SAVERNE’S DOUBLE

Northland Age, Volume IV, Issue 42, 22 June 1908, Page 2

SAVERNE’S DOUBLE

(Copyright.)

OR THE ANVILS OF THE ALMIGHTY,

By J. Monk Foster.

H. PART 10. Z& it' * CHAPTER XXIV. **THE HAUNTING AMBIMON.”- ' .■ l In the new and higher sphere to which the master of the Woodlands and the Moor Green Hills had been •o suddenly and unexpectedly elevattd the erstwhile fireman, under-man-tger, and chief “boss," comported himself in almost every particular of fclft daily life and habits as had been his custom heretofore. He was patient, prudent, softIpoken, careful and industrious un- * der the changed condition of things, is was bis wont when working for a unall wage ; and his afniability and ttst for work impressed the cotton operatives not less favourably than they had formerly merited tho warm Ipproval of Thurston-Savernc and lis sister as well as the pitmen themselves. • Again, as before, on assuming the Wtftership of the large spinning Hill* and weaving sheds Aaron Safe mf had thrown Ipody aryd mind into hisVork, never 4 resting until ho had" made himself acquainted with flfie Ihief official#, ufider-managers of the various /letyirtipenta, the very foreman in charge of all the practical work, and winning the good opinion of each by Im* considerate manner, and a promise of a royal bounty to every one should the first /ear’s work justify that step. From the day the new master took jossession he had identified himself p the closest way with the duties of the position ho had sworn to fill a-editably. As T ‘my cousin and successor, gentlemen," Mr. ThurstonSaverne had introduced him to all the principal men about the place, had taken him also through all the big buildings where the different Operations of cotton manufacturing jrere carried on. Mad giyen-4iim vallable hints and ad assurance that the various heads, of departments •ould be trusted, then with the heartiest of gopdJpAHehes had left the •eat in his owA Wand*. * After that AaVprf Slaverne found lo difficulty time and industry :ould not conquV* Every day of die lawful six he was to be seen at he factories as regular as any comuon “hand."’ Between the hours of line and twelve he was never absent igain, from two till five ho wa9 to be found tlfere, and that earnest absorption in his new role as cotton master soon made him familiar with all It was requisite he should know. For the first few weeks he was here there ami everywhere about the mills and sheds. Now he was with his head manager, a subordinate, or overseer, widening his knowledge every day ho lived, picking up sound information from men who had spent most of their lives within sound of the whirr and clatter of swiftly-run-ning wheels. And later, he had tackled earnestly to the commercial side of the great undertaking to which he was committed, had called in a noted firm of , accountants to overhaul his books and affairs, had )iad many consultations with hi* buyers, sellers, and cashier, and, as a result of all these energetic inquiries, he had learned that, with ordinary trade, he might expect to derive an income of something like three thousand per annum from the mills. In the meantime the master of Woodlands had not neglected the amenities and social opportunities his rise in the world had thrown upon him. It would have been churlish and unkinsmanlike to refuse the many invitations he received from Mr. Thurston-Saverne to dine at Moor Hall, and run jover at any hour when he cared to indulge in a smoke, a drink, and a pleasant chat. Ho had gone occasionally—as fre- . quently as three or four times a week—and his reception by Ix»ah and Simon had been invariably genial and inspiriting. There had never been the least trace of condescension In their welcome. Thej' received him as an openly-acknowledged equal to whom only simple justice had heed' tardily, if fully rendered ; and with his eyes open to all these manifestations of good feeling, It was no wonder that the man’s passionate a- • deration of the dark-eyed and softtongued beauty augmented with each visit. . Not infrequently Aaron chanced to call at the Hall when Simon was away on either business or pleasure, and at such times the mistress had received and entertained him with a quiet interest and freedom from constraint that augured gloriously for his consuming aspirations. Nor was the adventurer, perhaps, far wrong* in this. From the first moment that Leah had set eyes on "Mr. Alfred Lyndon " she had been strongly impressed by the man, and kubsequent disclosures and happenings had blit tended to deepen and strengthen that first favourable impression. With all her quietness, clear vision, and unassert of character, Miss Thurston-Savernc was yet a verv woman, with the tender imagination of her kind, as well as an ingrained love of the also. Antf thj# man who had at once her attention, her admiration as a striking personality, had later claimed .and won her pity

