LOST IN THE MINE.

Daily Telegraph (Napier), Issue 7499, 19 October 1895, Page 4

LOST IN THE MINE.

A Tale of the Great

Coal Strike.

[BY ALFRED FLETCHER.]

CHAPTER XII,

A MUDTOWN KV6TBBY,

By dint of kind nursing aud judioious soothing, in whioh Mias Mabel Scott did her full share, Clara Durland reoovered slowly. Her father waa buried in the quiet churohyard at Mudtown. During the funeral arrangements his daughter lay delirious, fighting against death or insanity with the desperation of vigorous youth. When she was convalescent she thanked in a mechanical style the neighbors who had befriended her, and gave herself over to the stupor of despair. The void in her heart created by her father's removal waa but half filled by her child-Geoffrey Harland'a daughter. «he had fears for the future — feara that obtruded themselves at all hours. Her father left sofcrcely any property at hiß death The little hoard of the thrifty man had vanished during his years of misfortune, and in c. few weeks she was in the defp slounh of poverty Her wild, intense love for her seduoer had not departed. Throughout the black-■■t-t ooriort of her misfortune she had hoped for his coming. ' tie will come to carry out hia promise,' she had said hundreds of times to hereelf. But now she began to doubt. One rainy, misty evening following a btorm—a day when the. elements appeared to have conspired to obliterate the sun, and when the white steamy clouds hung low in the atmosphere as though loth to ascend higher—she setoff, with her babe, to the residence of Geoffrey Harland. Aa sho passed little groups of miners and thtir wives whom she had always greeted heretofore with a smile of recognition, she huug her head in shame. Her old schoolfellows and playmates would hive acknowledged her, but they felt that it would be a charity I to allow her to pase without a word.

So she flitted like an uneasy ghost into_ tho grey miaty »tretch that Beparated Mel-' drum from Mudtown, and was soon loßt to view.

tier interview with the manager waa as uhe had feared —not as she bad hoped.

They met at the lodge gates ou tbe br jad carriage drive. Geoffrey Harland, hard man as. he was, felt a tinge of remorse when he saw the tearful eyes and heard the broken tones of her onoe sweet full voice. The evidence of her shame was on her arm sleeping the"sleep of innocence. ' Well, O ara, what ia it ?' ho opened, not unkindly, hia face sorewod into a puzzled expression. 'Mr fclarland—Geoffrey,' pleaded the poor girl, ' I ask you to have pity upon me in my miafortune, and to make amends for the past.' ' amends !' and the manager's face wore a soomful look. 'In what way ?'

' By carrying out jour promise to marry me,' was the tearful reply. • What! make you the mistress of Meldrum ?' was the astonished remark. ' Girl —woman—it is impossible ' ' ttow imposeible ?' was the gentle query. But by thia time the heart of Clara Durland was beating furiously, and the was on ihe point of fainting. ' Don't make a scene here, my girl,' said Harland, anxiously, as he supported her with more roughness than the occasion demanded.

The girl looked up, and amid sobs asked appeahngly, 'Make me your lawful wife before the world. Otherwise,' she went on in desperation, ' somethiug will happen that will darken your life to the last duyß.' Ihe unfeeling man raJBBd a half laugh. ' I tell you it is impossible. I have other views than marriage with a collier's daughter.' ' Other views—meroiful Heaven !' Clara Duriaud'a agony seemed too much for her to bear.

' What views, then, other than my ruin could you have had when you came into my innocent life - a Iffe > hat waa unstained until the unlucky hour that I firat saw you ? God forgive you, Geoffrey Irlarland ±V>r what you have done - I cannot.' ' Put, tut, don't talk so foolishly,' was the petulant response 'Here, take this,' and he pressed a purse of gold in her right hand.

Like a flash the heavy purse struok him in the forehead, opened, and Bhelled out its golden contents. The manager ot the Deddenham Main turned on his heels, cursed roundly, and walked away from his victim.

Clara Durland stood for a few minutes half stupefied with grief and amazement. Her forlurn condition had never struok her before with such foroe. She was absolutely helpless. On the ground lay the gold pieces with which Geoffrey Harland had attempted to oondone the past.

1 Gold,' she soliloquised, ' cannot purchase oblivion, although it may buy comfort." She would not have touched it if she had been starving.

She turned with a shiver and retraced her steps to Mudtown. The raindrops were falling heavily, and she waa drenched to the skin. All honor to the love with whioh Kature haa endowed woman. She shielded the Bleeping babe at her breast from the downpour, as though the little burden were her most precious possession. She walked along wearily, the wet clinging to her garments and clogging her steps Tho tree branches aa she touched them showered their rainy burden upon her and the child. The unfortunate mother shivered with cold.

The delirium that had afflicted the wronged girl had not left her entirely. The tombstones in the churchyard across the river alongside of which she was walking appeared to her diaordered fancy to be so many white fangs bared at high Heaven in impotent rage at her ruin. Her father lay there, the had been told, and she must go to him. But not through that mass of brown water whioh whirled along on its way to the distant sea She might lose her life and that of her child in the attempt. Then she imagined that her father was appealing to her to succour him Sheoould not bear to think of him lying under the cold wet earth with the great brown muddy river between him and her. She must go to him.

