San Antonio daily light. [volume] (San Antonio, Tex.) 1886-1907, 1886-07-06

before me, amt / Was altogether az loss
how to act Ny only practical knowledge,
as a man of business, was connected with
copper-mining; beyond that knew nothing.
However | was fairly educated, and quite
ready Ia turn my hand to anything search
ed the new spapers. Finding a clerkship va
cant in mine somewhere in South Wales, |
wrote in for it-Ouly tO mud that my miSfOrt-
unc had preceded me, and that the owners
refused to employ man who had just been
accused of murder. The same fate logged
me In every quarter. To my horror, | at last
realized the fact that although was free, |
had been acquitted under such circumstances
as left UndestrOyed the black presumption of
my guilt
saw no hope now, save IN speedy depart
ure from England. | would cross the seas
under an assumed name, and begin a rev
life in a new world. A new life? Alas
every fine fiber of my nature was bound To
the old life and the old land. In quitting
England, | must quit Madeline, must part
forever with the only being who had made
my wTetched lot endurable, and whom still
dared 10 love with all the passion of my soul
Twas incoming one day on the seashOre,
close u the quay, when hand was placed
on my shoulder and, looking up, saw the
kindly face of my old friend the carrier
Back again, JOhn?" sald taking his
great hand in mine.
''Iss, Measter Hugh; | coined in late last
night"
How are all at homer
''Mddling, middling. The avid man be
queer still, and folk say the trouble about
Miss Annie ha' turned his head. But that's
what want to speak on. | ha' seen her
she be here, in Falmouth, Measter Hugh"
''She7 Do you mean my cousin Annie?"
''Sartinly. | saw her last night wi my
avn two eyes, and misdOubt she's In trOub-
le"
Then the good fellow, with tears standing
In his eyes, told me that late on the previous
evening he had caught sight of my cousin in
the poorest part of the town, close to the
stables where he put up his horse. She was
wretChedly attiTed and looked worn and i'll,
as if she had Just risen from bed of sick
ness. His first impulse was to speak TO her;
but finding that he was unseen and unrecOg-
niZed, he chose rather to follow her; which
he did, and tracked her to poor lodging in
a nrighbOrhOOd of very doubtful reputation.
Remembering my last meeting with An
ME, and how had found her surrounded by
all the Indications of comfort and even lux
uTy, was stupetied. What had happened,
and why had she come to Falmouth? On
these points John Rudd could give Inc no
information. All he could say was that he
had seen her, and was quite certain of her
identity.
My mind was, Of course, made up at once.
l would see my poor cousin, and, II possible,
persuade her to return home in my company.
So told John Rudd to lead the way, and we
walked rapidly up the town till we found the
neighbOrhOOd of which he had spoken. 1t
was miserable indeed-a place of dark and
tishy denS clustering close TO the wharves;
the streets narrow and literally Ornamented
with drying clothes, suspended on lines
stretched from house TO house; the inhabi-
tantS unclean and ragged waterside char
acters of predatory habits.
1t was one of small row of houses in a
lane facing the beach. John Rudd pointed
it out, and had hoped to approach unOb-
served; but as | neared the door which stood
wide open, saw white face gazing at me
from the lower window, and recognized
my cousin.
The moment she saw me she started back
and disappeared; but, with her name upon
my lips, ran into the house and entered the
room where she was standing, pale and ter
rilied, as if eager to escape.
'Anniep' | cried.
She uttered a low cry, and, pressing her
hand upon her heart tOttered as if about to
fall; but striding forward, | caught her in
nv arms.