The clarion. [volume] (Jackson, Miss.) 1883-1888, 1886-08-18

extremely alarmed. She had searched
through and around the house with no effect
Size now went down 10 the village and made
several inquiries but with no result Annie
had not been seen by any one that day.
Seriously alarmed By this time. she return
ed 10 the house, and looked again in AnHie's
room. Suddenly her attention was attract
ed to the bed. she looked at it and found
thai, although it was in disorder, il had not
been slept in that night
Having told her tale. my aunt looked at
me. hoping that | might be able TO say her
fears for her child were unfounded. Icouid
not; the utmost l could do was TO counsel 81
lence, and to Try 70 buoy her up with hope.
This did
III may be all right. aunt, | said; there
fore t Will be much better 10 keep our fears
to ourselves. Don't say anything 20 my uncle;
there viii be time enough to do that when
our last hope IS gone. -
After some little difficulty, she consented
TO follow my advice. and | persuaded her to
TetCrn home. But the day was finished for
me After my aunt was gone, could do
nothing but think OF Annie: the worst fears
struggled To take possession of me. bur dill
gently thrust them away. | would not be-
heve IN of my cousin.
About hye O'Clock, my uncle came UP from
the mine. and | proposed that we should
knock oil work tor the day. and stroll home
together. Ny uncle was IN SinEuIarly good
spirits, and during our walk home he fire.
quently checked his mrth, ayOwing twas
unnatural. and that something i'll would
come of it. As he drew near the cottage. my
heart beat painfully. and when we went in
l looked anNiously about me-
Ny aunt was moving about preparing tea,
ana She was alone.
"Whar be the little woman9H asked nv
uncle, as we sat down 10 our meal
saw my aunt'S face grow very pale, but
she turned her head away and answered as
careleSsly rs possible:
''She be GAVIN outr'
''Beant she coming in TO taeg'
'sNaw -
The answer was conclusive, and the meal
went ON. NV uncle eating heartily, while I
was scarcely able 20 sip nay cup of tea. When
the meal was over, my uncle according to
his usual custom, went 10 his seat beside the
fire, and lit his pipe.
He had been smoking for an hour or more.
when a scene occurred which | cannot recall
without pain even now. All signs of the
meal had been cleared away. and nv aunt
with trembling hand. was about to lift down
her work basket from It's shelf when knock
came to the kitchen door: then the door was
opened, and ia came John Rudd.
He had parcel for my aunt, which he de
liyered; he chatted for n few minutes, then
he prepared 10 20.
His hand was on the latch of the door.
when he paused ard looked back.
Say, misStiS,' he said. ''whar be Miss
AwHe GAVIN to-
Ny uncle looked up cufiously; my aunts
cheeks grew as white as new-falen snow.
-. .E.s.
heplessly.
"IsSr' continued Rudd, Il seen her this
marnng i Falmouth, but she were in a
mighty hurry and dian't see me. She were
dawn ON the jatty, and she went aboard the
steamer for Portsmouth,
MIR Rudd paused, thunderstruek at the
effect of his words.
My aunt thoroughly exhausted by the
strain that had been put upon her that day,
sank, sobbing and moaning, into chair, my
uncle, who had risen from his seat stood
glaring from one to another.
Presently he spoke.
What be- this about my Awnie?' he
cried. Speak, some 'un."
NV aunt continued to sob, John Rudd
stared in a mystihed manner at one and all.
There's nothing TO alarm anybody" L
said; ITS all right"
excited, hardly seemed to hear me.
If thar be aught wrong wi my little wO-
man." he cried, tell me; amt a child to
be petted, nor fool to be kept / the dark.
Speak, tell me what il is all aboutP'
SO we told him all we knew, and, putting
this and that together. he gathered at least
one idea-that his child had, for some rea-
son or other, voluntarily left her home. lie
stood like man Stupefied, scarcely gather
ing the sense of the situation, and duly
wondering why his wife received the news
so violently. In his simplicity, he did not
guess, as yet, that Annes flight might have
its origin in secret guilt and shame.
But when John Rudd wass gone. and we
We're left TO ourselves, | looked at my uncle
and aunt, both 50 changed within the last
few hours, and told them my suspicious of
George Redruth. To my surprise they were
received wilh blank amazement, then with
Indignation Ny uncle aveTed that l had
always disliked the young master, and 1t was
but natural l should credit him with das-
tardiv deed; but he himself refused to be-
lieve for one moment in the young mans
guilt. felt convinced of it, however, i'm my
own mind; and in order TO make sure, l de
termined to go up to the masters house and
ascertain if he were from home.
The moment my uncle heard of my deter
minatiOn he resolved to accompany me. On
asking for the master, we were shown into
the library; i've minutes later the young man
himself walked into the room.
The sight OF him deprived me utterly of
the power of speech; my uncle looked at me
reproachfully, and was silent too.
George Redruth, who had just been dining,
wore evening dress and had never looked
handsomer, or more thoroughly at his ease,
in his life
"Welr7 he said, glaneing at us pleasantly
he was evidently in an after-dinner mood
lis there anything | can do for either of
you?'
Master Jarge," said my uncle, earnestly,
''we'm in trouble, sir; in sore trouble"
Indeed! I'm sorry to hear it,"
Il knawed you'd be sarry, sir" continued
my uncle though 'tain't no affair o yourn.
God knaws; but my daughter, sir. my little
Annie, she be run'd away!"
"WhatV he exclaimed. run away from
home, do you mean? But why come to me?
What can do?"
"Naught, YOU can't do naught at all, " said
my uncle, that's just IT,"
1t was an awkward situation for us all,
and we all felt II. Ny uncle nerv0usly turn
ed his hat round and round; while the young
| master grew more and more uncomfortable
as every minute went by. | felt that some
explanation was demanded, and l gave it,
'sTIe fact is, sir" | said, there is some
villain at the bottom OF it. and we want to
| find who that vii is.
s.And 50 YOU come to mel Really, don't
see the force of all this. and | have more inn
pOrtant matters t0 detan mev'
He opened the door. and We. seeing that
further conversation would be useless. left
the room and the house.
During the walk home, my uncle never
spoke. When we reached the cottage, he
sank down into chair, and hid his face in
his hands,
Nothing more could be done that night, so
| we all went N bed: but not to sleep. Dur
| ing he night l frequently heard my uncle
walking with measured step up and down
his room, and in the gray of the morning he
came out to the kitchen to kindle fre.
| [ looked at him. and scarcely knew him;
/ his face was white and lined like that of an
old man. lie was quite calm: but there was
a sad look in his eyes which spoke of deep
set pain.
| spoke to him Of Annie. and told of plan
| l had made to follow her and bring her
| back; but he sadly shook his head
Nav, lad. " said he, 'tis best left alawn;
/ she went o her avn free will, and maybe
some day she'll come back; and till she does,
| We IL wait, we ii WaH.
felt he was right; it was better TO wait
| Even If we had been rich folk. which we
were not, it would have been difficult to find
/ her; as it was, the matter was hopeless. So
we went on as usual with the old life And
| yet it was not the old life, for the house was
changed indeed-and there was ever one va
cant chair.
Several days after that sad night, a letter
| came from Annie; il bore the London post
/ mark, and ran as follows: