Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 7, Number 33, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 10 February 1877 — Page 6

E-MAIL

A PAPER FOR THE PEOPLE.

THE OLD SCHOOL BOOK.

On the old nolxwl book, in its dusty nooik, With a tearful eye I Come down, old friend, for an hour we 11 spend

In talking of bygone days. gaze once more, as in days y™"e* On the task that vexed he brain •the lesson done, and °U'

And I fe« 1 I'm a child agal And I seem to stand with the youthful band In the old house on the green I hear the fun ere the school begun,

And I join In the gladsome scene. I take ray place, with a sober face O'er the well carved desk I bend, And hourly pore o'er the antique lore

Of thy wonderful page, old friend. Then our cares were few, and our friend9

And our griefs were rare and light, The world was naught (so we fondlj thought),

But a region of pure delight, But the time ha-s spud, and •ur path lias Through the irk and fearful seem And passed away are the good anil ga%

Like the old house on the green.

But we'll sing no more of the days of: on For the tear drop dims the eye Sleep on, old book In the dusty nook, rvs in years that have glided by, No guilt we traee in thy honest tace,

IJut a mine of gold within Enrlclic! the youth, as thev sought for truth,

In the old house on the creeu,

Mission Endeavor.

It has been clearly proved, Richard Herndon, tint you have shed the blood of this man, your comrade and friend. The Hiblo sditli, 'Whose sheddeth mans blood, by man shall his blood boshed."

A dark October evening in the Noith^vest a circle of Indians seated on the ground an inner circle of white in on, also scaled a shrouded something laid out in the centre of the inclosed space and tho tall form of the elder confronting the accused, they two the only standing

figures.

A large Bible lay on

a table. Kehind it a knot of women knelt, clinging together if in horror or grief, ('lie sat a little apart, an' soothed a slight young girl who wil hidden face lay in her arms, trembling The glare of two log tires outside tho •Circle shone on tho dusjey figures of the Indians, the intent faces of the white men, all close shaved, thin, and^ grave, and in the foreground on the white hair and piercing eyes »f the elder and the stalwart outline of tho accused. It left in shadow the group of women* the shrouded thing on the ground, the log •walls of the Mission building behind, and the aisles of the pine forest stretching away in every direction, like spokes of a dark wheel around the hub—this little p.)int of human lifo and human interests in the solitude ot the great forest and the night.

Endeavor Mission to the Indians owed Its existence to the ir-'.i taith and will ot Ephraim Danver-t. This old man had gathered to himself,"by means of letters and written placards posted on trees where horses stopped to breathe while going up long hills, men of like natures from all New Kmilanri. These had ho IKIUIHI

neglected

Fa'her, anil of His written laws. With all this they lived sparingly, and toiled, as onlv the old Puritan obstinacy can toil, in a hard and constant contest with tho forest and tho soil for bare food and life. The sisters made friends with the gent)o-evod squaws, and did good work among them for there were eight white women at the mission, all wives of brethren save two—Miriam, a teacher, and fair littlo Ruth, the elder's •daughter.

Endeavor stood alone it owed allegiance to no one. Whatever feeble connection it had had with the weak, struggling American

Board

The faces of the brethren grew stern a trace of compassion visible in one or two vanished: blasphemy was the unpardonable sin. .,

Young man," said the elder, you came into our boarders three months ago, you and your friend, and you have dwelt voluntarily with us for those many dayR, We asked you not to re main, yet we gave vou of

heathen, spewed out

and leit to tneniselves, while missiona rios journeyed over oceans to iar countries preaching salvation, forgetting those of their own households outside their own door' Endeavor Mission had lived its precarious lifo here for two lonu vears Tho brethren had worked faithfully They learned the Chippewa tongue they taught the dusky boys tlley lived 'in careful peace with the braves, showing them by example and Instruction the white man's methods of sowing and reaping and thoy prayed with thrm and tor them throe times each dav and talked to tliem of God, the great

of Missions was

long since broken foo vast a wilderness of forest and water lay between. It was one of the many ltcosjes of that deep, silent religious enthusiasm of New England which in the earlier part of this centurv manifested itself in so many •ways. "Of a tikn spirit in another aue were the martyrs made. Into this lile of the mUsion two strangers had drifted

Richard Herndon, the accused, and Edward Brown, once his friend, now his shrouded victim. This day the brethren had found the slain bod in the wood, and borne it homeward silently. Thev had then returned to seek for the slayer, and found him coming in of his ownnemr*.

