Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, 1885-02-12
Written for the Yorkville Enquirer.
WHO WAS MAUD MILLER ?
BY VICTOR VERNON.
PART II.
AT THE MINES.
BY VICTOR VERNON.
CHAPTER VIII.

solitude. 1t was quite true that she had al
ways held aloof from her neighbors, and
now they were shy of approaching her, or
showing the sympathy they really felt.
There had always been sort of mystery
attaching to her father and herself, ever
since their first arrival in the camp. Ran
dolph Miller, Notwithstanding his evil hab-
it's, had been so obviously superior to his as
sociates by birth and education, that they
had scarcely counted him as one of them
selves, though he had worked, idled, drank,
gambled and quarreled, freely with them
all. AS to Maud, she was as far removed
from the common level of the female COM
munity of the camp as though she had been
a disguised princess dwelling in their midst,
in their little world, but not Of it.
Now, therefore, although there were not
lacking offers of assistance, especially from
Mrs. Benson, who, besides being naturally
kind-hearted, took peculiar interest in ev-
erybody's private affairs, a barrier still ex-
listed between her and these friendly but
rough people, which prevented her accep-
tance Of their sympathy; and though her
heart ached in it's desolation, she was fain to
bear her burden unaided and alone.
She felt desire to be away from this To-
",
her but she was utterly pOwerless to effect
her removal. Besides, where could she 60:
She had no friends no relatives, that she
knew of. There was no spot outside OF Bear
Camp to which she had a right to turn for
shelter Here, at least, the cabin she occu-
pied was her own. She had q little money,
on which she could live for time, and
when that was exhausted, she knew she
could manage, in some way, to earn enough
to keep her alive. 1t was a dreary outlook
enough-there could not well be a drearler-
but she felt sort of apathetic Indifference
now as to what the future had in store for
her. 1t could hold nothing much worse
than the past. All her life, nearly, as far
back as she could remember it, had been
dreary. Edgar Rutherford's love had been
it's one sunny spot-and now she had lost
that forever.
Did she love him still?
She only knew this-that if he should ever
return to her and ask to be taken back into
his plea. Day and night his image was before
her; day and night, his name, unworthy
though it might be, mingled in her prayers.
She knew him to be unworthy of her love-
but she loved him with constancy that
this knowledge could not shake. Was it
weak-was it unwomanly in her, thus to
cling to the fragments of her broken idol?
Weak and foolish it was, but not unWoman-
ly; there are many women who act ike
Wise-whom even the sneers of the sterner
hearted, even the consciousness of their
own folly, cannot turn from their blind
faith. And it may be said in eXtenuation
of Maud's folly that she had nothing else to
turn to, in the whole sorroWful world, but
this sshadow of her crushed joy. She brooded
over it in her solitude, until it seemed to
her that in this one fantasy was the whole
reality of life, and that all else was unsub-
stantial and unreal. A quiet gentle melan-
choly stole over her, when the first violence
of her grief wore off. She moved about
with hushed steps and a far-away look on
her face. 1t began to be whispered in the
camp that she was not in her right mind,
so strange and vague was her manner, so
difficult had it become for her to enter into
the simple everyday matters of life.
The long wild winter passed away; the
snow began to melt and run in rivulets
down the mountain slopes; warmth came
back to the thawed earth, and the breath Of
April wooed the flowers to show their
bright shy faces, in the sheltered hooks and
crannies where the north wind could not
find them out.
One day as Maud sat in her low chair
near the fireplace, holding a bit of sewing
in her hand, there came a knock at her door.
Her heart beat-She was timid now, and
easily alarmed-and she hesitated mo-
ment before answering the summons; then,
mastering courage, she went to the door.
Two gentlemen stood there-strangers to
her, though after the first glance it seemed
to her that their features were not quite
unfamiliar.
They were the two Englishmen who had
brought news to the camp, six months ago,
of the discovery of Randolph Miller's body
in the canon.
They were afoot now, and the elder of the
twO-Lord DartmOor-carried his painting
apparatus slung over his shoulder. Their
errand was simple one-they had walked
far and were weary, and had stopped at the
first house they came to, to ask for drink
of water.
Maud asked them to come in and rest
themselves. They spoke to her with gen.
tleness and courtesy that reassured her, and
convinced her that she had nothing to be
afraid of. Her youth, her beauty, her mel
anchOly and innocent expression, and the
solitude of her surroundings, filled them
with interest and sympathy. When they
were about leaving, Lord Dartmoor said to
her in kind tone,
"You surely do not live here alone, my
child?"
'Yes, she replied, 81 am quite alone,
now."
''And you are not afraid-in this wild, re-
mote, place."
''Why should 1 be afraid" was her re-
joinder. 'These people around are friend
ly, and would not trouble me. Ihave known
them long time"
but you must lead a terribly lonely life y"
Yes, it is terribly lonely. l wish often
that could die, since there is nobody in
the world to care for me-"
She uttered the pathetic words calmly,
without change of tone or look. 1t seemed
that this view of her sorrowful condition
had become so habitual to her, that she
should give it expression without visible
emotion, only far-away dreamy abstrac-
tion settled on her features, and her hands
dropped listlessly in her lap, during the
momentary silence that followed. A ST.
lence in which hervisitors exchanged ganc-
es, wondering perhaps, whether heavy
grief had not shaken the intellect of this
fair girl, who seemed so strangely out of
place amid her rude surroundings.
A fear of intruding prevented them from
making longer stay. But Lord Dartmo0r,
taking her passive hand to bid her farewell,
said, as he earnestly regarded her
Il hope we shall meet again-we are
camping out few miles beyond here, in
the canon, and perhaps we may occasional
ly impose on your hospitality, as we have
done to-day, unless our doing so displeases
you"
ut cannot dsplease me, sir" said Maud,
raising her soft and mournful eyes to his
kind face. II shall be glad to have you
come whenever it suits YOU"
"Another of the wonders OF America"
lightly observed Lord Dartmoor's friend,
Harold Keith, as they walked away. "Who