The t'ny babe wailed hungrily, and she satisfied its longings even in her utter distraction. Tho old impulse returned with redoubled power, and she wrung her thin hands and wailed at the river side, • I must go to him—he wants help ' She knolt down, took off her oloak, wrapped the infant in it, and placed the babe still wailing under tho tall hedgerow. She could not take the child—her child— with her acrosa so deep a stream.

Then, muttering some wild words about her destroyer, and keeping her eyes fixed on the spot whore she imagined her father had been laid, she threw her arms in the air and plunged boldly into the river. Aa she did so a youth, who had oome up in time to witness the tragedy, rushed into Mudtown for assistance, oannoning against a well-dressed re-headed young man, as he made his way through the ohurch-yard, and apologising hurriedly as he did so by stating that a young woman had just thrown herself iuto tho swirling water.

By this time the now shrieking girl had been carried fifty yurda down by the current. Ned Styles, for it was he, oould not swim, but he was blessed with great resourcefulness. With all i-peed he dashed along the river bank until he leaoued a low narrow bridge, half-way ovtr which the water was pouring like a mill-iaoe. He was there just iv time. He had soarcely taken up a position in the centre'of the bridge when, with a swish and a whirl, the insensible body of Clara Durland came into his arms with a force that neatly carried him into the flood water. .

Luokily she had not been long immersed, but blood was flowing from her head and arms where she had come in contact with obstructions. To oarry her to the bank was the work of a moment.

He had soaroely deposited his burdou on the sodden earth whan consciousness returned to the poor girl. Sho was unawaro of what had occurred, but oried faintly fother ohild. Styles looked anxiously at the rushing waters for signs of the infant, aud then prooeeued along the bank. To his dolight he noticed tho girl's shawl, and in a few moments returned with the babo, whioh he handed to its mother.

Hie parents' house was at the river side, and it waa a matter of only two miuutea' walk to bring tho parties to the door Clara and tho child had just been handed over to hia mother with inatruotions to provont them from taking any ill effects from their drenching, when v gang of men. headed by Jim Fisher, came running through the churchyard.

' Hast tha sin owt ?' aakod the irreprea siblo Fieher.

' No,' replied Styles. Ho had his own reasons for keeping the affair quiet, and *ad admoniahbd his mother that sho was not under any ciroumstanues, to allude to what had ocourred -

The party pasted on over the bridge, that threatened every moment to giveaway, and along the river bank to the spot where Clara Lurlund had beeu Been to throw herself into tho wator.

Jim Fisher was quite an oracle.' 'Nobbut a looaf o' bread and quiokeilver can find a deed body,' be erg-Bed '(joDtempt-

uoualy on. hearing the various devioes favored by the crowd of bystanders. Biddy Linley, who prided herself on her knowledge of certain mystic crafte, agreed with tho spokesman of the party, and without ado brought out a huge cottage loaf and a small hottle containing the metal. A long pieoe of string waß attaohed, one end to the loaf and the other to the hand of Jim Fisher. The top of the loaf was removed and the quioksilver inserted in the hollow. '1 hen the loaf was placed in the water and allowed to drift with the stream, the drags being in readiness to remove the dead body when found. Slowly and reverently the women's voioes hushed and tbe men conversing only in whispers, the great orowd moved along the pathway in the driving rain. It was now dusk, and the weirdneas of the scene was heightened by the glimmering lanterns that were flashed upon the waters,' ad ifow and again a suspicious stoppage of the loai was observed. Half an hour was spent in the quest, and then drags were plied vigoronsly, but without avail. The men who had used them returned after a time to tbe main body, who by this time had become intensely anxious. Borne by the current, the loaf, at a bend in the river, floated into comparatively smooth water. Whether from Fisher's repeated tugging at the string, or from some other unexplained cause, it was certain that the bread was elowly spinning round. ' Drags here!' shouted the how exoited Fisher. The drags were again let down into the water, aud after a few moments Jim, who now and then tested -the ropes, cried excitedly, 'Pull! Pull like niggers ?' The men who had seized the drags pulled heartily, and were rewarded with ' ihe sight of something that resembled a dead body olothed in a white garment. ' Pull up !' again yelled Fisher. Tbe men worked with a will. Either from emotion or from a stronger oause the crowd began to retire to a respeotful distance • This is cruel!' suggested one of the helpers averting hia face. ' Awful!' suggested another, dropping his rope reluctantly and clapping his hand to hia offended noatrils. Fiaher stalked majestioa'ly to the big bundle which liy on the pathway, and reverently removed the garment from the face of the dead Then he shot back into the body of the orowd, holdinghis Bides and noae alternately. The quicksilver, true to tradition, had discovered the remains of the dead, for, lying on its baok. ita porcine carcase diatended to abnormal dimensions aud ita head bared to tho breeze, lay a defunct pig. * * * * * At nightfal a market cart waa driven away from Ned Styles's residence in the direotion of Worksop. The occupants were Styles, Clara Durland, her >nfant, and a sister of the colliery clerk, with whom he had arranged that the wronged woman should be carefully tended until her mind waa thoroughly reatored. For a few days the local papers were full of the mysterious disappearance, aud then the opinion waa held that vjlara Durland's dead body had been washed iuto the Humber, and from thence to the sea. I (To be continued.)