Whoxo sheddeth mans blood, by man shall his blood bo shed,'" *aid the elder. "Hichard U'-rndon, what iiave vou to say dof-n* "D»fen«»e?" s*ltl .iorud'HI. I»ut I tell von ih i- no need of def.-nse. He aimed It me b» f. re 1 aimed at In

in.

His

bullet is d»*«»p ins -m tree out there,

suppose. Mini1 was truer. was all

Tiff rv i« no chance," said the elder,

jiu't w»» were bolii drunk, old man.' Was it chance, too, that mads vou ilrlnk

Of course it was. We had bten hunting all night »u the rain, and were wot and tired. We took a btfle *,i •took to much, and fell to quarrying—a thing that might happen to anv man.

No, not to any man, Richard Herndon. Su-h excuses avail you not. Utientlv have we we'phed the evidence forthU full hour p.-.. There remaini no door of escape ior you. The pc*ua»ty of your crime is death."

Death cried the accused, starting forward.

,4Yoti

dare to take to yourself

the office of Judge? Unbind me! You have taken away my arms you are forty to mv one. Unbind me!'

Brethren, unbind him not," said the «lder •44 he Is but one, yet is his* strength great.' Richard Herndon, have somea to a to he

And so have I somowhat toi say vou, old fanatic. Who are you that y* take to yourself legal power* in this way? iiy what authority no you pass sentence upon me?"

Bv the

a-ithorliyof

441

our

substanee,

and slackened not to provide you daily with all things needful. It was n»t that we loved you your life,

vour

aims, wore

different from ours. Yet we suffered you for hospitality's sake, all ©f us being, as it were, in the power of the

W1'-

dernea«, with the hand of tho cold and of famine and of death by violence Over over us. Then cawie the timo wheu you took the entrance vow of our seciety upon you. You sought me by night, and asked to be admitted as a preparing member. This was your own doing no one urged you to take the vow. No influence was cast around you to draw you to our work or to our life."

Are yon quite sure of that?" said Herndon*, surlily. The light of the fire fell on his face as he changed his position his hands were bound behind him, his brown beard flowed over his broad chest, hi* short, crisp hair, bronzed features, and ancry eves wer full of strong liie. lie was like a ruddv Samson r.mong thr.se lean, wiry New 'England men and he too hud fallen into danger through love of a woman—a pure, innocent, pious little Delilah, who prayed for him three times every day, and whose solt pleading had drawn him on into this vow of membership, which he meant to break some time, but which now encircled him with an iron grasp Cursing his felly fit having put himself into the power of these stern visionaries, yet still strongly moved by the affection ho felt for the littlo maiden, Herndon. for tho first time, shot from under his bushy eyebrows one glance toward the uroup of women. He could ,not see llu'h, her faco was hidden but over the girls Quivering shoulder the eye of Miriam met Ins, and held it, savin*, with all the power of strongest will, "Thou shalt not. betrav her." Ho turned Ins face away instantly, doubiv angered by that look, which judged him in advance, as it were, and f"iind 111 him a possibility ol betray*'. "Well, Henx-on knows," he said to himse f,

with a vow of brotherhood, and

liad then journeyed wit-li them westward across the cool dark lakes, into the gateway of the S.iult Sainte Marie, and out again and along the wild metal ribbed shores of Superior, to this far point, where lie had made a lodge, and raised tho standard of God in the wilderness for the saving of souls—tho souls of the red men, pagans in the land, incon\enient and

No" influence was used, Richard Herndon you clioso to enter oursocie'v of your own accord you are one of us Bourd by your vow, I have authority over you as over all the brethren. hold also such legal powers as Icon id obtain from the government on comma here.' I possess the delegated author of the Word of God. Y. have slain a fellow creature it is the greatest crime the human hand can commit. We can not let you go. For our own sake, and for tho sake ®f these listening red men. we must, as an example, execute the sentence of death upon you. Prepare, ther fore, to die!"