as a distant relative, to whom a great and unwitting wrong had been done ; and out of such feelings as these It was easy to imagine that a stronger and tenderer passion might

riseAs for Aaron Saverne, the love that was waxing in him day by day represented all that was best in his

nature. With such a woman as his wife, hitherto unimagined levels and heights of happiness and well-doing were revealed to him, With hfir* rare loveliness to charm and sustain # him always, her purity and goodness to spur him on, there was no sacrifices, short of losing her, that he was not ready to make. And In this frame of mind another * view of the matter soon seized upon his clever and unrestiiwr brain. If

nns woman cmira trot be brought to return his affection, and their marriage followed, how that act and union might be made to excuse his fraud and almost condone it ! For once Leah Thurston-Saverne were his wife, could it be said with truth that he had quite diverted from its real owners the immense property made over to him ?■ She at* least, would share all he had allowed to be conferred on himself, under a misapprehension ; and by living a decent, straight life henceforth—a life, moreover, characterized b3' simple pleasures and many acts of public charity and private benevolence, would not the world regard his crime as, at worst, a pardonable one ?

Sitting in amiable and delightful converse with the young mistress of Moor Hall, such thoughts as these would flit through the mind of the big, handsome, brown-bearded man. It was a pleasure unutterable to look into her soft, dark eyes, mark the lovely lines of her sweet face, be in her presence, listen to her voice, and dream of what might be.

Early one evening, when the second month of the year- was fast running itself out, the new cottonmaster found himself at Moor Hall alone with Leah. He had called to see Mr. Thurston-Saverne on some small matter relating to the mills ; had been told by Simon’s sister that her brother was away in Moorclough, and was not expected till dinner ; and when ho would have

withdrawn she had prevailed on her visitor to take a cup of tea.

He had accepted her kindly offer with alacrity, and taken the cup that cheers from her white hands. The day was drawing in, and the gas was not yet lit, and there in the soft, dusking gloom of the room, made cosy by a glowing lire, they had sat, and sipped and chatted like old and close friends. “I daresay, Miss Thurston-Saverne that you will believe as the rest of the world does, that I am not only one of the mo3t fortunate of men, but also one of the happiest ? " “Of course, I do," was her ready, half-smiling response ; “and are you not, Mr. Saverne ? "

“I am not," he replied, lowly. “I know that I ought to be, and yet— Well you know what the poet says to the effect that one never is, but always to be blest ? Now that is how I find myself. I came here happy enough, rose rapidly, owing to a kinsman possessed of a noble soul ; and only two months ago he raised me to the very seventh heaven -of Joy by showering wealth and position upon me." “And yet you are not flfuito happy, v she asked, quietly, her fine eyes bent fully on him for a moment. “Not quite. I was even nearer complete happiness J think, when merely my cousin’s paid servant. I was absolutely satisfied then, and I am not now. Well, it is the old saying showing itself true again. The more one gets the more one desires."

His manner was very restrained, his voice was low, though a suppressed thrill ran through it, and there was something about him which her with a mild curiosity. “That seems strange to me, Mr. Saverne, for your life is a fuller and more satisfactory one than it ever could have been before. You are master 'now of your own career and fortunes ; you have mills to control and the welfare of hundreds of workpeople to think of ; and there is scarcely one of the joys of life that men desire which you need Jto deny yourself." “There is one of the joys of life—the greatest joy—that I dare no more than dream of," he cried with a low intensity of feeling.

