The morning call. [volume] (San Francisco [Calif.]) 1878-1895, 1891-11-22

thought when Mary uttered a cry-it hardly
sounded like human voice, more like the
scream OF wild bird.
"Come back. come back from the dead, to
| curse mel"
These words, somehow, shaped them
| selves. As the boat grated on the shore she
turned, flung up her arms, and rushed away
| up the steep cIiff-pa as If she were pur-
| sued by the furies. Vincent calm as En-
| glish gentlemen are wont to be in the face
of great emergency, stood and watched the
sailor in the little ships boat. He had no
| manner of doubt who ii was. 1t was the
| magnificent figure of a young Hercules that
leaped out and hurried toward him-with
blue eyes afiame with passion which turned
| the ruddy brown of his face q curious gray
perhaps six foot three in height; certainly
nothing less. Vincent looked like pigmy
| by his side and in spite of the distortion Of
| jealous anger the fellow was divinely hand
some. Vincent saw this with his usual
bitter candor toward himself; he saw the
golden brown beard and curling hair, the
| fine aouilne nose, the wildly blue ewes.
These were what had stolen Mary Ire
| varroch's heart, which had been ice to him.
1t was all over. The sea had given up its
dead to blast the hope OF his life. he
answered Will Penruddock's ncoherent
ferceneSs OF question and invective with q
| quiet:
You are tie sailor, Penruddock. who
was supposed to be lost?"
Il am And that is or was my lass-my
sweetheart. What dared you do with herp"
Il was going to marry her."
| "TOu-d-n your
"No. you needn't do that" Vincent re-
| turned with n careless grace. 'She thought
you dea1-naturally enough l suppose, and
she was so good as to be willing TO become
! my wife without pretending to care for me.
There is no occasion that L can see to swear
at me. l have acted in perfect good faith.
! so has She"
"Shc wants TO marry a gentleman. sup
| pose, not poor fellow like me-" Will be-
gan, trying to speak more calmly, but
breaking off again but I'll ask her. I'll
be sure before go away and get drowned.
she thought was. She shall say which
of us it is to be-"
And leaving Vincent, he leaped up the
rocks of his own familiar shore in pursuit
| of the girl who had fled from his awful
vision, as she believed, of her dead love.
lie stumbled over something, and, looking
| down, he saw that it was woman lying in
sensibie-a mere heap of clothes IL seemed
| at first, but STOPPING and turning her. he
| saw Mary Trevarr0ch's face, with closed
eyes and white parted lips. VIII gathered
| her to his bosom with q sudden change
from passionate anger to passionate tender
ness, rocking her in his arms, trying to
| warm her lips and cheeks with kisses.
! When her eyes fluttered open they fell on his.
| will, she said family, but smiling rs if
she had awoke in heaven, sis it you or your
! ghcst2"
"Me-my living self-darllng Of my heart.
Mary, who shall part us? You don't love
any one but me? God surely never brought
me baek-the only one of the crew-for
| that. You're my lass still-mine? '
The words brought remembrances which
the first anguish of her JOY had blotted out
She sat up, put her hand to her head-it
was the hand that Vincent had kissed a
strangely, and rising to her feet tried to
move it without Willis help, but her limbs
! failed her, and she leaned agaicst the rocks
little turned away from him. Will stood
! and looked at her with a curious mixture of
| love, and ferceness. and terror in his face.
At that moment Vincent Randall came
| slowly up and stood before Them Mary
! looked at the two men with q quivering
! face, and then, putting up her clasped
| hands. she dropped at Vincent's feet
| He's come BACKBONE backw she sobbed
out. ION. sir, love himi told you l did
You cant say was false l thought in
time I'd live to forget him, and | meant to
| do good. Oh! tell him-tell him." and she
| dropped her head upon the ground.
| wv hat am L to tell himg' Vincent asked
| in slow, stern voice. You can tell him
best yourself what there is to be told.
| Good-by. Mary Trevarroch."
He had not left them long before he hated
| himself. He had turned to 20 back as he
! heard her Sobblng, but he dared not trust
himself He went to the Fsherman's
Rest, and packed up his things; then he sat
| down and wrote: "FJrgiye me for speak
! ing cruelty, my poor girl. / know what you
meant me tell him, though at the moment
| could not answer you as l ought Tell him
! now for me that l honor you, and have
| always hon0red you as much as | have
| loved you. You did not say yes to me at
! first because bad some worldly goods to
| offer you; you saw what it was | wanted
and you meant to make me happy, but your
| true heart spoke wnen you said no, moi yes,
| to me. We are both spared much. Good
! by, and God bless you, Mary. | need not
| bid YOU to be true to Will Penruddock when
the depths have given him back to you"
| As he wrote the last words the evening
he had written. and he laid down the pen.
| AT that moment some one knocked. He
| opened the door and saw Mary Trevarroch
in her peasant dress. he took her hands,
! her into the room. She looked at him,
! trembling in every fiber of her Frame
They tell me you're going early to-mor-
| row, sir?' she said, in scarcely audible
voire.
Yes, my dear"
Oh, you're not angry with me then?
You don't hate me since you spoke so. Mr..
Randall, you understand"
| Yes, L understand. l was writing to YOU
to tell you so. Does Will understand too ?'
| Yes" she murmured, with dropping
! head. But I'd like to ask your pardon be-
fore you go, Mr.. Randall You've been SO
good. so good to me. The things are all sent
back. sir. never wanted them"
! NO." lie returned, in the same quiet,
half-apathetic tone. Il knew that, and
neither do | want them
| You will try to forgive ne ?"
Il have nothing to forgive. On the con-
trary, have one thing to thank you tor.
! Mary. I've all my life been hunting for
ideals; you have helped me a great deal
see there are women who can love. Love
is still lord Of all. not money. Good-by.
Ny dear, les me kiss you good-by, for
| shall never see Penruth nor you again. most
/ likely. You will be married soonP"
| Il think so.'
| And then?'
We shall live here. He will get boat
| of his own in tire, he hopes"
| "Ah! hope SO, too"
lie kissed her on the cheek and turned
| away from her Before she had closed tina
| door he had torn his letter into atoms.
| Next day Vincent Randall was in his old
world again, and 1t did not perceive any
| difference in him.
| viii Penruddock had a wedding present
from an unknown and only guessed at ben
eiactor, which enabled him to become the
! owner OF boat In the place of that he had
| lost In spite of this and of a handsome
| present from the same unknown source the
| WIDOW IreVarroch resented her daughters
| choice with persistent bitterness In the
| unearthly light of the strange dawn nf her
happiness which had seemed SO long to have
| set Mary cared little for that. Whether the
| light lasted and was enough always to
shine upon the rough pathway of her future
| lie, / can but guess. 1t is much if onlv a
few steps are so lighted, for to MANY is
| gwen only the sullen gray Of q cloudy win
| ter, which never breaks into summer this
| side the grave.