Bat I will not die," Bifid Herndon, hotly. "Let me see the npn who will dare come near me."

We outnumber vou. young man."

Cowards, all -f yo,i," cried the prisoner, looking around the circle with

fierce,

scoi ntu I guze. "Not a man dare meet me on a fair field. Come, unbin1' me: can easily tight you all, for yo are all cowards."

Which was not true. Those quiet New Englanders had a deepstaying power of their own, which could go beyond mere fiery blood and muscle. There was not one of them who could not have died at the stake calmly, with a suulo on his lips, counting the breath of the flame as the first airs Imra paradise.

The eider now turn.d to the Indians, and explained to them in their own tongue this man'scrimeand its impending punishment. "Human blood can not be lightly shed, my brethren. The (Jroat Spirit commands that the murdcrer sia'l be put to death. Hearths words of tho Holy Bible." And then he read again that ancient verse, which has como down on the stream of Time from unwritten ages, tho guard around our mysterious gift of human life. The Indians listened, their deepest immobility assumed for the dignity ot the white man's evening council, They assented to the elder's speech, and one of them arose and offered to siug the death song for the criminal.

The whito brethren will sing it," said the elder. Herndon chafed against his bonds. "To die like a dog!" he said to himself.

Tho elder took his seat, and laid the Bible open to to re him. I) you see any reason, brethren, why sentence should not be pronounced upon this person he asked.

Tho oklest brother, as spokesman, arose and auswerod him, "Wo see no reason." lie is guilty of murder 'He is."

He is worthy of death?" iff?

Ye*." 1'iehard Uernd"!!, I now ui'-e vou a last opportunity to speak you have any word4* ios«y, sav tnoin n".v hereafter ild your p!'ft«*e

Ho leaned ba' in his elmir, folded his arms, and waited. Tee ac-nfcd ptooa alone in tho centre of the circle. There was a silence. Some ono henped light branches upon iho tire a brighter glare lit up th« circle of gazing faces round about the criminal Ho had retrained his composure he spoke calmly. "I protect ngwinst all thrte procetding«, he saH "they are irregular and ilh-ucal* Ymi hme no authority to put me to *de.t:i, even if I was gutltv of murder, insu of being by chance the survivorofa drunken quarrel. Yon are surprintf.t hear mc spe.ikthus? In thi« hi-.igt.-me? You havo thought me a rough Western hunter? You are mistaken. Good blood flows in my veins—of a better quality than yours, Inquiry will certainly le made for m?, and, as sure as tho sun rises, your turn will come my blood will bo required at your hands. much fur you. Now ft»r myself. I did not commit willful murder. Every border man goes through hundreds of just such quarrels as ours of yesterday. He ex poets them, and

bears

fall.

44Your

TERRE HAUTE SATURDAY EVENTS MAIL.

form with his strong teeth It was a dramatic action. The New England men leaned forward, almost expecting to see fiesh blood flow from the wound, according to the old auperstition. But the dead man d}d not accuse his friend no blood appeared neither was there a look of anguish oa the face. He seemed to be peacefully sloeplng. (No one there knew, or could know, Uiat tho poor fellow was almost triad to die, and be out of it ad—out of this weary, bewildered life, where a series of fatalities had seemed to trip him up ever since he was born for, deny it as we may, some men are the foot balls of Fate from the cradle to the prave.)

The living man stood there by the dead, his head erect, his eyes defiant. Ho was a splendid specimen of manhood. It alRiost seemed as though no law could be right which should slay him. A murmur of voices bad arisen the brethren spoke to each other in low

V°But

the old man remained unmoved. He said of a man, "He is large, or Ho is small beauty and stwnpj

11.

themselves alone, touched bim not "Your threat-ado not-trouble us, Richard Herndon," he said, hushing the murmured voicrs with a grave gesture.

friends may come hero alter you

if they will they will find no wrong doingf I hold, as I told you, legal powers. But it is not by those powers that I now pronounce sentence upon No- it is by

the

The wouion tjuthered around her **nd triad to soothe hor pitiful sobbiner. "It is too hard a thing for little Ruth, they said "she is so tender-heartad

I'd let them bang me

Den times over first!" He would have liked to go across and take that woman by the throat for daring to suspect him —that woman,, that Miriam, with her steel-colored, unwavering eyes. All this passed in a breath. The elder, stern old Puritan, with his belief founded on the Book of Genesis and its laws rather than on tho Gospel, never once dreamed that, his fiuhter might have a heart in spite even of her training and of herself. He could never have comprehended that she loved this stranger, and that this was the cause of the man's long stay amonu them," and of his preparatory vow. lie had thought at times vaguely that perhaps she would marry one ot the brethren hv-and-by at present she was still a rhiid.

Bear her away," said the elder. Go with the good si3ters, my daughter. But pray for this man, if you will, as oft as vou please be needs all your praj'ors. It may be that God will hearken unto

1llr

voice. You have never kno»vn what sin was, my child no wondenthai it is so horrible to y©u."

But Ruth tore herself from the sisters, and came back to her father ^loot. Oh, spare him, father, spare him—for my sake! Let me be slain in his place!" "Poor lamb, who olio rest thyself for the sacrifice! Thou knowest not what thou sayest, Ruth."

for my sake, father—my sake

Nay, were he my own son, a*

before,

would

sake

said

not

"spare him, either for

or yours. And

would curse

with a father's curse thechrtd who dared interfere with my sentence." Tho old man's voice had grown terrible his eyes flashed he was not thinking of poor little Ruth then. Perhaps he'V thinking of some dark event of his own past which had made him what he wa.

Rut quailed and sank bofore him to the gr iund.

The

The girl, pallid as death itself, looked up into tho face of Richard Herndon. Miriam sustained her. She was a small fragile creature, her large eyes were strained wide open with fear, like the eyes of a hunted hare, her little lips were parched, her oreath came in gasps. Her small head—the arched head of the timid and highly reverent temperament —lay back against t6e elder woman's arm it almost seemed as though she would die there, looking mutely upward into her lover's face. Yes, her lover and she loved bim. But the horror of a crime and of a father's curse lay between. The man rtad her face like the open page of a book, and, loving her as he did, he pitied her, and with an inward malediction upon woman's innate weakness, lie helped her to turn from him bv a cold and vicious look which suited'well a murderer's countenance. Ruth saw it. shuddered, and closed her eyes. She had had her moment, and she spoke not. The sisters came forward, and bore her away faint ing Miriam stepped back into the shadsw.

Tho elder felt constrained to offer an apology for his daughter. "She is but a child," he said, "too fragile for such scenes as this. Sm*ll wonder that her heart failed her, and that nervous incoherence overcame her speech. Pardon the maid, brethren she knew not what shodi i."

There was a pause. The old man bowed his head for a moment thoy saw that he prayed. When he lifted his faco again, it wns set to fulfill all his purpose. "Let the dead be covered," he said.

Two of the brethren stepped forward and reverently drew the blanket over tho slain man. Horndon bad withdrawn I a few paces, ami stood leaning against a tree: ho Menied to scorn making any fuither attempt, or oven speaking again. 4! wish I had a cigar, though," he thouvht, with tho inmueirmee which natures like his feel when they have once made up tlier minds to accept fate and struggle no longer.

iio malice if he is the one to

Ned

tho Bible, poor

acknowledge it not/' cried Hern•dou, hotly.

was a chance companion, not

a friend but be was a good fell iw in his wav. He would be the first to cut the«e rnrcls if he could come to lifo again. V**ad, I call upon him to speak against mc will." And, with a sudden movement. Herndon, his hands being tied 1 V,r. 1 him, stooped and drew away the blanket from the throudea

