The Sunday morning news. [volume] (Jersey City [N.J.]) 1886-1891, 1890-08-31
MYSTERY OF TREV ARROGK.
* Strange Story Of the Natural and
the Supernatural.
= MIS-. OLIPHANT.


| ooh, no; please wait here. if you don't
| mind, = she responded, quickly. "No let
tiers for us, Judith? Well, then viii be
off.
With light and springy steps she cross
| ed the bridge and was soon lost to sight.
Harold's eager questioning was antici-
pated by old Judith who dearly loved a
gossip.
That's Miss Olive St. Maur, as hand
some young Teddy as ever stepped, to
my thinking. Her aunt, Mrs. Trevelyian,
lives yont. . pointing to small white
house, lying close to fir plantation in
the distance. miss Olive lives along o
che and Miss Madge, that's Mrs. Trev-
! elyian's daughter I've herd tell Miss
Olives pa got killed out to the Injies,
and her ma, pore young thing, died of
grief or summat, anyway. Miss Olive
she warn't but chiel then-came home
to live with her aunt, who took to her
and did for her the same as her own. So
she and Miss Madge are like sisters, and
share and share alike, though, poor souls,
there amt much for any on 'em I'm
afeard. But Mrs. Trevelyian's a good,
| kind lady as ever was"
SIS she widow?a Harold felt strange
! " interested in old Judiths garrulous
chatter
/ Eyes, chiel, using the quaint Cornish
mode Of address to man, woman or child.
sShe's been widow this long while.
| Mr.. Trevelyian, her husband. was passon
down to st. Osyth's. He was a poor,
sickly sort o chap, mostly awandering
about with his book farming and the ike;
he died when Miss Madge wee; baby,
| afore Miss Olive came to 'em. Mrs.
{ Trevelyian's father wor kind o. gentle
man farmer, and lived here at Trevar-
rock; but what wi the land being poor,
and his fooling away a lot O money,
! thinking there was tin on it, he died
wi'out brass farden, except the cottage
| yont. That he left to Mrs. Trevelyian,
Miss Olives ma being dead. So when
Passon Trovelyian died she was glad enow
to come and live in it; for folks say she
amt got more than'n keep body and soul
together. Lor' bless you, chiell Eve
known them, root and branch, these
years and years. They were among the
head folks about here once, but now
theym decayed gentry. There be plenty
such in CoTnwall-ruined by the mines
/ and the badness o. the land"--
"Hushln Harold lifted warning
finger, but as Olive St. Maur came up the
narrow garden path the ghost of a smile
! Pickering at the corners of her mouth
told him that she guessed the subject of
t Judith's conversation.
MY aunt, Mrs. Trevylian. says that if
you do not mind limited accommodation
and very plain fare, " with rather pain
ful blush, Hshe viii be glad to take you
In herself We do not usually let lodg-
ings, as Judith can tell you, but-but
! why, after all, Inince the truth? We are
poor, and glad of the chance Of earning
money. Think what you viii of my can
dor, now you have the facts, pure and
simple"
There was passionate recklessness
about the last words which gave Harold
sensation almost of pain.
Old Judith had gone into her little
shop to serve two bronzed urchins with
yellow saffron cakes.
Believe me or not, as you please, /
honor you from my heart for your frank
ness" he replied earnestly II, too, am
poor man; and though have never
been glad of it before, l shall be now, if
it gives me a greater chance Of becoming
your friend"
The two were walking up the heather
covered hill, side by side. Harold Car
| rington felt slight twinge of conscience
as he spoke; but, after all, was he not
poor unspeakably, wretchedly so in
ife's best gifts? What was money to
one alone in the world-popularit even
fame-if there was no heart to beat in
unison with his, no eye to brighten at
his joys or shed tear for his sorrows:
Yes; he was poorer in these things than
the miner who passed him and Olive Just
then on his way home from his work,
and whose chubby children were scran-
bling up the hillside to meet him with
shouts of welcome.
'tAre you poor, too? / am glad of it,
though you may think me selfish. hate
the rich-hate them becauseI envy them
more than words can say. Why are
life's fairest things so unequally di-
videdY' she went on, with sudden anger.
sit Is bitter, cruel shame"
Olive st. Maur's dark eyes flashed fire,
and red spot burnt on each of her pale
cheeks.
Il dare say you think am a strange
girl to talk to you, whom have barely
known an hour, about such subjects.
Wen, cannot help it. In the wilds of
1 Cornwall one has not much chance Of
learning manners or acquiring the placid
sang froid of the upper ten thousand, !"
she added, with laugh which had no
mirth in it.
Harold felt by turns attracted and re-
PEELED by his companion. Astrange grill
Olive ST. Maur had spoken truly. He
had never seen anyone so beautiful; her
ironical, rather bitter words, had a
piquant fascination, though they sad
dened him.
Strange? Not at all" was his ready
rejoinder, made with the ease of a thor
ough man of the world, used to its light
fence as well as its more earnest com
bats ''Why should think it, Miss St.
Mau.N
.How did you know my name?" She
turned quickly, darting a searching
glance at him, then added rather petu-
lantly-"Ah! see, thought as much.