The clarion. [volume] (Jackson, Miss.) 1883-1888, 1886-09-15

me to adopt and that is-to leave England. p
You must notr' she cried, quickly. "Fol
| all our sakes! for miner
For your sake?n / returned.
"Yes, surely"
''You-you would wish me 10 Stay?'
She looked embarrassed, but almost in
stantiy replied
Yes. should not like to think that you
had been driven away. St Gurlotts IS your
home-why should you quit it?'
l could not answer her | could not speak
| TO her again of my poverty. my. want of foot
hold in the world. / could not remind her
that all l cared for in England was her
| friendship and sweet companionship, which
| l knew, alas! could not long be mine. But
| as looked into her face, and thought of the
| hopeless distance between US, there ran
through my brain the words of the beautiful
| old song:
''Altho' thou maun never be mine,
| AlthO' even hope is denied.
lis sweeter for thee despairing
Than aught in the world besider
After a little space she spoke again:
Whether you return there OF not, at least
| you viii let me help you"
Help me? Have you not done so-ah,
| far more than deserves"
But am rich, while you are poor"
-NOL 81 pOOf it, Utits L dloNtItN, cd5cll1s
| mot so poor that would take money even
| from your hand. Aldo not ask me! To
| deny you anything gives me pain, but let me
| keep my independence-all that my ill-fort-
| une has left me in the world.'
Promise me at least one thing"
''Yes."
Not to depart from England without let
| ting me know-without seeing me again."
I'm promise that freely. Then you-you
| will permit me to see you once more?"
She smiled her answer. After a few more
words, she held out her hand and said
'Good-bye" walked with her to the inn
| door.
MY cousin is waiting for Inc in the mark
| et-place," she said. ''He is going to drive
! me back to Redruth House"
As she spoke, George Redruth himself APP
| peared, turning the corner of the street in
| high dog-caft driven by himself, and drawn
| by pair of fine bays. lie came up at a
| walk, and directly his eyes fell upon us, his
face grew black as thunder.
He pulled up, while the groom sprung
| down and went to the horses heads.
Il couldn't think where you'd got TOP he
| cried. Il have been waiting for the last half
| hour"
II came to speak to Mr.. TreIawney," re-
| piled Madeline. quietly, land to congratulate
| him on his aequittal.h
80 it seems. Well, we've a long drive be-
| fore us, and it's time we were Off"
| lie did not even look at me until Just as /
| had assisted Madeline to her place by his
side, when our eyes met, and | saw in his
| face an expression of merciless jealousy and
| hate. l knew then that he was mad at my
escape-that, in his cold dislike and distrusi
| of me, he would gladly have witnessed my
| condemnation TO a miserable death.
| Goodbye, Mr.. Trelawney.' cried Made,
| line, grasping my hand again. Goodbye;
| and do not forget your promise"
| A sharp cut of the whip started OFT the
| horses, and L had to draw back hastily tc
| avoid the carriage-wheels. As they drove
away, saw her turn to her companion and
address him-I fancied reproachfully. |
stood dazed, watching them until they dis
| appeared.
| An hour or so later, my uncle and my auni
| went away in the wagon under the escort oi
John Rudd. 1 promised to follow then
| home in a day or two, and the meantime tC
| look about for some kind of employment. Sc
| l remained in Falmouth for several DAYS.
What was to do? The future was darI
| before me, and / was altogether at los:
! how TO act. My only practical knowledge
| as a man of business, was connected will
copper-mining; beyond that knew nothing
| However, was fairly educated, and quit.
ready to turn my hand to anything. search
ed the newspapers. Finding a clerkship va
cant in a mine somewhere in South Wales,
wrote in for it-only to find that my misfort
| une had preceded me, and that the owner.
refused to employ man who had just beer
accused of murder The same fate doggeo
me in every quarter. To my horror, / at las
4 tba faa hot aIf I
had been acquitted under such circumstance
as left undestroyed the black presumption O
my guilt.
l saw no hope now, save in speedy depart
ure from England. | would cross the sea
under an assumed name, and begin new
life in a new world. A new life? Alas
every fine fiber of my nature was bound t
the old life and the old land. In quitting
England, 1 must quit Madeline, must par
forever with the only being who had mad
my wretched lot endurable and whom / still
dared to love with all the passion of my soul
was incoming one day on the seashore
close to the quay. when hand was place'
on my shoulder, and, looking up, saw tn
kindly face of my old friend the carrier.
/. Back again, John?'' l said, taking hi
great hand in mine.
'.Iss, Measter Hugh; coined in late las
night"
'How are all at homer
s.Middling, middling. The avid man b
queer still, and folk say the trouble abou
Miss Annie ha' turned his head. But that
what want to speak on. / ha' seen her
she be here, in Falmouth, Measter Hugh"
'..She? Do you mean my cousin Annie?
'.Sartinly saw her last night WI m
avn two eyes, and msdoubt she's in trout
le"
Then the good fellow, with tears standin
in his eyes, told me that late on the previou
evening he had caught sight of my cousin i
the poorest part of the town, close to th
stables where he put up his horse. She va
wretchedly attired and looked worn and il
as If she had just risen from a bed of sicl
! ness. His first impulse was TO speak to her
! but finding that he was unseen and unreco.
niZed, he chose rather to follow her; whic
he did, and tracked her to a poor lodging
! | q neighborhood of very doubtful reputation
Remembering my last meeting with Al
; ME, ana how had found her surrounded b
all the indications of comfort and even lul
ury, was stupefied. What had happene
and why had she come to Falmouth? Q
these points John Rudd could give me 7
information. All he could say was that
, had seen her, and was quite certain of h
identity.
, NY mind was, of course, made up at one
would see my poor cousin, and, if possibl
persuade her to return home in my eompan
So 1 told John Rudd to lead the way. and v
walked rapidly up the town till we found Il
neighborhood of which he had spoken
was miserable indeed-a place OF dark al
+. fishy dens clustering close to the wharye
: the streets narrow and literally ornaments
with drying clothes, suspended on lin
; stretched from house TO house. the inhat
! tants uncIean and ragged waterside cha
acters of predatory habits.
1t was one of small row of houses IN
lane facing the beach. John Rudd point
it out, and had hoped to approach uno
served; bat as neared the door, which sto'
: wide open, saw white face-gazing at u
from the lower window, and ! recogniz'
!, my cousin.
q The moment she saw me she started bal
q | and disappeared; but, with her name up
my lips, ran into the house and entered D
!. room where she was standing, pale and te
q rified, as If eager to escape.
q Annie r. cried.
= She uttered low cry, and. pressing b
3 hand upon her heart, f0ftered as II about
. fail: but striding forward. | caught her
I NY arms
CHAPTER XIV
z THE PRoDIGAL DAUGHTER.
u Yes; II was Annie, though for time
could scarcely believe the evidence Of y
d own eyes She was 30 white and thin,
J. poorly cIad. and living In such den. Tru
e her sun had set and, as I predicted. she "
e vending her way home. She cried out
= sieht of me-, and Instead Of giving me ~
=. coue. 1ne hid her facc and mooned. 4
n n oGlunnr1fv founrd her now: WhnfeVcr 3