Herndon did not speak he looked around the Circle contain p'umnly. "A nice lot of executioners," he thought. The elder turned and repeated the sentence to the Indians. "Ruth might get a pistol to me if she tried, some time during the night." thought Herndon, "and at least save me irom the hanging. Why do women think of such things?" But poor little Ruth would have considered it a mortal sin to aid a man in taking his own lifo under any circumstances* In New England, fifty years ago, burial at four cross-roads, with a stake through the heart, was still the popular verdict upon felo-de-se. The Indians had given their "ugh," "ugh of assent, the council was about to break up, the brethren advanced to lead away the prisoner, whea,

only woman present the others had gone with Ruth. The ciroles were broken tbe white men and Indiana looked at bfer wonderingly, and

law of Jehovah, tho

Almighthy God. I can not show you mercy, Richard Herndon, on account of these Indians, who are still very near to savagery, and who need this lesson o. the whito man's justice. But I would not if I could. Wert thou my own son. I should not has tate nay, 1 wish that thou wert my son indeed, that this painful duty might be also a sacrifice on my part, and that a father's prayers might avail, perhaps, to soften thee

death.

Richard Ilcrndon, to-night thou must

dlp,ut

Ruth spring from Miriam's arms, and knelt at the elder's feet. "Not tonight, father," she cried 'oh, not tonight! Do not be so cruel."

pressed

nearer.

She stood among theuv—a tall, darkskinned woman, clad in the plaia garb of the sisters. In her every day life she spoke rarely, save when engaged in her teaoher's work she was counted especially holy by all. With the far-off, faintly cool holiness of some distant star, however, very different from the fervid, loving piety of the other aiatera who were wives, and the gentle, girlish religion of fair Rnth. The brethren esteemed Miriam but they wore also somewhat afraid of her. They felt that she was almost too saintly for a mission such as the!rs—a mission of common human life, where husbands and wives lived and labored together in the same good cause thev thought that her place should be higher, among those who had renounced altogether the joys of t'*is life, and who lived as the angels lived.

The elder count Miriam as almost on a level with men, so far above the weaknesses of her sox she seemed to him. She was the one woman to whom he paid a mute respect in all his life the onlv ono for Ruth's mothor had been, as Ruth was now, a fragile little creature, fitted for love and timid obe dlence.

Friends,"said Miriam, breaking the grave surprised silence, "you have done justly in sentencing this man to death indeed, you could do no less. He is guilty of a grcatcrimo.''

Herndon looked at the speaker with indifference. She was the ono woman at tho mission for whom he felt dislike. He was kind to women by nature, and liked them witnout effort but hia idea was that they should be either pretty or gentle tempered. This woman was neither. He said to himself, "She waats to trv her hand at a speech."

Having duly performed your part according to law," continued Miriam, "I ask you to suspend the execution of this man's sentence, brethren, and to give him lo me."

There was a murmur of astonishment. Herndon himself drew back, darkly frowning. Whai was this wo man to liiin?

You have

custom," said Miriam,

turning to the Indians, and speaking in their tongue, "that when a man is condemned to die. if a woman will come forward and take him for her own, and give herself to him, his life is spared, and she and he are banished together to the wilderness* to faro as they can. Is this so?" tjl

The Indians assented,

441

atn that woman. I now take him as my own. Give him to trie. Have I not the right to ask it, according to your law

Again the Indians assented.

And you—you will not go against his favor I ask, the last I shall ever ask, brethren?" said tho woman, turning to tho white men. "You will give me this man's life?" Her eyes passed from face to ice.

But it is too much, sister—too great a task evftn for your goodness. Why should you sacrifice yourself for this hardened reprobate?" *44 He is hardened now but it may be that I can soften bim. It is a great thing to bring a sinner to God's feet."

pitying sisters raised

her in their arms. But, ere they could bear her away, the grave Miriam camo forward. "Ruth," she said, gently, taking her hand, "stand down on your feet one moment, my child." The girl obeyed. "If you have any thing to say to Here don, now, Ruth, now, for the last time, Ruth your father can not restrain you," she whispered at the same time she led the young girl swiftly across the small inclosed space until thev stood close to the doomed man. For Miriam alone, of ail-that company, knew the secret of these two.

But what a suffering life for you sister! You are holy, and he is vile."

