The Irish standard., 1893-09-23
CHAPTER XIII.

CHAPTER XIII.
WILLIAM JONES rs SERIOUS
The two men walked together
through the darkness as far as the
door of William Jones' hut; then they
parted. MIR. Monk struck across the
sand hills towards his own home, while
Jones entered the door of his cabin.
He would fain have found that cabin
empty, for. the memory of the last
scene in the cave was still upon him,
and made him as nervous as a child.
But the old man was there, and wide
awake, and evidently pleased at his
sons return.
"Where have you been, William,
dear?" said he. The question was
innocent enough in itself, but it was
full of hidden meaning for William
Jones.
"Where have been?' he repeated;
''at work, to be sure!"
The tone of his reply startled the old
man. He looked up, and saw to his
amazement that William was as white
as ghost, and trembling violently
w ll1G . Gl1S 1llltULcI, w ll1ldIQ, OetAI1
ne asked, eagerly. "Have you seen
wreck, my son?''
'.No, + ain't,'' responded his son,
~; violent land look ye now, old 'un,
you jest be quiet, and let me alone,
that's ALP
The old man, knowing his sons tenn
per, did as he was told, and William
continued to potter ai1nlessly about
the room. He was certainly trembling
very much, and was almost overcome
with a nervousness for which he him
self could not account For he was no
coward. To get possession of prize
on the high seas he would have faced
storm which might we'll make brave
men tremble, not to mention that he
knew that he had on more than one
occasion humanely fastened the end
of the shipwrecked sailors whom he
had found and pillaged on the shore.
After these acts he had been able to
sleep the sleep of virtue without being
haunted by dead mems eyes. But now
the case was different. He had not to
deal with victim without friends. a
man whose body, described as that of
q 'shipwrecked mariner" could be
buried and forgotten without more
ado. In all probability there would
this time be hue and cry, and Will
liam Jones trembled lest his share in
the CHASTITY business might ultimately
be discovered.
True, he was not actually the cul-
prit, and so even at the worst he
might escape the gallows; but to a
man of his sensitive and affectionate
nature the thought of transportation
was not pleasant. 1t was this that
made him nervous-this that made him
start and tremble at every sound.
Presently a thought struck him.
"Where's Matt?'' he asked.
Don't know, William dear; she amt
been here for hours and hours. Maybe
she's on the shore
"Maybe she is-I'll go and have a
look" replied William.
1t must not be supposed for mo-
ment that William Jones had become
afflicted with sudden and tender in
terest in MatEhe merely wanted to
get quit of the cabin. that was all, and
he saw in this reasonable excuse for
walking out alone. He accordingly
made his escape, and went wandering
off along the shore.
1t was ten o'clock when he returned:
he was still pale, and drenched to the
skin. The old man was doing beside
the fire, and alone.
'Where's Matt?" asked William
again.
."Ain't you seen her. William dear?
Well, she amt here"
William Jones did look a little un-
easy this time, and it is but due to him
to confess that his uneasiness was
caused by Matt's prolonged absence.
Erratic as she was in her movements
she had not been accustomed to stay
ing out so late, especially on q night
when the rain was pouring, and not
glimmer of star or moon was to be
seen.
"Wonder what she's a-doin' of?'' said
William; suppose I'd best wait up for
her. Here, old.man, you go to bed,
dye hear-you amt wanted anyhow" "
The old man accordingly went to
bed, and William sat up to await Mats
return. He sat beside the hearth,
looked into the smoldering fire and
listened to the rain as it poured down
steadily upon the roof. Occasionally
he got up and went to the door; he
could see nothing, but he heard the
patter Of falling rain, and the low,
dreary moan of the troubled sea.
Hour after hour passed, and Matt
did not come. William Jones began
to doze by the fire then he sank into.
heavy sleep
He awoke with start, and found
that it was broad daylight The fire
was ont, the rain had ceased to talk