Custer weekly chronicle. [volume] (Custer City, S.D.) 1890-1931, 1895-01-12
CHAPTER XXI.
InE RErInN unME.

Wflfll lily tDuSiH ItktilNI |" iHt III &itNiC
episodes, lingering, as women will, on details
which seemed trivial in themselves, but
which, when carefully criticised, were full
Of significant meaning. Lost in astonlsil-
ment and indignation, | heard till the end
when the whole Of George Redruth's villainy
was apparent.
Ny experience OF the world was, as the
reader knows, most rHdimenta9y; | knew
next Ia nothing OF its yiicr %sssions, sti less
OF is great crimes. That any human being
calling himself n man could be capable Of
cold-blooded treachery 10 a woman whom lie
promised to love was almost incredible to
me; | had heard OF such things. but they had
appeared TO me always in the nature Of ro-
nance. But if ! was agiast at tile record Ct
George Rediutl's evil doing, / was 10 less
amazed at Annie's extraordinary paIicnce
under wrongs so monstrou-. The man had
deserved no III roy.
1 said as much, in bitter enough language;
but Annie only wept. and shook her head.
bad as he has been to me, | am sure he
has a kind heart; and oh! Hugh, | loved
him so much. And he used 10 love me, | am
sure, till Miss Graham came between u.s."
You say that you went through a cere-
mony OF marriage?' / said. Annie, 1 be-
lieye you are his wife after all!'
'In the sight OF God ! am. But Hugh,
dear, il II had been "A real marriage, he would
never dare TO wed again.
such n sounded would dare n ything,'
l cried. iiercely. 1t is well you came to me,
for there is yet time. lie shall do you JUS
lice! Ii he refuses to do SO, ! will teach hin
suca Il ic5son that ne VIII never again dare
t. hold his head up before the worldv'
Ii the truth must be told, Annie's story,
painful and terrible as it was, brought me a
certain sense of relief. II it were trne-and
how could 1 doubt II, coming to me with such
sad assurance OF truthful tears and pro.esta.
~tiOns?-slrely Madeline would never consent
~ marry the author Of such mischief. What
ever happened, she must know the truth
without delay; and, all other means failing,
she should hear il from my own lips. Yes,
face to face with the man who was 10 be her
husband, | would warn her OF his unworthi-
ness; rot, alas! in any hope that ais over
throw could ever be my gain, but purely in
the wish TO save her from future misery and
degradation. II, after having been assured
Of the truth, she still persisted in the union,
she would do 50 with her eyes open, and l.
l should have lone my duty. Such a contin-
ktAA1s ApNRNti was EihlNNIE IVHNlfits
Early In the afternoon, we left Gwendoyey
In the country cart, John Rudd driving, and
1 seated by Annic's side. On reaching Tor
borne. / was eager TO push on home al once,
and succeeded in hiring at the inn a gig and
a fast-trotting horse. SO we said goodbye
10 our friend the carrier. whose wagon was
waiting for him in the town, and whose BUSH
ness would lead him next morning Falmouth
wards, and, after nightfall, turned our faces
to the west.
1t was a long journey; travelling nearly all
night, at the rate OF seven or eight miles an
hour, we did not sight the old village till it
was almost daybreak. Though the sun was
not up, come one was stirring In the cottage,
for there was a light in the window. |
jumped to the ground. helped Annie down,
and paid the driver, who walked his horse
of In the direction of the village.
Annie" | said, rs we paused at the cot
tage gate, whatever happens, we must keep
this from your father. For his sake, and for
his sake only, We must act very cautiously.
Do you understand
YES, Hugh" she answered. Alas. she
understood little or nothing Of what was
really passing in my mind!
The door was unfastened: for, indeed. lock
and key were in little request at st. Gurlott's,
which was peOpled with honest folk. We
walked in. and. entering the Kitchen. saw
my uncle in his shirt-sleeyes, reading by the
light OF a candle. | glanced at the book be-
fore him; ii was the Old Bible, with his own
name, his wife's, and Annie's. with the dates
OF marriage and OF birth, on the f~iy.leaf.
We entered, but he did not look up. A
poor scholar, he was spelling his way through
a chapter, and muttering the words aloud.
But when drew nearer and spoke to him,
he started mp with a cry, pale as death, with
the sweat standing in great beads upon his
wrinkled brow.
"Who be tharg.' he cried. Help
"What, don't you know me?" Isaid, fore
ing a laugh. 1T is |, Hugh T~relawney, and
Annie, your daughter"
Hugh. Annie!' lie repeated, drawing his
hand %nervously across his lips. why, saw
1t bel Why did 'ec COON upon me So sud.
den like? | did not hear zee. Annie, my
lass, 1 thought you were away AZ Gwendovey,
wi your cousin. What brings zee home saw
soon?.'
Annie and | exchanged looks. and. after a
warning movement OF the eyebrows, | re-
piled:
'Oh, it's all simple enough. | was q bit
homesick, and was going to run over when
Annie turned up. l hope you're glad to see
me, uncle? I'm sure | am to see your
''Glad enough, l reckon! Why, l ha'
missed zee as if you had been GAVIN a year."
He added, seeing my gaze rest on the open
book before him, II We're reading a bit, my
lad, when you come in; for / were restless
like, and couldn't sleep. Your aunt a-bed,
and sound as a tawp, | warrant"
As he spoke, he closed the page ~nervously,
as IL fearing that we should see what portion
of the book he had been reading. Annie
stopped over him and kissed him teaderly;
he look d up with a faint smile, and patted
her cheek.
Hugh, my lad" he said, presently. II
wish YOU had never left the mine"
why, uncle@!
New overseer be a chap fro Wales. and
nav am o. good. All he thinks o. is to
save money for the company. and he dawn't
go down hisSen once III a se'nnight. Nav
the place be wuss than ever. Out alawng to
the blue gallery, the sea is safe TO come In,
some OF these days"
II always said So" | returned. Its an
internal shame that nothing has been done"
saw 1t be, lad. Ispoke 10 Mcaster large
about ii last meet n he ha' promised TO
take q last look at 'un before he gangs away
! says ID him, says ], Il dawn't care for my
sen, but I'm afeared for the men, Measter
large, and do hope summat III be done
He were ~kind-spoken, as civil as he allays Is,
though some folk dawn't like 'un."
This was a gentle hint to me. knowing
VIVA: l did, and how cruelty my uncle's SIM
plicity had been imposed upon, | could hard
ly refrain from committing myself, but l
thought of the possible consequences and
held my tongue.
BY and by my aunt came down, and WI all
breakfasted together; after which. my uncle
went of to the mine. Not till he was gone
did my aunt set free her tongue, but his de-
parture was the signal for a series OF Ques-
lions as to the cause OF my unexpected ne
turn. The old mans mind was too full of
his W troubled thoughts To have much
room for conjecture; always simple, he now
took things as they came, in n dazed helpless
manner pitiful to behold. With my aun. il
was different. With her characteristic com
nonsense, she perceived that my coming
was due to no mere attack of inconsistencies,
but betokeDed urgent business on hand.
She soon came TO a natural conclusion
that l had been drawn thither by the news
OF the approaching marriage.
You had better ha' stayed away" she en-
claimed. "'Tis the avid tale O. the burnt
moth and the candle. lad! When Annie said
Ch0 NVArA uasNtnr noNnaa IN ~ tlA.