LOST IN THE MINE.

Daily Telegraph (Napier), Issue 7497, 17 October 1895, Page 4

LOST IN THE MINE.

A Tale of the Great Coal Strike. [BY ALEBTED PLETOHSB.] OHAPTER IX ; 01. ABA DUBIiANb's TBMPrAIION AND FAIE. The manager of the De. denham Mine was a hard, callous man, with little apparent sensibility, but with an amount of vioe in hiß composition that one would have thought impossible in one bo oalm and calculating in his actions. Fortune had indeed favored that worthy. Jack Harland, whom he had seen by the way only thrice, was out of the way and probably would never return. Geoffrey was unacquainted with the whole of the case aguinet his cousin, but he felt sure that the reasons whioh had oaused the disappearanoe of the young man must have been indeed weighty. There waß but one man living who oould prove hia guilt, and it was only too probable that he would be unable to identify the murderer of the old Squire in the momentary glimpse obtained of hia features in the middle of the wood. Geoffrey Harland imagined that he waß secure against surprise, and in his most despondent mood never imagined that he would be tracked down and placed in the felon's dock. There was the revolver that he had hurriedly thrown away when he discovered that his orime was not unseen, but it was scarcely probable that the weapon would be traced to him, situated as he waß at Mudtown, nearly two hundred miles away. It probably lay among the tangled fern growth and debris from the vegetation of Dead wood Olough. The faot that he was a murderer caused him litte alaim. Hie nerves appeared to be of iron, and after the first shock of tho murder had died away, hia firtt aim was to Bteer clear of the clutches of thi law he had outraged. Safer aohemes he had laid in other directions were but half completed, and Geoffrey Harland longed'to work them out to the end. To be the owner of the splendid i roperty that he had engineered for auother ■'. r so long was the height of his ambition. Ibe Ueddenham filine was under a cloud, it was true, and all the outside world had been duped into the belief that its best days had passed away, and that the supply of coal, which at one time was held to be sufßoient to keep two thousand miners engaged buaily at work for half a oentury, had inexplicably become lost in a "fault." The opinions of tha geologists were on his side unanimous, for as yet the coal stratum had been untapped to the eastward, and it was thought that it dropped off suddenly within the property of the owner of Marohlands. Under the circumstances, tho "stupidity" of t. rsce tfarland, bs he savagely desoribed it, passed the wit of man. She could Know scarcely anything concerning the colliery, yet her last letter, in reply to his communication inviting her to sell, seemed to convey a very suspicious meaning. H_d ha a traitor in the camp? Hia thoughts turned at once to hia confidential clerlt, but Styles was solemnity itßßlf, and either oould not or would not Know anything. btylee, indeed, was often in his thoughts at this point of his life. The quiet young clerk had fallen in love a few months previously with Olara D urland, the daughter of a deputy who, having met with a serious accident at the colliery, had become a pensioner on the benevolent fund. The young girl, for she waß soaroely eighteen, had uleo formed a quiet attachment to ytyles, and affairs appeared to be progressing in the direction of an interesting wedding, when one fine summer evening Geoffrey

iarland, ever on the look out, cast his evil eyes upon her.

Clara Dnrland had not had the strictest of training. She was motherless, and her father, weak find ill aa he had been for some years, waß unable to look so keenly after hiß bright-eyed, &unny haired girl aa he would have done under happier auspices. Thus it came about that her walks with Styleß became less frequent, and that her clandestine meetings with the manager of 'he Deodenham Mine took place with more regularity, bhe did not at first love the dark saturnine Geoffrey Harland any more than his clerk There was, however, an element of aeventuie and a degree of excitement oonne. ted with her visits to Meldrum, the residenoe of the manager, that were altogether abßent from the sober and more humdrum meetings with Ned Styles. Matters went on in thia unsatisfactory way until Styles overheard a chance conversation in whioh Olara Durland's name was extremely prominent. He was by no means a young man of jealoua instincts, but the auswer the pretty girl gave to him when auestioned dispelled any doubt he may have entertained 88 to the truth of the rumor, and the lovers separated, Ned to mope silently nnd nurse his revenge, and Clara to rush more quiokly into the very centre of the nglj web that the manager had woven for her.

