The Plymouth tribune. (Plymouth, Ind.) 1901-1911, 1908-07-23
CHAPTER XXI.

that she must have walked all the way
from Carrig either to Madam's, where
she was expected, or to the old Mill
House. In what cruel haste she had
been to knock their dust from off her
feet,
How Hilary spends the hours after
his first certain knowledge of Amber's
gong from Carrig he himself never knows
to the end of all. But when this short
and dying day is drifting into a long
and chilly night, he suddenly goes into
the yard and orders a trap to be got
ready for him.
Coming to that part of the road that
leads up to the boreen, where Amber's
little sick boy dwells, he springs to the
ground and leads the horse up the lane,
and there gives the poor woman, who re-
members him with the most devout graf
itude, his horse and trap in charge.
Was he mad last night when he hurled
his miserable insults on her? Surely he
was mad, What did it all come to after
all? A few moments spent alone with
Everard He had thought her wrong
there but he-was it not he who had
been hideously in the wrong? He who
had accused her of falsity-falsity to
him-to the man she had said she loved
Certainly she had gone to see the stars
with Everard. but that was only small
fault, magniied by him. not n crime.
As he nears the mill, little spark
from the lowest depth around it catches
his eye. He blinks-stares again. Yet
surely there is light, and in that dismal
cellar where he and Amber had buried
her rings. that night His heart begins
to beat, She has not gone to MADAM Z,
then. Poor darling, He had been moth
ing but a grief to her from almost their
first acquaintance. But a light here?
Could she be the one who had lit it?
And why come there, into the very bow
els of the earth as it were, at this dark
hour?
An unworthy thought-dismissed in
stantly with a touch of self-horror-that
she is there to regain those rings, sends
him flying down the slope that leads 20
the old MILL More likely-far more like
ly-she has come here thinking of it as
the last place in the old mill that she
had visited with him. If there seems to
be cenceit or vanity of any sort in this
thought of his. it must be combated BY
the fact that he judges her as he judges
himself. Has he not come here tonight
TO look his last on scenes made sacred
to him by her?
And il she is here? If he should lie
so wildly fortunate as to find her here
in that melancholy vault--hen in bis
very body he can PROSTATE himself be-
fore her. Can lay his apologies at her
feet. Can own to her his grief-his hat
red of himself, and-Heaven is good as
well as just gain her forgiveness.
He covers the ground between him and
the old mill in an extraordinarily swift
time, and, gaining the dipalidated docr-
way, steps quickly in, and 70 tina. hole
cellar beneath. Very softly he steps. lie
must not take her off her guard. To
startle her by a sudden descent would be
cowardly thing-taking her Dy storm,
as it were. And yet to seem 10 spy upon
her,
He shrinks from the thought. and final
~ besides on looking through the hol. in
the floor from which the Did ladder is
hanging, and seeing her. call 10 her: tell
ing her he is here-has come-oh too
poor too poor. Telling her rather list
he is here. her slave-her lover for life,
even though she should elect to desplse
and reject him,
He bends down-his eyes traverse the
vault. A sharp exclamation almost es-
capes him. Almost-not quite Down
here in this dismal cellar Deane is Enccl-
ing beside a wide opening in the earthen
floor. This opening is close to the wall
, and on the wall just above il is painted
that small black arrow. of vni,h Amber
and he had taken such notice. On the
side of this opening lies an old and very
large jewel case-very old, and now very
grimy-its lid lifted. Hilary gazing, toe
astonished TO move, can see in the faint
| light of the lantern Deane has laid be-
side il, great rays of light flashing. The
| missing jewels at last. How near the
discovery of them he and Amber had been
when they buried those rings; only an
inch or two this way-and
| Lightly he drops to the ground. Sc
| lightly indeed that the other man, en-
crossed with his spoil. hears nothing Of
| his coming, until he is almost at his ell
bow.
With frantic yell. as of a wild beast
torn from its prey. Deane springs to hi,
| feet. and having faced Adare for th'
| fraction of second filings himself upor
him. The latter grasps him in turn. Dis
gust and rage are giving fresh strength
to thewS and sinews. that require littl,
assistance from any source. And for ;
few minutes the two men sway and wres
tie and are locked in a deadly embrace
that means death--for one or the other
Nostrils dilated, lips parted; a sway t
the right-victory for one; a sway Il
the left-victory to the other. How vii
it end?
Now a slight chance in this wild
wrestling match-a loosening of the arm
of Hilary-giyes Deane a chance. III
| filings Hilary from him, and with light
ming speed draws revolver from hi
breast. With low growl of JOY h
| levels il.
A second a second only. But there j
life in a second even for a man condemn
ed. And it is a girl-the girl he loves
who gives life to Hilary. \ small hand
brown. but shapely, filings up the fatal re
volver, that would have sent him to
land very Tar away from ours, ana oul
let crashes into the rotten rafters abov
their heads. The revolver has taken
voyage very nearly as high. 1t come
| down now in a distant corner, and provi
dentally does not go off. Amber, with
little spring, goes to it and picks 1t vi
$50 home, Brian" says the girl YER
gently, and in very low voice. lie
fingers tighten over the revolver, how
ever. She is calm, but looks litti
broken. Adare moves to her side.
"Those stones, those ornaments" say
he, pointing TO them, belong, as :
course you know, to Sir Lucien Adar'
In his name / take possession OF them
As for you''-he looks straight at Dean
with scorn and undisguised contempt
Il give you just twenty-four hours
get out Of the country"