CHAPTER XI— (Continued)

Waikato Times, Volume XXIV, Issue 1982, 21 March 1885, Page 1 (Supplement)

CHAPTER Xl— (Continued)

The boy thought be was speaking too loudly, and went on in a lower lona, but without abating ° ne jot of the fierce anger that always took possession cf him when he spoke of Dan Lyons, and which had dried up his tearß now. Ho did not pee that every word was as a knife through quivering flesh to his eorelytried mother. 11 It rauat be, mother 1 If Resignation has been killed, Dan Lyons has done it, and he is alive and here again at Marr&nga. Ob, if I could meet him face to face, and — and kill him 1" "My son, my eon, don't !" Ellen pleaded again. " I can't bear to hear you talk so 1 I uon't bear to hear you say jou too would like to be a murderer!" " Killing Dan Lyons would be no murder," the boy permuted, with a frown ; "it would be less harm than to scotch a snake. Every one thinks ho, and says so. I heard the Dorans and Ted Brown and a lot oi men talking about it near No. 1 claim the other day, and they declared that if he waß ever to put bis foot on Marranga they would lynch him." "Lynch him !" she gasped. " Yea ; hang him without waiting for the law, you know, and I'd like to help them." "Lord, have pity upon me," the poor woman murmered, as she hid her face in her hands, " and have mercy upon him if he lives I" Who was Ellen praying for? Could it be possible that her fears and her pity and prajer was for Dan Lyono, the murderer ?" " Never mind, dear mother," Baid the lad, seeing her agitation, yet not guessing its true cause, " I won't talk about it any more. You are so kind, just like that you pity every living thing. I will just go out once more to see Guardian, and then 1 will go to bed as you want me." Ao the night waned, Ellen Griflith eat by her unconscious mistress, listening to her murmured ravingp, or stood by her boy's bed gazing at him with a mother's unutterable love ; and, alas ! with an unutterable pain also— a pain that no one but God might know of, and that no one, no one, could ever share. What an infinity of suffering is the poor human heart capable of, only that woman may realiec who has not one being to whom she may speak of her misery, but mußt keep it all to herself, hidden and hedged in until her heart, the reservoir, breaks, or death pUeously covers her eyes with his pale, heavy band. In her restless sleep, Mrs. St. Herrick ipoke of strange things that seemed to have no connection with the recent bereavement which had Rtrickcn her down. She talked of a man hidden far away in some lonely monastery, and rejoiced in the bitter suffering the weight of his crimes had laid upon him. Bbc scorned him with hard words as if he had been on his knees before her and begging for her forgiveness in abject humility. She told him to die unforgiven, and meet a Maker that should be more unforgiving still. If she bad been a cruel ignorant savage, who bad never known better than the old law of " blood for blood," instead of a tenderly-natured and once tenderhearted woman, she could not have given utterance to more hard or relentless words. And Ellen listened to it all, God help her, as she had for nearly twelve years listened to such sentiments from every being round Marranga who had known Dan Lyons and his ci.'me ; but she listened, wondering by what moans Mrs. St. Herrick had come to believe that the murderer was alive, and had found refugo in a foreign monastery. The widow had kept her promise to Father James; ehr bad not divulged the object of his strange visit. Who could have told her this, and wan it true? were the questions that Ellen asked herHclf over and over again in the night watches an she attended to the stricken woman, and the answer came to her just as the first dawn streaked the east. Suddenly Mrs. Ht. Herrick opened her eyes, i,at up in bed, and recognised her nurse. Her faco waa ghastly white, her long dark hair wav streaming around her, and damp with the dew of Buffering. Her great dark eyes had an awful wildness in them as they Bearched the room, and then settled on Ellen Griffiths' face. " Has he gone, Ellen ? " she , asked in a whisper. " There i« no one here, my dear mistress," the woman replied soothingly." "Ho has been here, you know, and he will b*unt me until he gains his purpose. But I will never give in, you may tell him that, Ellen Griftiths. I will never forgive Dan liyona either in this or the other world 1 " " Dear mißtresa, there has been no one here but my little boy, and he is gone to bed. Who did you fancy was here ?" "It was no fancy woman Ihe was here. It was that priest, you know, the man with the white face and terrible eyea." " Father Jamei Brady ? " questioned Ellen. " Yes, Father James, that's what ho called himself. Tell him ho needn't wait— it ia no utfe. If the lilting dl my little finger could