And can you not see, my brother, that that makes tho very strength of my appeal? Of what use is holiness if n®t to rescue vileness? Shall I keep mv ie ligion as a garb too costly to work in—I, vowed to labor? B°sides, so deeply d*ed a sinner as this man is marked, sot apart, as it were, for a great and special pity by reason .of the sore punishment surely, so surely, .awaiting him. He is concentrated by his very crime. Bearing the mark of Cain upon his forehead, ho must suffer the punishment of Cain nothing we can do will alter that. But, oh, my brethren, will it not be better if he comes to his punishment humble and repentant? And, in God's mysterious providence, it seems to me that thisjwork isjgiven into my hand to do. Oh, my brethren, love the red man and help him but tarn me not from saving a white man's so»l also, if so be that I can

But your own lifo, sister

Yes, father."

To save his life

Yes."

Richard Herndon, your crime is murder; its penalty is death. By the legal power I hold, by the authority I wield over you as a member of this society, and by the law of Jehovah, I now pass sentence upon you and seeing that we have no proper prison, and that each day is filled to the full vith our mission duties. I now decree that at dawn you be led forth and hanged from a convenient tree until life be extinct. And may God have mercy upon your soul!"

martyr*. 1 he .i bis thoughts went baok io Miriam. "I will outwit her yet," he said to himself, watching the group around the elder, and her averted face.

Can I do better with it?" The breuhren stood irresolute, looking upon tho woman's steadfast face. One and another, they had spoken to her, and she had mot their words. They turned toward tho older, hestating. It was noticeable that she had not addressed him she had appealed directly to the lay brothers and to the Indians. Tho old man noted not this slight—he was above small thoughts of self—but ho sat amaxed. To leave her place, her work, forever, and go forth with this godleos man He looked, looked fixedly upon her, and shi returned his gaz9. The two strong wills met.

You would take this man to yourself, Miriam?"

But you must be his wife, then—you must take him as a husband. In no other way can I let you go."®5

441

know it." ...... a. He gazed at her silently and as he gazed, slowly the conviction came to him that he're was a sacrifice greater than death it would be harder for her to livo with him than to die for him. Ho rose, and with outstretched arms gave her the benediction. Her prayer was granted the doomod man was hers

Life is sweet to us all but Richard Herndon was of a dogged temper, and proud. "I am not going to owe it to bor," he said to himself. He turned to the inen. "Unbind mVhe said, short lv. The brethren, who ntill h»ld him began to undo the rds but th.* (ider checked them.

Not ye%" hw 'aid "lhis nian not yet free. "At dawn, uni ed 8s one, the two may go forth together. But first we must make some preparation f-ir thoir journey, we oust give them a chance far life t'ho rest is in od's hands. Let Richard Herndin remain here, bound and guarded, until morning I will then perform the nnrriags ceremony over them, and thev mav go."

But look here—" began Herndon. Almost as the words left his mouth Miriam, earning forward, whispared softly in his ear, 4Do not object, or say one word. I promise to leave *u at tho first town." v? she would not me.-t his eye*. He

44If

Wait, friends, I

haven word to speak," said a woman's voice. It was Miriam. She came forward into the centre of the group, the

her game is to marry me be

cause she thinks I am somebody, I can block it finely," he thought. "1 do not helievethe marriage will hold in law and even if it does, once out of this trap, I will never see her face again as long as. I livo. If it is money she's after, I shall have the satisfaction of telling her that there's precious little." Then he fell to thinking of hii little love sobbing her heart out in tbe Mission house behind, and bis anger rose again fiercely. "Can't a man have what he wants no said to himself. That she had net strength enough to make one effort to save bim made no difference in bis estimation of

At dawn the marriage service was spoken over the two. The dead had been interred in the little burial ground back of the Mission house, the one service preceding the other. The fires had died down now: the gray light of dawn lit the skv. Miriam, in her sisterhood garb, stood by the side of Richard Herndon, and before the assembled company repeated the vows of love and obedience which the elder's voice pronounced. Herndon would not speak ne was sullen and angry. Yet during the long night hours be bad made up his mind to the life offered to him at any cost. A man cannot keep himself up to the point of insisting upon death when youth and strength are stirring within him. Still he would not speak. Miriam, however, took his hand, hanging bound behind him, and held it in beth her own. "I accept him even as he is, without spoken vows," she said. "Go on with the ser vice, father."

