Rensselaer Republican, Volume 23, Number 32, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 9 April 1891 — THE MASTER OF THE MINE. [ARTICLE]

THE MASTER OF THE MINE.

By Robert Buchanan.

CHAPTER XXX— Concluded After his first supprise was over, Johnson pointed out to her the utter improbability of any such attempt; and, after a good deal more crying. Annie saw the force of his argument and yielded. Yes, the fatal step had been taken—it was too late to think of returning now; the only thing to do now was to make the best of matfes and go right on. So Annie again put on her cloak and-bonnet, and announced herself ready to go. '‘You had better put on a veil," said the practical Johnson. ‘ We. may be seen, and that would be awkward for me. Haven > got one! Well, ppbn my w<d. yornare a little simpleton; but we must make the best of it. I suppose. Here, take my arm and hang your head a bit; we ll get on board as quick as and perhaps will escape scott free.” They passed down the stairs, entered a closed cab which stood at the door, and were rapidly driven away. ANNIE S story (concluded). ~ * At 7 o’clock that same evening the two arrived in London, Johnson tolerably contented with himself for the neatness and despatch with which he had managed the journey, little guessing that he had been detected by the keen eyes of John Rudd. Arrived at Euston, a four-wheeler was summoned, and the two got into it and were driven away. Then Johnson turned to Annie: •‘My dear," he said, ‘‘l may as well make you acquainted with our plans now. The fact is, the master won’t be able to join you for a week, and I am going to stop and takecare of you tit! he comes. I have taken some apartments for that week in an hotel; and, in order to simplify matters. I have given our names as Mr. and Miss Johnson. Therefore, for the time being, you are my sister. Miss .Annie Johnson. .Do you understand?” Annie nodded. She quite understood; though she was beginning to feel alarmed as well as puzzled at the strangeness of the whole proceedings. She was still more alarmed at the subsequent manner in which Johnson conducted himself. True, he had taken rooms in the hotel, as he had said—private rooms, which they occupied in common. She was apparently allowed to go and and come at will; yet she soon found that she was as much a prisoner as if she had been enclosed by iron bars. Whatever she did, Johnson knew of; and Qnce or twice when she attempted to write to friends, he quietly but firmly refused to allow any such thing. •■Look here," he said, “don’t you think this here game is to my taste at all,'cause you’d be wrong. I've done a goodish many things in my time, but running away wi’ girls, and keepin' enucaged up like birds, ain’t one of 'em; however. I gave my word to young Redruth as I'd keep ye square till he came, and I’m going to keep my word: but precious glad I shall be when these six davs are oter.” In due time the six days came to an end. and Annie received from Johnson tire glad intelligence that on the afternoon of the sixth day her lover would be with her. Trembling with excitement and joy, she obeyed her woman’s instinct, and hastened to make herself look her very best. She arrayed herself in the pretty grey dress which she had brought with her from her home, and Sut some flowers at her throat; so a few hours later, young ! Redruth arrived, he clasped her to him again and again, and, looking intoher tear-dimmed eyes, said he had never seen her looking so pretty in all her life. "And you will never go away from me again? ' said Annie, and she clung. sobbing, to him; ••you will always stay with me?” ? ‘ Always, my darling.’’ "And we—shall—-be married——” "This very night. Though I have been away, I have not been unmindful of my duty to you, my ppt. I have arranged for our marriage; I have taken a house where we will live. We will go straight from here after dinner, and get the ceremony over. It will be a quiet marriage, and. to you, a strange one. I fear It will not be solemnized in a church, with all the brightness and beauty that should have surrounded my darling We shall go before a registrer and be married quietly—this “is another sacrifice which my love demands."

But this was no sacrifice to Annie; so long as she was married, and knew her love to be no sin. that was all she asked; so she cried a little on his shoulder; but it was for joy, not sorrow. Everything seemed' changed now the young master had come. A charming little dinner was ordered and served in the handsome sittingroom. which during the past week had been occupied by Johnson and An nie, The little party of three sat down to it—Redruth making the most con rival of hosts; after the dinner was over. Johnson took his leave, and the lovers were alone. There was no time just then for billing and cooing; if anything was to be done it must be done quickly, for the day was wellnigh spent. George told Annie to get on her bonnet and cloak; she did sc, and the two got into a hansom and were driven away. How strange it all seemed to her — to be speeding thus through the streets of London with her future nusbund by her side. She was on her way to be married, dressed in an old bonnet and cloak which she had often Morn at St Gtorlott’s, with no wed-

ding favours, no jovial faces about her. Looking bach upon this episode in later years, she saw. in it the dreadful foreshadowing of all that was to ml low—the misery, the degradation, the shame. But at the time she saw nothing of this: the snrdidness was illuminated to her by the fact that she had beside her the one man, 1 whom, above all others, she loved —and who loved her. The memory of that episode had faded somewhat away. She remembered only faintly that the hansom set them down at the door of a dingy office in some back slum of London, that before the two men the marriage ceremony was gone through, and that when she re-entered the cab she wore a wedding-ring on the third finger of her left hand, and firmly believed herself to be Mrs. Geo. Redruth. -.-- ■