-ay( J>an Ljonn fiom itt inal punishment I would not lift, it— l told bun ho icfoic." " Oh, mistress I " "It is true. 1 Fow tired I feel I Is my child comf 01 tably asleep?" " Yes, dear mistress, oil is well, do try and sleep|again." Then the invalid relapsed into her drctimy unconsciousness, and poor Ellen aat down dazed at the bedeide. How had thifl man Father James come to know anything about Dan Lyons in whom she, poor creature, took such a mysterious interest? Wheu had he visited the cottage, and how had he obtained such an influence over Mrs. St. Herrick aa to ensure her keeping his visit a secret? It had so happened that Ellen Griffiths had never happened yet to meet this Father James face to face, though she had seen his black-robed form often at a distance; now she wan occupied with s craving desire to see him, to question him of his acquaintance with Dan Lyons, yet bow dared she speak that wretched man's name without imparting PuspicionH as to what she would give her life to keep hidden 1 What connection had the sleeping boy with that hidden thing ? As hit) mother stooped over and kissed him, it was with a kiss of devotion, intermingled with the deepest pity. "My boy, my darling 1" she murmured ; "Ob, God will not surely be deaf to my almost hourly prayeis that you may never know." The sun had risen, and was throwing Blant beams against tho verdurous face of Mount Itobau, when Ellen, relieved from her watch by her sleeping nmtieds, left the cottage with a pail in her hand. Fanny Clark had taken her place for a few hours, and young Daniel had fed and potted the dog Guardian before starting off to join the organised search for Resignation. Ellen was ill and weak with more than the night's fatigue, and as she went down through the garden, odorous with tho lost child's pale bloßsoma, the cool air of the morning felt pleasant to her feverish brow. She was going down to the creek for water — the limpid, whispering creek that drifted onward between its green banks in a musical murmur, and whose wateis were cool and pleasant to the taste in the hotteßt of Bumnier day*. Before her and beyond her were upHprca r l tho eloping cemetery hill, tho spur of Hobin range crossed through its timbered hollow by the mail coach track, and the we ird, gloomy mouth of Murder Gully. Theie was not to be seen & human form as shu ncarcd the little bridge with its white pailmg. A few cows were Hoattered on the nearer uplands; a flock of sheep, just released from the hurdles, were spreading out on the green plain beyond the spur and the co&ch track. Marranga itself was hardly awake, for there was only one streak of smoke rolling i softly from one chimney in the township, and that was at the Marranga Hotel, at which was to be the rendevous of the searchers for ltesignation St. Ilerrick. Ellen gazed at it all for a moment, ere at the near end of the bridge sho went down the giecn bank to fill her pail at the creek ; but Ibc look might have been but tho memory of a dream bb fur as the notice she took of anything before her eyes, save one object, and that object was St. Herrick'a. Looking at its grey roof among the dark shrubberies, she thought only of Father James, and how Bhe might contrive to see and question him. As I she bent over the water to dip the pail in the i water wßere a sunray, penetrating the white railing of the bridge, made it glitter and hparkle, a shadow suddenly fell upon the tparkle, and she looked up to see leaning over the rail and down upon her Father James himuelf. Her heart began to beat with such bard throbs that the hand with which she lifted tho bucket shook, and the fluid was scattered as she olimbed up to the level of the bridge. The opportunity she had wished for was here ; What would Bhe do with it ? Haggard at all seasons, the face of Father James on this morning was terrible in its suggestion of a living death. We know what a night he had spent in combatting the imaginary spirits conjured up by a diseased brain, and that night, in addition to hundreds o£ nights previous, had left unoblitcrable stamps on his pallid countenance. The dark circles under bis hollow eyep, the drawn dry lips that almost refused to cover the long, yellow teeth, the sunken temples, where every vein could be distinctly traced — this was what Ellen Griffiths saw as she stood before him, when he turned at the sound of her •tep. He had not noticed her as, rambling he source knew where, the miserable being reached the bridge. On waking from his sleep of utter exhaustion, hia room bad seemed terrible to him, and to escape from it an immediate necessity. But, oh, what horrid memories followed him, memories whose awful shadows were deepened a hun-dred-fold by the awful reaction consequent on his last night's spirituous excitement 1 C«mmg on him suddenly in this mood, the face of Ellen Griffith seemed to turn him to rigid stone. And she, in her supreme surpriie, not to say terror, at something her eyes only of all Marranga had seen in the prießt'a visage, Ellen dropped her bucket to the ground, and uttered a cry of anguish. For a second only his eyes met her's, and then he raised his arm quickly and pulled his hat farther down on his forehead. She put her hand out as if she would have touched him or made him a motion of appeal, but he drow back angrily, and spoke in a hoarse voice : " Stand back woman 1 what do you mean ? How dare you ? " How dared ahe what ? Oh, merciful heaven, how dared she what, ? Ellen repeated it to herself as he kept bis arm still raised between them, and moved backward step by step until he had recovered himself partially, and could speak more composedly. " You startled me, aa I did not see you until you were close to me," he half apologised; " my health is very bad, and I am nervous. Did you wish to speak to me, my good woman ? " " Oh, Dan I " she moaned. " Oh, Dan 1 do you think it possible to deceive me? Oh, go, go, before other eyes open also 1 I am only a woman, and a deceived and betrayed one, but I could not see you suffer here under my very eyes. Oh, for the love and name of a merciful God, who forgives all sins, go before it it too late 1 " " You would seem to have taken up my late trade, whoever you »ie," was tho reply, accompanied by one of hia awful mocking sneers. " I think you mean to preach to whoever you mistake me for. I do not remember having seen you before. Havo you not heard of Father James Brady, who has taken the St. Herricks Cottage? " But Ellen only waved her arm desperately, and repeated her moan, " Dan, oh Dan 1" and then tho dark look, the fierce light, born of that Spirit oj Evil who had stood so often at the unhappy man's right hand, burned in his hollow eyes, and flashed its lightning in the woman's face. •• You are mad 1" he cried, " and I will not be annoyed by a lunatic. " Stand off, or I will strike yon I" " Oh, Dan, as if I would harm you. It is to save you before it is too late 1 Oh God, I | am dying 1" The unhappy creature felt herself growing diz/y, caught at the air to save herself, and fell insensible to tho ground. When ehe recovered, the cool morning breeze was sweeping over the water and kissing her white face, and there was no ono visible around her when she raised herself to her feet. Was it all a dream, as he* igitfttion and want of sleep dur-

inR the ni(-'lit had ovoreoino hci ? Hud slie really only ft-inUd, and fancied t-lio hud e< on Dan ? There wa» not ft houl nour liur, to be Bure, but there was a man hiding in the shelter of those dark treeß at SI. Hoirick'fl, and watuhing her as Blie carried her bucket through the cottage garden. Could he have told Ellon Griffith if it was in a dream she had seen the man she called Dan ?"