AN UNCONSCIOUS CRIME; OR, THE BERISFORD TRAGEDY. (By Major Alired Rochefort.)

Te Aroha News, Volume IV, Issue 158, 26 June 1886, Page 8

AN UNCONSCIOUS CRIME; OR, THE BERISFORD TRAGEDY. (By Major Alired Rochefort.)

CHAPTER XIV. A FRIEND IN ML.KD. Avovt tho time of the night, her whereabouts, or tho direction in which the horae was carrying her, Miriam did not have the faintest idea. She realized that she was in the midst of a great danger and wholly powerless to resist. No outcry could avail ; so she compressed her lips and eat more erect in the saddle. She came of a race whoee courage rose with the danger, and she would have died as heroically alone as if the eyes of the world were fastened on her. At length their came a lull in the storm, and Miriam imagined that she saw away in the advance— how far she could not tell — a light. It vanished ao suddenly that she was be- | ginning to think that her senses had deceived her, when again it flashed out, this time clear and steady and distinct. " Oh ! thank God !" she exclaimed, fervently. The horse snorted and quickened his pace in the direction of the light. Above the roaring of the torrent and the howling of the rain -laden wind, Miriam hoard the deep baying of a hound in the advance. i Ordinarily this would havo alarmed her, for tho bloodhounds bell-liko barking tells upon the strongest nerves, but now she . heard it with a thrill of delight. * Halloo ! Halloo ! Halloo !" came a highstrung voice from the direction of the light. "Halloo!' replied Miriam with all u her strength. " Lost ?" bhouted the voice. "I was!" replied Miriam, now able to distinguish a tall, dark figure, that stood ■with a torch held high above its head. Back of the man Miriam could see the dim outline of a series of low buildings, and she rightly came to the conclusion that her faithful horse had brought Jber to the home of the Mountain Hermit. *' What ! Miss Beripford ?" exclaimed the Jooke, as he advanced towards Miriam, and the light of his torch fell on the pale, resolute face and drenched form. " Yes, Mr Duke ; I loat my way this evening —or laet evening, whichever it may be— and I was beginning to fear that I should never find it again when I saw your light and heaid your dog." "Ah ! you are a true Beriaford," said the hermit, as he took the bridle and led the horse to the open door oi one of the cabim . " I do not often have a visitor of your sex, and so my accomodationi are not of 'the best." he added, as h« let his torch on tht