The old man went on. He prayed for the welfare of the two. In measured terms he acknowledged the special in tervention of Providence in the affair, and the submission they all gave to tho decree. Ho commended "this woman, Thy handmaid," and "this Ishmaelite whom she hath taken to herself for pity's sake," to the especial mercy of God. He then pronounced tho final benedietion, and the service was ended the two were one. Ten minutes later they bad left the mission together, walking through the forest on their way to tho lake, where a canoo containing a few provisions and stores awaited tbem.

Herndon had his gun, the woman a small bag of clothing. The man's hands were swollen from the pressure of the cords. Without a word tho woman took tbe gun from.him mid cairiedit. Ho made no objection. "She can do as much of the work as,y sho pleases," he said to himself.

They were together eight days. Herndon paddled the canoe, bunted now and then, or fished, in order to help out their provisions, and smoked bis pipe while Miriam took her turn at the oar. The autumn air was cool. By day they went steadily on toward the Sault by night they camped on the beach, tho man sleeping by the fire, rolled in a blanket, the woman in the canoe, anchored off the shore. The journey was long. At first Herndon did not look at his companion but when he found that she as studi®usly looked away from him, he fell to watching her now and then, wondering when she was going to begin her persuasions for he was quite convinced that she meant to persuade him into acknowledging the marriago, and faking her eastward as Lis wife. "She might as well try to move granite," he thought.

On the fourth day ho talked a little, vaguely and irrelevantly, on all subjects save the ono in hand. She answered him quietly, but he could not draw her out. He spoke of the mission and its work she said nothing. He abused the fanaticism of the elder, and the blind obedience of the brethren she did not defend them. On the fifth day he told her the true story of the quarrel. Ned was chance acquaintance they had met at the Sault, and had agreed on a hunting expedition together. Bjr chance they had come across the mission, and had i-taid there lynger than thoy ought to have staid. Ned was a good fellow, but ho would drink now and then. Twice before, when under the influence of liquor, he had shot at the speaker, and barelv missed him this time he, Herndon. was half drunk himself, and had fired too. It was an even chance which one would be bit it happened to be Ned. Didn't really know the man from Adam merely a boon companion for the summer, 'intended to publish his death in the Eastern papers, and tell tho whole story to whoever wanted to hear it. Wras sorry he was gone, poor fellow. Good luck be with him wherever he was in the next world! lie certainly didn't have much of it in this,.

On the sixth day he fell to talking of Rnth. He really loved the little maid en in hi-i way, and whenever he thought of her, he turned angry against late. The sweet clinging affection of the young girl seemed to him all that there was of higher K.vo her dependent nature and her little fears charmed him. Hehned te think of sootfiing her, as ono soothes a frightened little child. Then—so complex is tbe truth of human motives—he felt a desire to stir up this silent wo man, and see if she had any life in her. All women wore alike tnero niuc' bi, spring to touch s: ruowLorn, if one could only linti it.. So, as he paddled steadily on, ho talked of Ruth, of her loveliness, and her love. Milium sat unmoved. He said more. She rotnained silent, iae burst forth into a rhapsody, partly real, partly assumed.

Yet she failed

TMI

at the last," said

the woman, looking up suddenly,and fixing full upon him her dark fringed, steel colored eyes.

And I lovo her the more for her very failure," said ilernil 'ii, returning the gaze with one equ.illy fixsd. "Do you think I like being saved by a woman?"

Sho turned her head away quickly, and lor the first time showed some emotion. "There seemed to be no other way," she said, in a low tone. "~Oh, you are referri tig to yourself In that case it was different, of course, am nothing to yo'i, and you are nothing to me. You would

IIJIVC

dono the same

for any dying wretch, oeing moved thereto by—by—shall we say pity Yrou are so strong-minded, you know—not timid or retiring,' like other women. All the same, I am vor/ much obliged to you of course, and if there is any thing can do lor you, pray command me." He stopped paddling for a moment, and rrlighteii hh pipe. "De you think of returning' to the mission?" ho asked.

