?” “It is close on midnight: Give me out what things you are going to take —I hope it isn’t much—and then come round and join me at the door.” Annie had collected a few necessaries, and they were made up into a small parcel. She lifted it, and as she did so her tears-began to flow afresh. With the parcel in her hands, she returned to the window. “George!” “Yes, darling?” "Are you sure I am doing right? Are you sure you will bring me back very soon, so that I do not cause them much pain?” "Haven’t I sworn it? and yet you doubt me. If you are going to be foolish again, you will drive me from you; and Heaven, knows what the consequence may be. Come, we have no time to lose; be brave, it is your only chance”

‘•Very well, I will trust you,” she said, as she handed the little packet to him and he closed the window. It was the work-of a moment to clothe herself in her thickest cloak and darkest. plainest bonnet; then she hurriedly disarranged the bed, and left the room. She was trembling violently, and crying like a child. She paused at the door of the room where her mother and father were sleeping; and kneeling there, prayed to God to forgive her for what she was about to do* Even then, ehe paused and hung back; but George hedruth, growing impatient, entered the kitchen and took her forcibly away. -■ ’.■■■■ It wa9 midnight and pitch dark; there was not a soul abroad. Holding the parcel with pne hand, and clutching the girl firmly with the other,: George Redruth 3 hurried her off. Where they went she could not tell, but they soon came upon a dog-cart and a high stepping bay. Annie learned afterwards that this had been driven out fram Falmouth that evening by Johnson, who stood there

wailing for hfir now. George Red rut! addressed him: ’< "Is all rea ty?” 4 "It is, sir?”' . • "The horse fresh?” ’ «‘Yerv.” "That’s all right. Remember mj j instructions and carry them put to the letter.” . He tossed up the little bundle,kissed Annie and li ted her in: tiieD, before she could utter a syllable, Johnson sprang In and they were off, leaving George .Redruth behind them. Now. iD alt' his conversations with Annie, George Redruth had -aid nothing of this plan of sending her away with Johnson, fearing, no doubt, that if sh@ knew her lover was not to accompany he;* all her courage would go. Wnen. there ore, she found herself in this plight, poor Annie’s distress increased, and she asked some explanation of her companion. “It’s all right,"he answered, kindly enough, "He can’t come to-night, but he'll join us in London."” G | Meantime,the horse a very fast trot--1 ter, was speeding aioug at a rapid rate, covering mile as er mile, and pi raging further and further into the darkness. ■ About 6 o’clock in the morning they drove into Falmouth and pulled up the steaming horsp before the door of the best inn. The travelers were evidently <yc peeled, for there wa3 a porter and a groom sitting up for them; and while tbe groom took possession of the horso, Johnson himself conduct d Annie to her room and left her at Ihe door. “You have only a few hours to rest,” he said, ' we must catch tne 11 o’clock boat for Portsmouth.” Left to herself, Annie threw off her cloak and hat and looked around the room. It was a pretty chamber,much grander than, anything she had ever been accustomed to before. There were dainty hangings to the bed and pretty dimity curt tins to the windows. Moreover there was a cheerful fire burning in the grate. Beside the hearth there was a largo, comfortable looking easy chair, into whieh- she throw herself. ' She had not closed her eyes for two nights, and was utterly weary, both in mind and body; and as her head fell back upon the soft cushions of the chair she fell into a sound sleep. She was awakened by a loud knocking at the door. She started up; it was broad daylight, the fire was out, and the room looked cold and cheerless. She opened the door and found the chambermaid standing outside with a jug of hot water in her hand. _ ‘•lt’s 10 o'clock, miss” said the girl. ‘‘The gentleman says you shall have your, breakfast here in a quarter of an hour.” Dazed and half stupefied, Annie took the jug from the girl's hands, and closing the bedroom door again, began to arrange herself for the day. At the end of the fifteen minutes the chambermaid returned with the breakfast temptingly arranged on a tray; a few minutes later Johnson made his appearance. Instead of standing at the door as the chambermaid had done he entered the room and closed the door behind him, - ■ ••All ready?” lie began cheerfully. “That’s all right!” Then his qu.ck eye fell upon the bed and. the breakfast. and he gave a pecrllar whistle. ■•Come, this won’t do,” he said; ‘;no sleep and no food; you'll wear yourself out, my dear!” These words, spoken rather kindly, touched Anpie’s heart, and she began to cry. "I can’t go on, Mr. Johnson, she said. “I know ray coming away has been a mistake. I should like to go back again!” (To be continued.)