“And—that "—she was about to add, but catching a glimpse of his eyes and face she choked down the word, while her dark face flushed rosily. “And that I dare not speak of now," he added, dropping his ardent gaze. “But I thank you, Miss Thurston-Saverne, for saying one thing. True enough I have the welfare of hundreds of poor workfolks in my keeping, and it was to speak of a scheme with respect to them that I came to see your brother."*

“Then stay to meet Simon, and dine here, or return later to see him " she suggested. “1 regret to say that an appointment will prevent me from accepting either of your kind suggestions, Miss Thurston-Saverne. But if I tell you of my scheme you will perhaps mention to him, and then when he has thought it over, we can discuss it afterwards."*

‘And your scheme, Mr. Saverne ?‘

"Is roughly this. I am a far wealthier man now than I ever dreamed of becoming and may become richer each year. Having so recently been a worker myself. I cannot help thinking of those struggling fathers and mothers, sons and daughters, who sweat and labour to enrich me."

“I have heard that you are doing all that even a good master can be expected to do for his workpeople," she said, warmly. '

“Perhaps so, but that is not all I can do. or mean to do. > Every year I intend to set aside a substantial percentage of the profits realized from the mills, and those profits shall be divided each Christmas or New Year among the work-folks. That, roughly, is the scheme I desire to have your brother’s opinion on." “And a noble scheme it is in every why," was her hearty comment, made with sparkling eyes. “Of course I will tell Simon, and he is sure to approve of it. Perhaps I may even persuade him to institute some such plan with regard to his miners."

“I am glad to hear that you like my idea, Miss Thurston-Saverne and I shall most certainly carry it out now. Honestly I felt called upon to do something for my workers in order to mark my sense of gratitude for my very good fortune/ And there is every reason why I should. I am a plain man, have no ambitions save one —one that* can never be realized, I know—and when once I have set everything in order, I may decide to leave the neighbourhood altogether." “Leave the neighbourhood, Mr. Saverne ? " she ejaculated, in open astonishment. “Why, in the name of goodness, should you dream of doing such a thing ? " “Because I dare not remain here much longer," he answered, lowly and earnestly, his voice ringing true

enough then. ’To remain 'sJfilgfit only expose me as a fool, a schemer, and dreamer, and one whose good luck has' scattered his “Mr. Saverne ! I do not understand. Will you explain' ? What is the one ambition you cherish whiph can never be realized ? " “Miss—Cousin,Leah, it is this," he cried huskily, starting to his feet, the glow of the fire falling fully on a sorely troubled countenance. “When I first set foot In the village, last year I was heart-whole, and had never known what the love of a woman meant to a man. Then my eyes were opened, and I understood that only a woman can quite fill a man’s life." *

His rush of words stopped suddenly and they wore regarding each other in a room? dusk-filled save where the fireglow fell. She was seated with her white hands clasped on her lap, her dark face flushed, but whether by tell-tale feelings or the red coals he could not say. But she was silent and he spoke again, in a more measured strain now. “And the woman my soul went out to with a rush was as far above me in goodness and loveliness as the Queen of England is far above my factory girl. And to make matters still worse, it was only the other day that her brother raised me out of the gutter, as it were, and now I dare to raise my eyes to his sister. Leah,-Leah ! Can you understand ? Have I offended—insulted you ?*’ “I understand," she said, quietly, and rose, trembling a little, but mistress of her voice and acts.

“Yes, I understand, Mr. Saverne ; but you have said nothing to offend or insult me." “Thank Heaven for that ! " was his exclamation. “And may I dare to hope a little then ? “No, no. Hardly that/-*

“Then I will go away and never set foot here again, if you but say the word," he cried despairingly. “Even that sir, I do not wish you to do. For what you have done and said I cannot blame you, nor can I blame myself. From the first I admired you, Mr. Saverne, and I was deeply sorry tor you later when I learned who you were. Even now I am greatly interested in s.ll 'that concerns you . But love ? No. It is not that I feel for you, I fear." “May I wait, then—without daring to hope, Leah?" he asked humbly, his hungry eyes sweeping her from head to foot.

