The Wilmington daily Republican. (Wilmington, Del.) 1890-1902, 1893-09-13

morrow night we shall go on again. He
has provided me with disguise and
given me money. He planned it all"
"Who is her
"He is-but, no, I will not tell You.
You may be questioned, and what you
do not know you cannot tell"
Where will you go, Thomas? But
perhaps you had better not tell me that,
for may be questioned" .5
II could not tell you If would, my
darling, for l do not know. l am cow
ard to run away, Minnie, but could not
face death on the scaffold."
Minnie shuddered.
THANK God, you are free, Thomas,
from that danger! They could not have
taken your life, for the president has Or
dered a Communication of your sentence"
1.-The president! At whose instigatioD
who asked him to- ..-.
81 did,"
"You, Minnie? Heaven bless you, my
brave darlingl But now must CO."
ayes, go. There is danger in every
moment that you linger here. Goodby,
Thomas"
"Goodby! May heaven bless you and
keep you, my darling" And with Low.
ing embrace they separated.
Would they ever meet again on this
earthl 1t seemed very improbable.
Clarkson went out into dark night
and into darker future. Minnie was
left alone-alone in great misery.
The blazing sun of December noon
oost ito Earnn 40 VIC n,, Tho GfJr,t,' Il 4
diggings at Hebron, on the broad, slug
gish Vaal; on the rough red and brown
kopjes, with their glaring gravel heaps,
and on the square, shallow claims where
the digger gazed eagerly over his sieves
In claim at the bottom of the Natal
kopie was young man. He was not
sorting or digging, nor in fact doing work
of any kind. He was sitting idly on &.
huge rock, his elbows on the edge of his
gravitating tub, his chin resting on his
hands. Do you know him? Do you rec
ognize the tall, slight figure, the worn,
anxious face, the weary, sad eyes with
such a weird, dark, faraway look in
them? You have met him before. Once
wandering through the streets of johann
nesburg-hungry, friendless, penniless.
Once again you saw him in the crowded
courthouse and heard him sentenced to
death. You heard him, too, reader, in
the midnight darkness, bidding to his be-
trothed what seemed-to be tender, final
farewell. You know him, for he is
Thomas Clarkson.
1t is year and half since all that
happened, and he has been at the Hebron
diggings ever since. Christmas eve is at
hand and he is thinking Of the past with
dull, aching pain at his heart-a pain
not now sharp and madding as it used
to be at first, for the shame and hope
lessness have become familiar to him.
He is accustomed to them, and they have
grown to be part of himself. A lonely,
dreary life he has lived at Hebron-an
existence bereft of every joy, hope and
cheering prospect. He had worked on
from day to day, not in the hope of find
ing fortune, for of what use was money
to him now? He was disgraced. His
name was scorn and byword to those
who had been proud to know him in
former days. 1t was well he did not
wish for wealth, for, like the other dig
gers, he found but few stones, and those
not of great value. He had often worked
for months and only found what was
barely sufficient to pay for his coarse
food and the rough clothes he wore.
A week before, however, greatly to
his surprise, he had found in his baby
sieve q large and beautiful diamond. 1t
was brilliant of the first water-a
stone which would have meant fortune
to any other digger. But to him it was
useless. He could not sell it, for reports
of its beauty and value would be sure TO
be spread, and the finder would become
a person of consequence and concern.
He dared not risk being thus talked
about So he put it away and tried to
forget it.
Strange and stern necessity! But in
human life there is no contending with
necessity, and we should be very tender
how we censure those who submit to it.
1t is one thing to DO at liberty to do
what we will and another to be tied up
to do what we must
And tomorrow would be Christmas
day. Alas, what had he to do with Christ
ruas and its associations? He had written
once to Minnie and to his mother, telling
them that no was well and safe, but Civ
ing them no hint as to his whereabouts.
Was Minnie thinking of him that day
hewondered. Was his mother praying for
her ruined son as she did in the old daysf
Clarkson left his claim and walked
away to his little, lonely, dusty tent, and
throwing himself down on a heap of rags
and sheepskins that served him for bed
he covered his Dyes with his hands, as if
to shut out the memory Of those faces
that SO often haunted his waking hours
and his sleeping dreams. He gave way
to mighty grief.
Who cannot be brave when fighting
with host? Who cannot march to bat
tie with drums beating and banners fly
inS But what of the man or woman
who has to fight the small battle unen-
couraged, unprotected and alone2 Who,
as the struggle goes on through the long
watches of the weary night and the heat
of the burning day, can fight bravely
and consistently with scant prospect OF
victory and small hope of reward?
God help all such.
Presently Clarkson was aroused by q
tap at the tent pole.
May come in?' asked a voice, and
"ithout waiting loF Ii reply tdll man
carrying sieve in one hand and roll
of newspapers in the other, entered.
mot well?' he inquired, glancing al
the bed.
Eyes, I'm well enough" Thomas an
swered YEARLY.
"oh! Taking holiday because its
Christmas eve, l suppose. I've knocked
off work, too, till the day after tomor
row. I've come to ask you to come along
with us tomorrow if you've nothing bet.
ter to do"
Where are you goingf"
my wife and | are going for bit Of
n picnic to give the yOun1stnrs n treat