In a half-village, half-town like Mudtown, the ohuraoter of such a man like Geoffrey Harland oould not but be known. Evil deeds suoh as he waa in the habit oi committing were not glossed over by the miners and their wives, although the morale of Mudtown were not of the angelic order as a rule. Olara Durland tossed her head and laughed when warned by Borne of the old matrons that there waa little peace of mind to be gaiued by the girl who looked above her station for a partner. She stamped her little f eot in mimic rage when she first heard of the eoandalß that were commencing to be repeated oonoerning her and her new lover, and half determined that when next Geoffrey " Harland made his appearance she would give him the cold shoulder and return to her old companion, for whom Bhe really had a warm corner in her neart. The opportunity oame, but it waa not taken. Neglected opportunities are the remorse of life. Tho park-like expanse that surrounded Meldrum had been for ypara a favorite haunt of the younjr la>lß and lasses of Mudtown, The five old hail lay some two miles away from i_S ei™ ll colliery town, and hete the sky waa unetained by Emoke, aud the ear waa not alarmed by the -hriek ol the engines or the whirr of the wheels of manufacture. Quiet such as was experienced here waa a rate treat to any girl who possessed a more than ordinary share of romance in her composition. 'Ihe beauty of tbe r.atural objects around, the heavenly repose, were s-fficient to lull in the young woman's breast all thought of harm. Geoffrey Harland knew well how to woo and win. In all tha arts of enenarement and of entrapping innocence he was an adept. The guilelessneaa and mirth of the «irl only oaneed him to plot whh the more fiondish ingenuity. Alas for the honor and ohaatity of many of the products of nearly nineteen centuries of Christianity 1 The seonrity she felt in her own modeßt womanly nature proved only a snare. As the image of the clerk faded slowly from her recollection, that of the employer had become more vivid, and almost before she herself was awaire of the change fn feelings, ohe beoame madly, raghly in love with the manager of the iJeddenham Mine. At times the thought of the risk ehe ran would aiise, but she inevitably oruehed it out of existence. The poor girl was unaware of the unholy name that Geoffrey Harland had earned. @be only knew |hat he was kind, loving, and affectionate, that he had promised to make her the mistress of Meldrum, and that Bhe would be able to hold the destinies of many in her hands-for good. Even aa Bhe thought of the man, her pursuer waa relontlesnly gloating in anticipation over hor downfall. The ovei throw of virtue was an event in the manager's life aa worthy of oommemoration aB the downfall of vioe in the breast of good men. Thero was ghoulish attraction to him in hia contaot with purity. bometimeß when her eyes gleamed like aapphires, when he breathed his falso love or when the warm glow of her glorious hair shone around her head and shoulders in the rays of the kiss ing, admiring sun like a halo, even ho had his hour of regret, and he half Bbamed himself into ii determination to marry Olara Durland. He waß not unaware of the sour looks of the matrons of Mudtown, of their significant pointings at ihe young girl aa tshe nodded merrily to him aa he drove past in his high dogoart, attended by a Bplendid being iv buttonß, aud burrounded by evidenceo of esse and luxury. She, poor hunted creature, waa happy even in the presence of the destroyer, and serene in what ahe imagined to be the protection of hia love, fell a viotim when she deemed herself moßt eooure. And with hor fall all the brightness faded out of her life. She arrived at a orißis in her hißtory. Tho finger of acorn waa already pointed at her by the unthinking few ; the hard flat of revengeful hate was held aloft by the many who knew and understood how and why Geoffrey Harland had marred the life of one of God'a fuirebt and moßt beautiful oreatures, With a covert sneer on hia Up the manager of Ueddenham .loft hie victim to pino and grieve, in company with her father, who in his rage would have torn the destroyer limb from limb had he crossed his path. Only at nightfall, when the noise of the royaterero at tho Find .yers' Arms was tho principal sound to be heard in the otherwiiso quiet streets, did tbe viotim of one of the most guilty plota that the heart of man oa

devise dare to leave her home for an instant.

