Martinsburg herald. [volume] (Martinsburg, W. Va.) 1881-1920, 1893-07-22
PROPHET OF STANTON
By ". B. TYNDALL.

10y w. u, L. uDAIAs
Sainton is o Welsh mining village
which coils across the brow of a hill and
looks down into deep valley. The Hill
forms one of cluster which holds be-
tween its gnarled feet an oblong of level
land. broken up by water courses and
mine workings and covered by numer-
Gus buildings of blackened stone. To
stand little way out of the High street
and gaze downward amid the shadows
of an autumnal evening is to get a
glimpse of the inferno In all directions
below are darling out of the misty air
broad red tongues of fire which tell OF
parent chimneys buried in thick shrouds
of smoke of their own making.
One such evening in late autumn a
woman passed ont of the turmoil of the
valley and began to climb an abrupt
footpath which led up the hill toward
Sainton. The white dress of the way
farer contrasting with the black hillside
showed her creeping up the hill like a
shadow, and it was possible to see in the
brighter darts of furnace fire which now
and again illunined the night that she
carried a bundle in her arms which
must have doubled the labor of the as
cent. Yet she bore her burden with pa
tience and care, sometimes pausing to
see that it was safe rather than for any
rest so short Il stay could give her. at
last she reached place upon the hill
where the path grew level for short
space across the plateau Of an abandoned
working.
Heaven help mel" she cried. her voice
shrill and tremulous with anger. land
MARI him if MOI not yet! There is
yet chance. have still hope. Aye
then n blessing. not Il curse"
With sudden Revision of feeling the
solitary wayfarer bent her head down
over the child and broke into fit OF
weeping. The tears seemed to be the
complement Of her spasmodic anger, foI
with their flow her louder cries at once
ceased.
A closer acquaintance with Sainton Is
disappointing. To climb mp to it on
such night as this is to find an i'll light
ed street of rough cobblestones between
two struggling rows of squalid houses.
In the last of these houses, which stood
somewhat withdrawn from its fellows
upon the north side of the village, there
dwelt man who was at that time well
known not only in Sainton. but through
all the country around from the north
to the south of the principality. Unlike
others who are held in reputation il
their own country this man was q
prophet. That is to say. he was one Of
those bard5 ard seers in whom the Welsh
peasant. imbued like all Celts with "a
strong sense of racial parity, loves tC
see the representative Of shadowy and
by tradition magnificent past. But this
man was more than a minstrel and
soothsayer. He was counselor and med
icine man, and his practice extended
much farther than the immediate dis
trict around Sainton. People came from
far up the Rhondda valley and the vii
lagos about Meath to explain their all
ments to him and to ask his advice.
Tonight bright flood of light stream
ed from the bay window Of Egliniog's
house. comfortably contrasting with the
dim illumination of the rest of Sainton
He sat at the table in his little parlol
scanning and correcting the setting of a
Welsh song which he had been arrang-
ing for the harp The instrument itself
stood upon pedestal of honor at the
side of the room. Upon the surface of
its gilded column was marked in black
lettering record of the contests which
it had won for Egliniog.
The task on which the bard was en-
ployed had almost reached its compile
ton, and he was about to try the result
upon the harp, when the door was thrown
roughly open, and Il woman rushed into
the room.
Egliniog instinctively rose and put ont
his hand toward a loaded stick which
hung upon the wall, but a look at the
intruder arrested his gesture half way.
The bright lights shone upon face OF
unusual beauty. 1t was very pale now
and dripping with sweat, while the long,
black hair, damp from the fog, hung
close about it, and the mouth was con-
torted with labored efforts for breath.
Yet for all that this face was remarkable
in its loneliness 1t was the face of a
Sybil or of Cassandra as Romney paint
ed her. with her dark locks streaming
and her wild eyes full open in the &C.
stasy of useless prophecy. Coming thus
out of the darkness of the night, this
woman seemed fit visitant to the
prophet, but Egliniog looked startled at
her appearance.