The clarion. [volume] (Jackson, Miss.) 1883-1888, 1886-09-22
THE MASTER OF THE MINES |.
By ROBERT BUCHANAN.
tcoxrISUEp PROM oUR LAST ISSUE
CHAPTER XXvI.
THE SHADOW IN THE HOUSE.

CHAPTER NNNI-
THE SHADOW IN THE HOUSE.
Thus il was that poor Annie returned to
her home and was received once again as a
member of the little circle at St Gurlott's.
But things were sadly changed for her. poor
child; and sometimes as | watched her pa
tient endurance my heart rose in revolt, and
/ blamed myself for having been the means
of bringing her home again.
True, my uncle was glad to see her, and
treated her with uniform kindness; indeed,
he was never happy unless she was before
him, and Annie noting this was untiring in
her devotion 20 him. But with my aunt it
was another matter. She, who was usually
the kindest Of women. now became domes-
tic tyrant and practieed toward her daugh-
ter species of cruelty which in another per-
sen she would have been the first TO de-
nounce She never let poor Annie rest, but
reproached her increasingly about the troub-
les she had brought about. the change she
had wrought in her poor father, ana the hap
piness of the little home; and she never fail
ed to remind her that it was not until she
had been deserted by her unknown lover
that she had decided to return and admins
ter consolation to those whose hearts she had
broken.
All this Annie bore without a murmur ''It
was only her due" she said; "her mother
was right; she had destroyed all their hap
piness, and she should be made to suffer"
Nevertheless, it was hard for her 10 bear,
and l very often saw her with traces of tears
upon her cheek.
But when people have poverty before them
they cannot afford to exaggerate sentimental
troubles, and | soon came to the conclusion
that the best way to help Annie was to help
calf al,N ,Nasy,
thus by contributing weekly allowance, to
give things better complexion at home As
all hope of obtaining employment in ST. Cur
LOFTS was out of the question, turned my
attention to other quarters. After many
heart-rending disappointmentS and endless
correspondence, | obtained a situation as
oveTseer of a coppermine in Devon.
The situation was a suitable one in every
way, and promised to be lucrative. l was to
leave home and begin operations in fort
night.
1 was in the midst OF my preparations, half
happy in the thought of being able to inhabit
a part of the globe where my misfortuneS
could not find me out, when l one day heard
a piece of news which killed at one blow all
my hopes of the future and made my life
mere Dead Sea fruit.
A report spread over the village that
forthwith to Madeline Graham.
How or through whom the report origi-
mated no one could tell; but its truth was
admitted on every hand.
The news stunned me at first. then it drove
me mad; wild, ungoyemable jealousy took
possession of me. | could do nothing, think
of nothing now, save one thing-that the
woman | loved beyond everything in this
world was about to become the wife of an
other man, and that man my bitter enemy at
heart.
1t was impossible to conceal my secret any
longer-they had but to look into my face
and read it. When Annie heard the news,
she cried bitterly; and |, blind as usual, be-
lieved she cried out of sympathy for me.
at is shame, Hughr' she SAID, latter
having made you love her. that she should
vile away another man.
Don't say a word against Miss Graham,
! returned, ''fOr she is an angel
'IsS, hold your peace! cried my aunt
''I'is nawt to us, and why should you inter
fere? And, after ALL It's better as it is. She
could never have wed wi Hugh; and no good
comes o. young folk dangling after one an
other when they can never COON together
There was sound sense in my aunt's words,
though at the time with the fercest jealousy
and hatred raging in my heart against the
man who had suppanted me. | could not
listen to them. A few days reflection, how
ever, brought me to better state of mind
showed me that / was a fool, and that the
news which had wrought such an astound-
ing effect upon me was only what l might
have expected If a wild unwaIrantable pas
sion had not made me blind. For, after all,
what was | to Madeline?
During my boyhood, | had dared to love
I
that the episode which had been all in all to
me had passed completely from her mind. l
had had the good fortune to save her life,
and she, angel that she was, had been CRATE
full; but now the debt had been repaid-in
exchange for her life, she had helped to save
mine Having paid her debt, she had re-
moved herself irrevocablv from me.
AS | thought of all this, | felt my heart
grow hard, and l cursed God, who, in his
benefcence, had sent me this one ray of
blessing. But why had it come at all? Why
had been shown the light at all, if was
doomed to be cast into darkness again for
the remainder of my life? With Madeline
Graham by my side, | knew what my days
might be; without her, | knew it would be
better for me to be lying at the bottom of the
sea.
had mused TINS walking up from the VIII
lage one night, and now, standing at the cot
tage gate, looked across the marshes to-
ward the spot where so many months ago
had brought Madeline to shore.
As gazed, my eyes grew dim. and the inn
pulse came upon me to revisit once again the
spot where my darling had set her foot; so
struck off across the waste toward the lone
ly shore.
1t was fine bright moonlight night, clear
and still, though the shifting clouds in the
sky predicted storm. / found the sea as calm
as milI-pond, fringed with white where
the edge Tapped the stones upon the shore.
The moon was shining radiantly upon it.;
also upon the boat-house which | looked at
tenderly, remembering how | had carried
Madeline there. Then fell to thinking of
her. | felt again as il her head were lying
on my shoulder-her cold bare arms cling
ing about my neck; and | felt as though l
would give half my life for such an expert
ence again.
With heavily drawn sigh / was about to
move away, when hand was laid upon my
shoulder. and turning, | found myself face
70 face with Madeline herselfi
Yes; there she Stood looking more like a
spirit than thing of flesh and blood-her
face was so white, her eyes SO sad. She was
wrapped from head to foot in costly furs,
while black hood was thrown lightly over
her head and tied under her chain.
At sight of her, all the blood rushed to my
temples, and l felt my body trembling like a
leaf; but l commanded myself to speak.
"MadelineF - / said: Miss Graham, you
| here at this hour?'
Yes she answered calmly, smiling a
little: lit is strange place to find me, is il
not9 But then you know, Mr.. Trelawney, /
am strange creature. | may as well con-
4 +l.a frvrf T fol n
| night,
| ',You followed me?'
'.Yes. After our dinner this evening. i
came out with Anita, intending to pay you a
| visit at the cottage. When we came within
| sight of the gate, saw you standing there.
| l paused moment before stepping forward
| to speak TO you, and You moved away, strik-
ing across the marshes toward the sea
sent Anita back, and followed you here
/ 1 was not altogether glad that she had done
so. 1t was torture to be near her. to look al
her. and TO know that she had come straight
from the caressing arms of another man.
i However. | commanded myself sufficiently
to say:
.sIt Is not right for you to be here, Mis-
Graham VIII sou let me take you home?''
sYou shall do so presently, . she answer
ed. not looking at me, but keeping her eyes
i fxed upon the sea. Now want to talk tc
you. Is it true You are going awayg'
Yes: it is quite true"
Where are you goingg'
TO the borders of Devon. i have obtain
ed good situation, and hope to make a po
sifion there which could never have risen
to here
And you win be glad 10 go, she contin-
ued. ITO leave your home2"
ssYes,'' replied; 4 shall be glad to GO
As to my home-why, have no home now
All il sa sssrnlv ef,aurpd Nv rrr,rfks Il sf