“Yes, wait—and you may perhaps hope a little, my cousin. In a fev months’ time I may understand myself better than I do now."

“Heaven bless you for that, dear Cousin Leah ! he exclaimed in a tone of deep thankfulness ; and striding forward he caught her soft, warm hands in his own big ones, carried —them to his lips unchidden, unopposed, and covered them with burning kisses.. A minute afterwards he was pacing homeward in the best of humours. Ho had taken the often-contemplated plunge, and had not been rejected with contumety—had even been bidden to hope a little.

When Thurston-Saverne returned, his sister told him of their kinsman's visit and scheme. Simon thought his relative’s scheme an excellent one ; said it was possible he might adopt a similar scheme himself at an early date, and seemed eager to meet the other and discuss all the pros and cons of the matter with him. But it was not till after dinner wets over, and they wene seated in the drawing-robm alone that she ventured to speak of what had taken place a couple of hours or so earlier. She had been playing the piano and singing a little, when, she turned suddenly to remark : “Simon, dear, I had quite a wonderful and not-to-be-forgqtten thing happen to me to-dasf.” t 4 “Indeed! Leah ! What* was it pray ? " “A gentleman proposed to me, and I neither quite refused nor accepted him."

“Ha, ha ! ” and he laughed. “Not sure of yourself, eh, or uncertain of him. And your would-be lover? What of him ? Do I know him ? Has' the right man at last shown himself on your horizon, dear ? If it is so, I trust with all my heart that better luck than mine may be yours.“ “You know him well, Simon—no man better ; apd I believe you admire, honour, and like the man as much as I do. It was our cd£sin, Aaron Saverne, who asked me—who spoke of his love to me." • “Aaron Saverne ! " he ejaculated. He was amazed but not annoyed for his handsome face was frank and untroubled.

“Yes, Aaron Baverne/ dear brother. You are not annoyed because he dared to speak thus to me ?” “Annoyed ? Certainly not, my dear Leah ! What makes you think such a thing possible ? Have I not shown in every way that I could that I liked and trusted this relative of ours. And is he not almost all that one could desire in a man ? Honest, straightforward, manly, able, good-looking, and yet simple and trustworthy in all his ways." “Aaron Saverne possesses all these qualities, I believe, Simon," she said firmly ; “and it is on that account that I respect and like him so much, but liking is not love, you know." “I do know, Leah," he said with quiet bitterness, “for I am unfortunate enough to love a woman whom I cannot respect."

“So you see why I hesitated, dear ? "

“I do ; and you were right to hesitate. Love, after all, is the chief of life’s gifts, the real value- of which we only appreciate when we have missed it, dear Leah. You must not do that, nor, if possible, must you err on the other side." “I see that, Simon, and so I am trying to pick my way carefully." “Do, and whatever you may decide on doing, I feel certain you will be right. I have, absolute faith in your strong commonsense, and you must do that which you think best." “That is just the course I intend so follow ; and yet if the >*.whole truth is to-be admitted ShpoA. there is one thing which' tend* to sway me towards Aaron Saverne's wish." “What is that ? " he asked, f “The knowledge that our cousin has been until lately the innocent victim of • untoward circumstances, and it has seemed that my, marriage with him would be some sort, of a

recompense for any done to him." “You are wrong there, dear Leah" he cried positively. “You owe this man nothing, and it would be absolutely unfair to you if you sacrificed yourself from a mistaken sense of duty. And -don't forget, pray, that pity is not love." “That is a point I am trying to settle in my own mind," she replied and there the matter was allowed to rest.

CHAPTER XXV. THE BEGINNING OF DOUBT.

