The Newberry herald. [volume] (Newberry, S.C.) 1865-1884, 1873-04-30

Mrs. Durand closed her eyes
with sigh.
II swear that l will care for
your boy, but this-I cannot do it
i dare not do il"
The woman mattered a few
words uninte!ligibly and then was
apparently unconscious.
Finally she awoke.
"My boy-my Robert" she
gasped, averting her eyes from the
miners face, whose frame quiver-
ed with suppressed emotion.
Dan went to the door and call
ed Robert. Mrs. Durand silently
beckoned the miner away. lie
withdrew, closing the door after
him.
In half an hour Robert came out
Of the room, reproachful look in
his eyes. The miner started,
opened the door, and entered the
room.
"God forgive me /" he murmur-
ed. ~ will marry you," he said a.
loud, as he advanced toward the
silent figure upon the bed.
Never on earth, honest repen-
tent Lucky Dan. For all your
love cannot recall life to the frail
( tenement-the cold, earthly cask-
ct from which v the spirit h has fed E.
Fifteen years have passed
In an apartment Of New York
hotel sat two men in whom
it would be hard to find any re-
semblance to the Lucky Dan and
little Robert Durand OF q decade
and \ half before.
Genteelly dressed, handsome
Robert Durand just graduated
from an Eastern college, was en-,
thusiastic over his meeting with
! bis kind foster-parent.
''It does me good to see you,"
tearfully spoke Lucky Dan, hold
ing the boys hand, and affection
ately regarding him. "Now, l
shall find peace. We vii! settle
down in some quiet spot, and in
| each others company, ind COM
fort far more secure than a rowing,
worldly life may insure u.s."
A shadow crossed the boys
face.
"No, father" he said solemnly !;
Tiny duty to you, kind, generous
patron and friend, must, for a
! short time gave way to duty |
owe to my mother"
The examiner started ard pasc6.
Il cannot understand you," he
said, with feeling of vague un-
rest at bis heart.
"On her d lying bed," continued
| the boy, Il swore to my now
sainted mother, that, when man
hood should be mine, | would seek
out the murderer OF my father.
| That solemn promise;
He stepped and arose to his
feet. regarc g with dismay and
terror, his companion, who had al
80 risen, with eyes glaring wildly
and features distorted and pale,
was crying out, madly:
"Hush ? Will it take an eternity
to blot out the memory Of your
fathers death ? Listen" he said,
less excitedly: II know who kill
ed your father, I saw the deed
done. And, as l hope for future
peace, it was a fair fight. Your
father had been drinking, and two
miles from Vera Canyon met
friend. Dangerously intoxicated,
be insulted the man who drew his
revolver insselfdefence, and shot
him dead. Robert, my dear boy,
1 would not marry your mother
with her husbands blood upon my
hands, for it was l who killed
your father!"
He had been advancing toward
Robert, but the young man with
an exclamation OF horror, put up
| his hand, and with a repelling ges-
ture of mingled dread and scorn,
tell heavily to the floor.
When he awo1e to conscious.
ness, night had darkened the
room, yet he knew, intuitively, that
his fathers slayer and his more
than friend was gone.
Gone ?-whither?
In that aimless, haunted life he
led for years ho never knew until
his wanderings had brought him to
Ruby Gulch one cold wintry
morning. In the tavern he found
the greatest commotion existing :
an old acquaintance of some of
them, after an absence Of many
years had returned two days be-
fore, and he had died that morning,
with a single word upon his lips
-''Robert."
In distant and isolated gold
bearing region there is a quiet un-
obtrusive miner who labors, un-
ceasingly, day after day. He
awaits the end, for the brightness
and happiness Of life exist not for
| him. WHOSE WAS THE SIN =?