The clarion. [volume] (Jackson, Miss.) 1883-1888, 1886-09-29
CHAPTER XXXu.
THE RETURN HOME.

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CHAPTER XXXu.
THE RETURN HOME.
Thus have pieced together the narrative
which my cousin retaiied to me in little
episodes, lingering, as women WILL on details
which seemed trivial in themselves, but
which, when carefully criticised, were full
of significant meaning. Lost in aStonish-
ment and indignation. heard till the end
when the whole of George Redruth's villainy
was apparent.
Ny experience of the world was. as the
reader knows, most rudimentary; | knew
next to nothing of its yiler passions, still less
of its great crimes. That any human being
calling himself man could be capable of
cold-blooded treachery to a woman whom he
promised TO love was almost incredible to
me; had heard of such things, but they had
appeared to me always in the nature of rO-
nance. But if 1 was aghast at the record of
George Redruth's evil doing, was no less
amazed at Annie's extraordinary patience
under wrongs so monstrOus. The man had
deserved no mercy.
/ said as much, in bitter enough language;
but Annie only wept and shook her head.
Bad as he has been to me- am sure he
has a kind heart; and OH Hugh. / loved
him SO much. And he used to loye me, | am
sure till Miss Graham came between US.
You say that you went through cere-
mouy of marrage?' | said. Annie, | be-
lieve you are his wife after allr'
"In the sight OF God | am. But Hugh,
dear, if II had been a real marriage, he would
never dare n wed again
Such Scountirel would dare anything
l cried tierceiy 1T is well you came to me,
for there is Yet time lie shall do you JUS
tee! If he refuses TO do so, l viii teach him
such a lesson that he viii never again dare
TO hold his head up before the worldp'
If the truth must be told, Annie's story.
painful and terrible as il was, brought me
certain sense of relief. Ii it were tTue-and
how could doubt it, coming TO me with such
sad assurance of truthful tears and protesta-
tions?-surely Madeline would never consent
to marry the author of such mischief. What
ever happened, she must know the truth
without delay; and, all other means failing,
she should hear it from my own lips. Yes,
face to face with the man who was to be her
husband, would warn her of his unworthi-
ness; not, alas in any hope that his over
throw could ever be my gain but purely in
the wish to save her from future misery and
degradation. Ii, after having been assured
of the truth, she still persisted in the union,
she would do so with her eyes open, and L
/ should have done my duty. Such a contin-
gency, however, was scarcely possible.
Early iii the afternoon, we left Gwendovey
in the country cart John Rudd driving, and
l seated by Annie's side. On reaching Tor
borne, l was eager to push on home at once,
and succeeded in hiring at the inn a gig and
a fast-trotting horse. So we said goodbye
to our friend the carrier, whose wagon was
waiting for him in the town, and whose busi-
ness would lead him next morning Falmouth
wards, and, after nightfall. turned our faces
TO the west
1t was long journey; travelling nearly all
night at the rate of seven or eight miles an
hour, we did not sight the old village till it
was almost daybreak. Though the sun was
not up, some one was stirring in the cottage,
for there was light in the window. /
jumped to the ground, helped Annie down,
and paid the driver, who walked his horse
off in the direction of the village.
annie" / said, as we paused at the cot
tage gate, whatever happens, we must keep
this from your father. For his sake, and for
his sake only, we must act very cautiously.
Do you understands"
''Yes, Hugh" she answered. Alasl she
understood little or nothing of what was
really~passing in my mind!
The door was unfastened; for, indeed. lock
and key were in little request at St Gurlott's,
which was peopled with honest folk. We
walked in, and. entering the kitchen. saw
my uncle in his shirt-sleeves, reading by the
light Of a candle. glanced at the book be-
fore him; it was the old Bible, with his own
name, his wife's, and Annie's, with the dates
of marriage and of birth, on the fly-leaf.
We entered, but he did not look up. A
h.x
chapter, and mutteriDg the words aloud.
But when drew nearer and spoke to him,
he started up with cry, pale as death, with
the sweat standing in great beads npon his
wrinkled brow.
who be thar" he cried. Help
what, don't you know me?'' said. fore
ing laugh. 1T is i, Hugh Trelawney. and
Annie, your daughter
Hugh. Annier' he repeated, drawing his
hand nervously across his lips. why. saw
it be. Why did zee COON upon me so sud-
den ike? / did not hear zee. Annie, my
lass, 1 thought you were away at Gwendovey,
VII your cousin. What brings zee home saw
soon?''
Annie and l exchanged looks, and, after
warning movement of the eyebrows, / re-
piled:
'Oh, it's all simple enough. L was bit
homesick, and was going TO run over when
Annie turned up. l hope you're glad to see
me, uncle? I'm sure am to see your
Glad enough, L reckon! Why, / ha'
missed ZEE as if you had been GAVIN yea" I"
He added, seeing my gaze rest ON the open
book before him, Il were reading bit, my
lad, when you come in; for l were restless
ike, and couldn't sleep. Your aunt's a-bed,
and sound as tawp, warrant"
A. ho c,.oEa ba efncad fha m oa r,arrancltr
as if fearing that we should see what portion
of the book he had been reading. Annie
stopped over him and kissed him tenderly
he looked up with faint smile. and patted
her cheek.
Hugh. my lad" he said, presently. Il
wish you had never left the mine"
why, unele?''
New overseer be chap fro Wales. and
nav manner O good. All he thinks o. is TO
save money for the company, and he dawn't
go down hissen once IN se'nnight. Nav
the place be wuSs than ever. Oaf alawng to
the blue gallery. the sea is safe to come in,
some of these days"
Il always said sov returned. Its an
internal shame that nothing has been done" !"
saw it be, lad spoke 10 Measter Jarge
about it last meet. and he ha' promised to
take last look at 'un before he gangs away.
/ says TO him, says I, I dawn't care for my
zen, but I'm afeared for the men, Measter
Jarge, and do hope summat III be done
He were kind-spoken, as civil as he alIays IS,
though some folk dawn't like 'un-''
This was a gentle hint TO me. Knowing
wha. did. and how cruelty my uncle's sim
plicity had been imposed upon. could hard
ly refrain from committing myself, but /
thought Of the possible consequences, and
held my tongue
By and by my aunt came down, and we all
brcakfasted together; after which, my uncle
went on TO the mine Not till he was gone
did my aunt set free her tongue, but his de-
j palture was the signal for series Of ques-
tons as TO the cause of my unexpected re-
turn The old mans mind was too full Of
his own troubled thoughts to have much
room for conjecture; always simple, he now
| took things as they came, in a dazed helpless
manner pitiful to behold. With my aunt II
was different With her characteristics com
nonsense. she perceived that my coming
was due to no mero attack Of home sickness,
but betokened urgent business on hand