About a couple of weeks after Mr. Aaron Saverne made that confession of love to Leah, a small incident occurred which, though apparently of trifling moment, was destined - to have great and far-reaching consequences.' One evening business had detained the new master at the mills considerably later than usual. Saverne and his chief manager had been going over the plans and details of fresh machinery for one of the oldest factories, and were still in the master's office, which overlooked the factory yard, when the boom and whirr of the multitude of machines died down, and the big buildings began to disgorge their, stream of workers. The cotton lord was standing by one of the windows, incuriously scanning the current of operatives as it flowed below, when a face caught his eyes and held them atrangely. He had started, \his heart had given an unpleasant jump, his jaw had set hard as iron, and an affrighted look had gleamed in his eyes. But in a moment he was himself again, and was speaking to his manager.

“Morton, come here, please. You know the deep interest I take in all my workpeople, and I thought I knew everyone of them. But I see a new face—one I \do not know, I think." “Which one is that, Mr. Saverne?" / “That girl of nineteen or twenty who is standing by the corner of the new mill. She is short, plump, has a fine pink and white face, and is wearing a plaid shawl* with red stripes on it. A bonnie lass of somebody’s, and some lad's sweetheart, too, I’ll wager, but I'm ready to swear I have never seen her here before.’’

‘Most likely you have not, sir

the manager said, with a smile. “She is a new hand—only started last Monday, you see, and her name is Susan Rufford."

“Some lass out of the village, I daresay, Morton ! "

“Oh, no, Mr. Saverne. The young woman belongs to neither Moor Green nor Moorclough ; comes from Blackburn way, so she said, for I took her on myself ; and as she is quieter and neater than the run of mill girls, I found her a set of looms with pleasure."

“And quite right, too, Mortdn. And now, if you are quite ready we will go."

Mill-master and manager left the offices in company, to part a little later, when each went his own way. On his way to The Woodlands, Aaron Saverne was pondering the problems that unexpected glimpse of Susan Rufford had raised in his mind. What queer chance had drifted the young weaver to that corner of Lancashire ? And was it possible In at her mother, Mrs. Fell, had drifted thither also ? Even after the lapse of so many years he had “spotted" the girl at once. But would either the bonnie daughter or her mother ever recognize him in case they met ? Half those self-put interrogations were to be answered much sooner than the interrogator imagined. yEie was enjoying the dainty repast his housekeeper, Mrs. Robinson, had set before him, when she made a remark that arrested his wandering thoughts at once. “Oh, Mr. Saverne," she cried, blandly. “I had a most unexpected visitor this afternoon." “Indeed ! Well, you are mistress here, Mrs. Robinson, and are at liberty to receive any of your friends, you know."

“Yes, and I thank you, sir," the widow smilingly said. - “But the woman is scarcely a friend of mine —though we were friendly enough for all that ; and she came to see yoii as much as me, Mr. Saverne.’ s “I don’t know a woman in all the village," he mildly protested, “excepting Miss Thurston-Saverne, and yourself."

“And this woman you haven’t ever seen, Mr. Saverne," she went on enjoying his mystification. “But she did stop with me a couple' of days while you were away in Wales and it was owing to you, sir, that I wrote to her."“What ! Mrs. Fell ?"

“Yes, that’s the lady—the deserted wife of your old friend and fellowlodger, who called himself Mat Rainford."

“And whatever In the name of goodness could she want with me?" he demanded. “I daresay she’s heard that I and her rascal of a husband knew one another, has heard, too, of my rise in life ; and expects me to help her, eh ? Well, I don’t mind doing that, but I can't be bothered with the woman coming here, Mrs. Robinson?*? “I knew that, sir, and so I didn’t make her overwolcome. But I don't think she came here to ask for any monetary assistance, Mr. Saverne—indeed I don't. In her way Mrs. Fell is a bit independent ; and the Way that man treated her was shameful ; but he’s dead and gone, and I’ll say nothing of that. And I believe she only came here thinking you might tell her something of the dead man."

“I know nothing but what I told you Mrs. Robinson—not a single thing. And it seems strange that she should come all the way from Blackburn to ask questions about the man she is well rid of.*'

“That'3 what I thought at first, sir, until she explained matters. She tells me that she and her dlfcighter have come to live at Moor Green and that her lass is already working as a weaver in your shed. And when you come to think of it, it isn’t £o 'qtrange after all, Mr. Saverne.’’