ground, and reaching up his powerful arms, lifted her from the saddle with the ease and gentleness that indicated his immense strength. " If you can give me shelter till daylight, and then put me on the trail to Willowmoc," said Miriam, " you will do an act of much needed kindness." "Whatever I have, my life included," paid the hermit, with a gaJlantry that was highly chivalric, "is at your service. Come into the cabin ; your horse will stand hitched hero, and when I have seen to making you comfortable I shall give him the bed and shelter which he do well deserves." He led Miriam into a low room, hung round with curious arms and trophies of the chase that had never rewarded the hunter in the Blue Mountains. He piled dry logs on the broad open hearth, before which he placed a big easychair. " Sit down here," he said, " until I get you some warm, dry clothing, which, if not originally intended for your sex, will suffice to keep you comfortable till your own things have dried. This will be your room. See there is a cot at the other end." " I fear that I am not only breaking in on your rest, but giving you a great deal of trouble," she said. "I regret that you lost your way; let mo assure you that you have found a friend." He brought her a lot of soft flannel gavments and a long wrappor, like a robe de chamber, made of soft furs, and fastened with a cord. He laid these, with sosne towels, on the chair beside her, and said : "Make yourself comfortable. This is your own room. See, there are two doors and they bolt on the inside. When I have cared tor your horse I shall get you something to eat. I can hear to no protests. When your supper is ready I will rap on that door, and in a room adjoining you will find the table set. Now, good night." He went to tke door by which Miriam had entered, and was about to go out when she called to him again : " Am 1 not to see you again ?" " Not till morning. You are weary, and when you have eaten I want you to lie down on that couch and sleep as contentedly a 9 if you were in your own room at Berisford Manor." There was that in the hermit's quiet manner, that Miriam could not think of opposing, co she said : '"Thank you, and good night," and he was gone. Though a world too wide, she found the clothing warm and comfortable. She placed her own things to firy on chairs before the great fire, and she wa' again sitting in the easy-chair, and feeling she could go to sleep there with the greatest ease, when she heard a rap at the door and the hermit's voice calling out : " Come through this door." She rose at once and opened the door, when there was revealed to her a little room, with a table in the centre, on which burned a lamp. Milk, honey, bread, fish, and a little pot of steaming tea, all nicely served, made up the supper she found awaiting her. She looked around, but could not see her host. He had alwaya been a mysterious being to her, now he wae more so than ever ; but she showed her appreciation of his generous thoughtfulnesß by eating with -such a relish afc she had never before felt for food. The supper over, she returned to the first room and bolted the door behind her. She turned her clothes, drying before the great fire, and then lay down on the couch at the other end of the room, where she could still feel the cheerful heat, •' Vv ell," she said, aloud, as she stretched herself out, " This has indeed been a day of adventure. It teems like a year since I left Willowemoc. How poor father will worry about me to-night. Let me think the events of the day over." She began at the beginning ; but she had not reached, in her mind, the time when the BtGrm burst upon her, when her eyelids grew heavy, her thoughts refused to be controlled, and then came the profound oblivion of refreshing sleep. It was broad daylight the following morning when she opened her eyes. Appliances for washing had been brought in by the hermit, without disturbing her. She had just completed her toilet, when she heard a tap on the door, through which she had gone out to her supper the night before, and in response to her "come in," her host appeared " I hope you have rested well," he said "Never better in my life," she replied. "And now as I am anxious to relieve my father's anxiety, I will hurry back to Willowemoc, profoundly grateful for your kindness." "Last night after you lay down," said the hermit, " I wont to a valloy three miles oft", where a friend lives, and I sent him with a letter explaining your adventure and your safety to your father So you will seethero is no need for anxiety, though 1 shall ride back with you after you have eaten your breakfast. Miriam could not express her great thankfulness for this ; indeed, her host did not give her time, for as soon as he finished speaking he opened the door and led the way into the little room before described, The apartment was full of light, and in the place occupied by the lamp on the night before, there was a graceful bouquet of wild flowers and brilliant autumn leaves. "I had my breakfast long since," eaid \ the hermit, pointing to the table, " for you j appeared to be sleeping, and I did not like to di&turb you. While you are eating, I will get the horses ready." He bowed and was gone before she could make any comment. She had often felt curious to know more of the dignified, mysterious man who appeared at times in the village of Willowemoc to sell his honey ; but now that she found herself in his home her wonder increased ; while tier curiosity — it was of a most interested kind — was farther than ever from being gratified As soon as she had finished breakfast, she went out the open door, and found herself in an extensive flower garden, which, though the autumn was well advanced, still retained much of its summer glory. The storm had died out ; the mountains rose up on every hand into the clearest of skies ; the resinous odour of the distant pines blended with the perfumes of the flow era, co that the mere act of breathing was a pleasure. The hum of beea, the satisfied lowing of distant kine, and the ripple of the stream that flowed through the valley, came to Miriam's ears like a soothing music. The hermit closed and locked his house, and then brought up the horses and assisted Miriam to mo ant. With his rifle slung at his back, he vaulted into the saddle with an ease and grace which Miriam had never seen equalled. "Now for Willowemoc !" he said, aa the horses started off, and he pointed to the depression in front that marked the pass by which they must leave the valley. " 1 have given and am giving you much trouble," said Miriam, as they started oft ; " and it pains me to think that I shall never bo able to repay you." "lam repaid now," he said. "Henceforth my cftbift will seem brighter for your being there." " I! I could only show my appreciation by entertaining you it Beruford Manor," she

aaid, half in doubt) as to how he would it take the suggestion, "1 thank you, but that may not be, though there was a time — it was long before - you wer»- born -when I thought the old Manor the happiest place this side of heaven." A light flashed over his strong, handsome face, but the noxt instant the habitual cloud took ita place. "It is better for myself, perhaps better for the world,\ he continued, " that I live as I do." " 1 dare not ask you to lift, for my gratification, the veil which you have dropped between the world and yom life, though I am sure it hides> nothing unworthy by a noble man. Should you ever think the time has come for me to show my high esteem, you will let me know." As Miriam fpoke she reached out her hand, which the hermit clasped and held reverently for some seconds. II There is something I would aBk," he said, slowly ; " something that will affect my happiness only as it affects your life. I live all alone, as you see, yet I do not remain in ignorance of the bußy, jostling world which I have left forever. I still retain an interest in some people, and you are one of them — " 11 1 thank you for tiut," she interrupted. " It has come to my knowledge,'' he continued, " that you and one Shirley Benson are to be married ; is that true?" f " It— it is," she stammered, " Better, far better for you would it have been," said the hermit solemnly, " had you died in the sto m last night. {To 5e Continued.)