The house which he had taken for her, and to which he conducted her immediately after the ceremomy, was situated in a London suburb. It was an elegant little mansion. furnished and fitted in a style which completely dazzled poor Annie. But in those early days of their union, he certainly loved her as much as it was in his power to love, and Annie was happy. Besides, he was always with her. During the day they drove together, and in the evening they went to the theater or opera —Annie clad in silks and satins like some great lady of the land. But things could not be expected to go on so forever, and after awhile Redruth began to leave her, for short periods at first and afterward for longer, and his manner, at first so ardent and overflowing, gradually cooled. At first Annie was heartbroken; and during his absences cried bitterly in the secrecy of her own room. Then she brought reason to her aid, and acknowledged to herself that it was the lot of every happy bride to pass through the experience which was coming to her. After a man had become a husband it was impossible for him to remain a lover —at least, she had been told that was the common belief, so she must try to be content. But at times, try as she would, she Could not help grieving. Thus it was that George Redruth found her very sad one evening, when he returned to her after an absence of several days. He came in jovial enough, for he had been dining at the club with some friends. He took her in his arms and kissed her; then he looked into her eyes. “Why, Annie, what’s this?” he said. "You’ve been crying. ” - -| “Just a little, because I felt so lonely. It is so dreary here when you are away, and you are away so much now. ’’ “If I am it is no fault of mine, my pet. Important business, which you would not understand, occupies nearly all my time; affairs are getting so complicated that unless I do something, and quickly, I shall be a beggar. But come; it's only, for a little while; when things are put straight, as I hope they will be soon, we will go abroad and be constantly together. Now, dry your eyes, darling, and see what I have brought you.” He produced a little packet, opened it, and showed her a gold bracelet. “Isn’t it pretty?” he asked. "Yes, it is pretty, but —’’ “Well, my pet?”* ‘ ‘There is something I would rather have than all the bracelets in the world.” .... - '• . “What is that, Annie?” “The sight of my home, and of my dear father and mother. Oh, George, why cannot I write to them and tell them that I am your wife?” “You are foolish, and don’t know what you are saying. A little while ago, when you first came here, you said if you could let thpm know that j you were well and happy it would content you. I allowed you to write, yet you are unhappy and complaining to me again. I have told you repeatedly that I have most important reasons for wishing to keep our union secret.” “Yes. I know, but it seems so unkind, so strange. ” “Annie, can you not be patient for a little while? If you loved me as you say, you would obey and trust me.” “I do trust you,” she returned, “withall my heart and soul! For your love I have forsaken everything —home, kindred, frinds —but when ‘ we came away together you prom- j ised that in a little time I should return with you to those who are dear to me. I have waited very patiently; but to live on here alone in London, .to feel that i they think ill of me and are mourning ! for me far away—oh! I cannot bear i it; it breaks my heart!” ; "They know that you are alive and well. Surely that is enough.” “Ah. if you knew how dear I am to them! Since I was a child, until the day I came away with you, I had never left my home. It seems Sp ■ dreary in London after my happy home! Often when you are gone I sit at the window there and look out on the great city; and when I hear the murmur of the folk it seems like the sound o’ the sea.” “My darling, this is mere sentiment, whi/h you will forget. Surely London; with all its life and gaity, is merrier than that dreary place where I first found you like a flower in ? desert unworthy of such beautya Come, kiss me, and try to confide in me a little while yet. I wish to make you happy. I love you truly, and dearly; but I have much upon my mind of which I cannot as yet speak freely. Try to be contented here a little longer; then, perhaps, the mystery will end. You will try, won’t you?” “Yes, George; I will try.” So the discussion ended, and for a time things went on as they had done

before. His absences became more and more frequent and more prolonged; but Annie, since that last talk with him, had learned to look with different eyes upon her lot, add bore all without a murmur. She could not blame him, she loved him too well for that; and after all, she thought, she could not rationally blame him for anything. He had done all that he could do. He had made her his wife, he had given her a home fit for the greatest lady, he had even allowed her to write to her friends, saying that she was happy. He could do no more. But this blissful state of things was not destined to last. Redruth came to her one day and told her that the house in which she had lived had become too expensive for his means; that he had taken rooms for her, and that she must remove to them with 'all possible speed. Annie was quite content to do as he wished. She had never had much taste for splendid surroundings, and the house, without her husband, was dreary enough. Accordingly she was removed to the apartments in which I afterwards found her living in the Strand.