Now that the whole world knew of her misfortune—at leaßt the whole of her world —she did not experience so severe a shook aa when the hideous truth first showed itself. The half-averted look of onoe fond friends, the scornful glances of outraged modesty from those who were innooent of vice only from ignorance of its temptations, were hard to bear. Her love for Geoffrey Harland had not yet vanished. The upbraidings of her father were borne with meekneea until the name of the manager waß mentioned. Then, and not till then, would she burst into tears at tho ruin which her lover had wrought in her young heart. Her father grew gradually worse in health under the additional blow dealt by misfortune. The periods of 6emi-con-valescence, when even Olara half thought he would recover, became rarer, and at last the signs of the end arrived. One night Olara had been watching at hia bedside, when he appeared to wake with a start. _• My child,' Le whispered, and his dimmed eyes looked longingly around for the dear one who had nursed bim, patiently and with the loving care of a ministering angel, for many yeara. All was dark to the dying man, but a voice, struggling to clear itself from emotion, aa the sun will sometimea strive to Bhake itaelf free fr. m a oloud bank, came sweet and low to asture him. 'My child,' he repeated,«l believe lam dying.' ' No, father,' burst from the weeping and terrified girl. 4lt cannot be.' ' I oan see farther into the future now that my earthly sight haa gone, my Olara, and I want you to take heed of my laat wish.' The only reply was a torrent of weeping. • As soon as I am gone, my sweet girl'— God ! how passionately the poor man Bpoke —* go to Geoffrey Harland and demand of him that he shall set you right in the sight of the world. Tell him that if he does not do so, not my curse, but the dreadful curse of Heaven be upon him evermore.' The voice had grown painfully weak now. _he light of the onoe strong brown eyes had faded, tho long skinny Augers twitched, and at times restlessly grasped the bedclothes as he wi&hed to assure himself that he was still a bjing of eartb. Clara Durland, her face palec than usual, steadied herself in order that sho might address a few coherent words to her father, assuring him ot her undying affection, and craving his pardon for tbe wilfulness that had mado ber the byword and scorn of the more unfeeling in Mudtown. The reoit. 1 cost her maoy teara. The poor ohild—for she was yet bat a child — wept as though her heart mußt break, her pretty head buried ainoDg the bedolothes, her hands clasped together in agony. A weak whisper oame from the dying man. ' Don't cry, my Clara.' The words seemed to the girl to be echoed from the dim past when she was a wee tiny atom of humanity. Often her father's ' Don't cry, my Olara" had soothed a fit of childish petu.ance. Now, as the worda were whispered from the threshold of eternity, they seemed filled with a pathos that they had never held before. 1 Take my hand—my child—God—bless —and —keep—you from ' The blessing waa unfinished on earth. O'ara, awe-stricken, fancied that it was concluded far abovo tbe scudding clouds and the great gibboua moon that peered over their edges. im the table by the bedside the oandle slowly burnt away like the life that had just departed— hlowly burnt away, and then spluttered, flickered, and died out. Worn out by watchiDg and her weight of misery, the girl slopt until late in the morning, her only companion her dead father. When she opened her and realised that the sole home she had in the world, her only proteotor, was gone, ehe was inconsolable. Her grief was the grief of the lost and hopeless. Neighbors dropped in ono by one to cheer or comfort, but their well-meant efforts were paralysed by the anguish oi body and mind which had seized her. One or two kind-hearted women remainel with her that night And as the Bun's rays shot up to herald the birth of a new nay >t ohitd's feeblo wail was heard for the first time for many years in i. laraDurlaDd's little room. When the manager of Deddenham Mine heard the news he frowned, bit his lip,'and cursed at hia folly. There was no thought in his black mind that he had any duty in connection with the event, and in a fortnight he had all but forgotten that there existed in Mudtown a girl whose life had been ruined. (To be continued.)