San Antonio daily light. [volume] (San Antonio, Tex.) 1886-1907, 1886-07-07
CHAPTER XIV.

1t was sight 10 bring tears to the eyes OF
a strong man. The poor old fatheT-whte-
haired, haggard, trembling like leaf, and
fcyerishly clasping the child who had been
the darling of his days. He looked into her
face-he smOOthed back her hair with his
wrnkled hand-he mumuTed her name
while, sObbing and moaning, she chung to
him and entreated his forgiveness.
stood looking on, almost terrified. As l
did so, my aunt brushed past me, and, enter
ing the kitchen, uttered cry of surprise.
"Annier'
The tone of her voice was harsh and cold,
and her face was stern indeed.
Releasing herself from her fathers EN-
brace, my cousin turned to her mother with
Outstretched arms.
Yes, mother! have come backw
But my aunt, with the same stern express
siOn repulSed her, and the poor girl fell back
with pitiful moan.
Mother, mother, dearl won't you speak
to me?':
''Bide bit! Wha brought 'ee? Did you
COON back alOme?'
Annie turned her eyes pitifully toward
me.
I'VE came home together" said, step
ping forward.
Let me look at 'eer' cried my aunt, sud
denly approaching her daughter, who hid
her face and SO5bed. What, can't zee look
your mother in the face? Now? Then away
WI zee, for yOum ma daughter o miner
Ny uncle, who had sunk trembling into
chair, looked up, amazed, rs she continued:
Look at your father! Look at the shame
and trouble yOum brought upon him! A
year ago he were Il happy man, and were
happy woman; but HOU-lOOk at us both
mort Better to be dead and buried than TO
COON back var, wi thy shame upon zee,
BRINGING sorrow and disgrace on folk that
once held their heads up WI the beStn'
| was lost in amazement at my aunt's Sc
verify; for never for moment had | antici-
pated such a reception. Hitherto, indeed,
my uncle had seemed to take the affair most
to heart, and it was his attitude toward An
ME that had most dreaded. But the parts
of the two seemed Teyersed-my aunt was
the stern man; my uncle the gentle and for
giving woman.
Come, come aunt" | said. You must
not talk to Annie 50. There has been trOub-
h, 10 doubt; but ii is all over now, and
everything can be explained"
But my aunt was inf .Xible.
"Whar has she been all this while, tell me
that? She left o her avn free will, and she
comes back o her avn free will; but till /
knaw what she ha' done, I'll ne'er sit down
or break bread wi her again."
81 tod you how It would beW cried Annie,
addressing her words TO me, but still hiding
her face. Let me go! | wish had never
COmep
And she made hurried movement toward
the door, as if to fly. Seeing this my aunt
relGnted a little, though her manner was still
harsh enough.
At this moment my uncle rose.
Annie" he said, "dawn't heed mother.
She dawn't mean 1t, my lasS-she dawn't
mean It'll Whate'er yOu'm done, this Is your
home, and you are our child-Our little lass"
Then, turning TO his wife, he added, Speak
to her, wife! speak kindly to her! May be
she'll tell zee all her trouble"
His broken tones, SO pleading and pitiful,
melted the mothers heart. With wild cry
she sank into chair, the tears streaming
down her face.
ooh! Annie, Annie! may the Lord forgive
zee for what you ha' doneW
Suddenly mastering herself, my cousin UNI
covered her face and looked at her mother.
Then, drying her tears, and speaking with
uemulous determination, she said:
II know have been wicked. | know
should never have gone away. But II you
have suffered, so have |. never meant to
bring shame and trouble upon you or father;
/ loved you both too well for that. But II
you can't forgive me, If your heart is still bit
ter against me land God knows don't blame
you, for deserve II ALL, l had better go
away. 1 don't want to be trouble or a
burden. l have made my bed, know, and
l must lie upon it; and if l had not met my
cousin Hugh l should never have come
home"
Tell me the truth, Annie PendragOn."
said my aunt. "Wha took thee from home?
Was 1t him as is lying, dead and murdered,
In his graveP'
Annie opened her eyes in wonder. My
uncle started, and then, curious to say, avert
ed his face, but stood listening.
What do you mean, mOtherw
what daw | mean?" echoed my aunt,
sharply. what should mean, Annie Pen
dragon? Folk say you did leave st. Gurlott's
~ have already asked her that question:"
said; land she denies it."
saw my uncle start again. He was still
eagerly listening.
mo, MOTHER said Annie, firmly.
Nav? You were seen together Z Fall
mouth; all the folk think the overseer took
zee away fro home"
Then 1t is not true"
My uncle turned; his STAGE, which had been
troubled before, now CHASTITY beyond meas
ure.
annie, Annie, my lassp' he cried
"Dawn't deny 1t Speak the truth, and we'll
forgive eel 1t were Measter johnson wha
brought thee to your trouble-say 1t were,
Annie, say 1t wereP
His voice was pleading and full Of en-
treaty. alone of all there, guessed why.
But Annie shook her head sadly, as she re-
piled:
mo, father. Him you speak of was moth
ing to me, and never harmed me by word or
deed"
John Rudd saw We together = Falmouth"
cried my aunt; land after that, the Overseer
were away for days. Why will zee lie to her
that bore zee, Annie PendragonT'
81 am not lying, mother. / am telling you
the Gospel truth. Father she tUo1I't believe
me! But you will, won't your God knows
would not deceive you, after what has
passedr'
But my uncle had turned away, like man
MORALLY wounded, and, leaning against the
Intel of the window, was looking wildly
out
"Dawn't speak to meP' he said, "dawn't,
my lassl can't bear itp'
thought 1t time to interfere; so gently
taking Annie by the hand, l led her to my
aunt, and made them shake hands and kiss
each other. Thus some sort of reconcile.
ment was established, and presently the two
women, mother and daughter, went upstairs
together. My hope was that after that, re-
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