"Very little happened to ine worth teiling, said Annie, continuing her narrative, "until that day when I met you, Hugh. Ah! I shall never forget that day. After you had met me, being dragged away by those men who accused you of murder, I remained in that room stunned and stupified, utterly incapable of realizing what had happened. Then it all came back to me. I seemed to see again your reproachful look—to hear again the dreadful words you uttered when you left me, “When the time comes,” you said, “may you be as Well able to answer for your deeds as I shall answer for mine. The trouble began with you. If murder has been done, it is your doing also—remember that!” : “Those were the words, Hugh. Night and day they have never left me, and I think they never will until I die. Oh! if I only had died then. But it is just that I should live on—--itr-is part-of-my-punishment to live on: and see those that I love best in all the world droop and: suffer ulay-by day for the wrongs that I have done. “Well. Hugh, I was stunned, as I tell you; then suddenly I recovered myself, and rushed, screaming, to the door, with some wild idea of saving you. and bringing you back, when I was met at the door by my husband. Whether or not he knew anything of what had taken place. I don’t know. I was too much agitated myself to think of him. But in a wild fit of excitement and terror I clung to him and told him all. When I had finished my tale, he looked at me with such a calm, cold gaze, it nearly drove me mad. “It’s a very bad job,” he said; “but really I don’t see what I can do?” “Then I will tell you,” I answered. “You can take me back to St. Gurlott's. and help me to prove my cousin innocent- —as he is, God knows!” “Take you back to St. Gurlott’s,” he said. “In what capacity; as Annie Pendragon, or as my wife?” “As your wife,” I replied. “Oh, Hugh, I shall nevei’ forget the look that came into his eyes. He smiled as he replied: “I can not do that, because you are not my wife!” "Not your wife!” I repeated, scarcely believing that I heard aright; but having once begun, it seemed easy for him to continue. “No,” he replied, “you are not my wife. If you hadn’t been a little fool you would have known It loiig ago.” “But we were married,” I persisted.

"We went through a marriage ceremony , "he replied, ‘ ‘because I wanted to guard against long faces and reproachful looks. After the ceremony you were perfectly con ten ted, but I knew that we were no more man and wife than we had been before. The ceremony was a mock one, the registrar was an impostor, whose services I had bought! if he hadn’t been he would never have performed the ceremony in the evening; if you hadn’t been a fool you would have known that a marriage is no marriage if performed after twelve o'clock in the day.” ‘ ‘Again I looked at him in petrified amazement; then, realizing what all this meant to me, I fell sobbing at his feet. ” “ George,' I cried, ‘tell me you are not in earnest —say it is not true!' but all his love for me seemed to have died away; without a look he turned from me. “It is true.’’ he said. “ ‘Ah! don’t say so,’ I cried, clinging helplessly to him. ‘Say that I am your wife; it is the only comfort I have had left to me during all these weary months since I left my horqe! Do not take that from me! In Heaven's name have pity! Ah. you would have me think ill of you; but I will not. You would never be so base as to deceive me so! You, whom I loved and trusted so much, would never wreck my life and breaks my heart. I’ll not believe but you are my husband still!' “I covered my face with my hands, and cried bitterly. After a while he came to me and raised me from the ground. , “ ‘Annie,’ he said, ‘my poor little girl, be comforted. I have told you the truth—you are not my wife! You can never be that; the difference in our stations is so great that a marriage with you would be my ruin. I have deceived you cyuelly; but my heart is still yours, and till death comes I shall love and protect you. We will leave this place; we will leaver . England together. Then, far away, in some freer, brighter land, where these distinctions do no

exist, we shall dwell in happiness and peace. ” But I shrank from him. “Do not touch me!” I cried; “do not speak to me like that!" “What is it you regret?” he asked. “A mere forni! Love is still love, dispito the world!” “Love is not love,” I replied, “till sanctified and proved. Yoii have Erofaned it! You have broken my eart and destroyed my peace for ever.” • ’You talk wildly. Annie," he returned. “I tell you I will atone. All I have is yours; and I will devote it to your happiness. Can you not forgive me?” “Forgive you?” I replied. “Yes, God help me, I forgive you. Good bye.” “Why, where are you going?” “Back to iny home. ” “Before I could say more, the expression of his face changed.” “I see,” he said; “you wish to ruin me;' To publish all over the village the story of what I have done. You will not stand alone disgraced—you would disgrace me, too. But I am not such a fool as to let you. You are with me now: you will remain with me until I choose to let you go.” ....... "At the time, I did not know of anything that had happened at St. Gurlott’s since I had left it. I know now he dreaded to be exposed before Madeline Graham. He kept me a prisoner in these rooms for several days; but at last I managed to make my -escape. —■■ You know what, happened after that. Hugh. I made my way to Falmouth; and there you found me, when I was almost starving. If you had not discovered me. I should have died. ” [To be continued.]