She might as well understand that her

future

movements are nothing to

he a«ldt-d, mentally. N "Ah! parhaps you intend to remain at the Smut

Well, in any case, you must allow me to recompense you lu some small degree for tho loss of time or change of plans I have involuntarily occasioned.'

If I need aid, I will send you word." "Oil, that will not do at all. I can give you no fixed address. I think of going abroad, srhaps to Spain or Egypt. But before 1 go I should like to do some

surveyed her doubtingly. Sho tr. thing for you, although I myself am far from ricb. In fact, you have had the misfortune to rescue only a poor man," said Herndon, looking into her eyes, with a little mocking smile. It was too much. A spasm passed over her face, a sudden sobbing seizad and shook her tears poured down her cheeks between the fingers that tried to hide them.

back quickly ainoug the others, who were receiving the old man's instructions.

There was no doubt but that she was cryiug now in the most weak and womanish way possible.

Herndon remained motionless, paddle in band, staring at her. He was so amazed that he ui«l not speak. What! this hardened manceuvrer overcome at last—this skillful player throwing un her band, and sitting tnero crying like a baby, because he had said a word or two

her he liked women who were timid showing that be had found berout! He and yielding be bated Amaaons and could not bear to bear her sobbing lie

began to feel ashamed of himself, and to suspect that he had been mistaken all along. The longer he looked at her, the more he felt inclined to think that he had judged her wrongly that here was character which he bad not understood—one of those religious enthusiasts that people talked about now and then in books. "Sho must think me a brute," ha said to himself. Then he began aloud, blundering, but in earnest.

Miss Miriam," he said, "I beg your pardon with all my heart. I have made a huge mistake all along. I thought you were marrying motor my name or my money, and I now see that I was ail wrong, and that my suspicions have been positively insulting. Do forgive me. I am a worldly sort of a fellow, not fit to associate with such a religious person as yourself and sweh things are done in the world, I assure you. Indeed it would have been a first class manoiuvre for—for such a woman as I supposed you tp be. Come, forgive me. I am deeply ashamed of myself. I will de now whatever you please. I will even let the marriage stand if you wish it."

The woman shook her head.

441

thought you would refuse. It

would be highly repugnant to you, of course, or to any right-minded woman but, understand me, I am willing now to hold to it and to have it publicly acknowledged. Perhaps you are alone in the world, or desolate. In that case it would be better to let it stand, for then I could provide for you without comment. We need not be together at all, you know we could live quito apart as so many husbands and wives do nowadays. For, of course, I know that I should nfit suit you at all, being so worldly minded, and so forth, while you aro a sort of a—a saint—I mean nun," ho added, hastily changing tho word, which held so low a place in his own estimation (Ho had never known

a saint", of either sex who was a pleasant or oven a sensiblo companion on earth, whatever he or she might be oventually in heaven.) "You are not willing Well, I suppose it would bo an infliction. Tho truth is that I do not know much about religious people." Ho paused. "Pleaso tell me, then, what I can do for you," he said, beginning to smolie again.

Nothing," said Miriam.' She had dried her 63'os and turned hothead away. After a while, silence being once more established between them, he saw her, while ho paddled briskly on to mako up for lost time, take out a half sheet of paper, and begin to write upon it with a pencil, steadying it with a piece of bark. "WThat are you writing?" he asked, after half an hour had passed.

Prayers,sho answered.

Suppose you make some for mo Ineed thom." For now that ho believed in her sincerity, sush as it was, ho felt himself no longer on guard bofore her, and fell back into his oltl half-bantering tone.

You do but Rath will pray for you."

No, she won't I shall now allow it. Do you think I am going ti have her holding herself above me in that way? If I marry Ruth (you have refused to.let our marriago stand, you know), she shall pra—you will think this is dreadful, but I do not know any other way to express it—sho shall pray to mo."

You mean that you wish to bo her god

No wish about it it will uo so of itself."

It will indeed. May yon bo very happy with her, Mr. Herndon! A sweeter nature I never know." She said this quietly, and went on with her writing. [Continued on Seventh Page

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