“How is that ? " he asked, dissembling his annoyance and amazement, >

“Well, you see, It’s this way. lAs the widow of the man who lost his life Mrs. Fell is entitled to five shila week for life, or until she marries again, from the Miners’ Permanent Relief Society ; but to get the money she has to come over here for it. and so it struck her that it would be better to settle down in the village, and especially as the

new manager or tne. Moor tfreen pits is a relative of hers, and is very good to her as well." “The new manager—the man who .look my pLac<? you mean ? But who is he, Mrs. Robinson ? "

* “Some young gentleman they call Rufford—Mr. Philip Rufford, , sir ; and Mrs. Fell's first husband and this new manager were related, so she tells me." “Ah, I see," was his indifferent response. “I remember now, that my cousin, Mr. Thurston-Saverne, did speak of some gentleman he had appointed to succeed me, but I did not catch the name, nor have I seen the man himself. But what of this Mrs. Fell ? " he went on in the same tone of indifference. “Do you expect her to call again ? *’ “She said she would call, and even asked what time it was best to catch you in. I said almost any evening from five to seven, sir ; but if you.don't want to see her, I can easily make some sort of an excuse, Mr. Saverne."

“I beg you to do nothing of the sort, Mrs. Robinson," he said sharply and almost sternly. “Of course I detest being . bothered by this woman's inquiries, but there is no reason why I should birrude enough to refuse such a request. Should Mrs. Fell come here again whenever I am in I will see her at once."

you, Mr. Saverne," the widow said and withdrew. j

Five minutes afterwards the troubled cotton master was standing in another room r where a cheerful .fire was burning. It was a snug apartment which he had set aphrt for himself and which was known as his study, and here he poured out a whisky and soda and l!> a 'cigar ere seating himself to, ponder the difficulty that was staripg him in the face.

That woman and her daughter here at Moor Green, and also the nephew of her first husband. A strange coincidence, surely, and a perilous one, too, that should almost simultaneously appear on the scene. And yet neither of the three would ever dream of calling his identity into question. Still it was curious, and he felt uneasy. When Mrs. Fell had come over last year to see Mat Rainford buried had Mrs. Robdiffcon spoken of the strange resemblance existing between her two lodgers ? In all lrke-t lihood she had not done so, but she might have allowed the matter to slip this ,afternoon ; and it was quite on the cards that the woman then living in the village might have heard from many other sources that “Alf. Lyndon and “Mat Rainford" had come to the “Green " together, and were “tho spit o’ one another." But the man sitting there had gone too far now to dream of turning tail at the first signs of danger. Already his darfng and craft had made him master of thousands of pounds ; and all that money, the position he filled were as nothing when contrasted against what he hoped to win. Even at this hour one of the loveliest women in England, and one with fifty thousand too was on the •point of accepting him. _Was he to scuttle off now like a cowardly fool and lose the greatest prize on earth? No ! Ho was rather the man to take the bull by the* horns and put his fate to the touch by facing everything. Next morning he faced one danger coolly like a brave man. He put himself in the way of Mr. ThurstonSaverne expressed wish—to make his successor's acquaintance ; and in a little while the three men were facing each other at the manager's office, near the Moor Green Collieries.

“Mr. Saverne, this is my new chief Mr. Rufford ; Rufford, this is my cousin, Mr. Aaron Saverne. You. are both old miners, and I expect will become good friends." The bearded giant and .the tall, florid-faced man shook hands pleasantly. Then the conversation became general for a time ere the masters strolled away.

“Good Heaven, what a resemblance ! ” Philip Rufford cried as he strode to the office window and watched the others walk slowly away. “If I had not known for an absolute certainty that Dick Fell was dead and buried, I should have been ready to swear on oath that this man was he ! To save Mrs. Fell from a terrible shock some day, I must tell 0 her of this."

(To be continued.)