K^it«£2“ e EAl! ™'
(Continued.)
,iv thev P“ sspd 011 t 0 a scarcel - v
■rl the’ wharf, where Tom had
■L" nee or twice through all his
B' been ° fservice. Tom remember-
■ I'r'ome fellow-workmen had told
K , v beneath the tiled river terrace
Ks Billiter mansion, and then he had
K e ~d where a door led which stood
■Lail farthest from the warehouses.
K lit by only two small porthole win
■s dark with’dirt. whose shutters were
■Lin general closed. But a small
■bmp swinging from the ceiling was
King sluggishly, casting some insufh
■light over the dismal place.
■ r . Billiter walked straight to the
iHi.vhich had aroused Tom’s specula-
■ He opened it. and signed his hesi
■gservant to follow him.
■rn found himself in a small square
■j. whose ancient odor of damp and
>■o not even a blazi ig lire had effect
■v dissipated. It was carpeted and
’■ified with some plain pretension to
■tort. There were food and wine
"■diig on a little quaint sideboard,
■own down in a corner, lay a knap
and other small packings. And
the fire, with his face to
■stliem as they entered, sat a young
'
■illieir entrance he did not stir limb
He sat steadfastly gazing at
■glowing coals in the grate. A tall,
young man, in the garb
but with marks on his
I,,u ghand hasty travel through
sliß’ eit " tWeat '’ er ' l lad thick, fair
p e^K Pt)l^r ‘ Billiter s thin iron-gray
, lv jß IK ' Stes^ra y e y es for his dark
on^B" l ° n . es ' P)llt st 'h there was that in his
loK toldTo ™ he was of his mas
and kin.
Warriner.” said Mr. Billi-
I L’ 1 tone "i'ich Torn never
C L beying ’ though he pio
■LLn ’' s . C(,m Pl’ ances by occupv
" KliL w '" Ch ° f the nearesl chair
W'W a, H n i r ' Th ‘ ltgentleman
commanded
h* nvith great diffl udtv „ 1
Kkr | . Ull, nulty— “done
‘'"■Mb ' S PUnished with a
American
o| l'Wn L" 1 ' knovv ’ is lying
i,ing ,or the
qif^B isil boatl’r' K1 .' )arsman ’ so ’ s he.
1 ■ anti ht inL* below yonder win
|MinL L" 1 a namw —
notice H glound ' and which
** BRblauL Wascare fullv blinded
want of
6 ! ake that gentle.
1 • 11 Sll p, You shall
get moie by it than an informer would
get to give him up to the law.”
lom did not even notice the last
words. He was rather confounded by
the sudden tiansiHon from the homely
happiness of his own fireside to this
murky' atmosphere of mystery. But his
brain was still acute enough to take a
straightforward knowledge of the “rights
and wrongs” of it.
“It isn’t murder, is it?” he asked in a
whisper.
“No—on, no. Mr. Billiter answered
almost impalientlv.
“Ton must cuse me askin' questions,
sir, said candid Tom, “maybe von
needn t trust me less for not wanting to
go quite blindfolded. Is there anyone
that hasn t been in the sin—maybe suf
fered trom it instead—that’ll be worse
oft if this young gentleman escapes than
if he was punished, il 1 may make so
bold, sir?”
For the first time since their entrance
the figure before the fire stirred, and an
swered for himself.
“ ‘The sin’ was not committed—only
planned. Some have already suffered
for it, but my life could not restore their
lives. The ‘sin’ was high treason.”
The voice was rich and powerful, but
with a tone of reckless bravado, which
Tom scarcely noticed in his feeling of
horror that over the youth before him,
his old master s own nephew, hung the
dreadful doom that had just overtaken
several malcontents and conspirators in
the midland counties, thrilling the king
dom with a feeling of pain and shame
that had reached even to the humble
politicians of Cocker’s Rents.
Tom Warriner was loyal. He loved
the poor dazed old king, and knew all
the pretty stories of Windsor domestic
life and cottage Bible-givinf. He be
lieved that “the gover’ment” might be
wrong enough sometimes, “like every
thing else, but was a deal nearer right
than those as tried to upset it.” But
here he was face to face with the young
traitor, all forlorn and defeated, with his
life in his hand, lurking in this insecure
ly secret retreat. The sparrow may
have been stealing the corn, and the
great six-foot farmer, with a big gun in
his hand, may have been quite justified
in setting a trap for it; but when we see
the little thing beating its wings against
the wires, is it very' wicked'of us to lift
the trap and let the bird out at a safe
distance? There will always be spai
rows, and one here and there does not
make much difference except to the
birdie itself. The king was safe at
Windsor, with his guards about him,
and his great forts ready, and an army
waiting to fight for him. And heie was
this youngster, the noose round his neck,
fairly in lorn Warriner’s hand.
“I 11 do it, said loin. “I don’t be
lieve the king hisself would blame me.
He has to be so severe when be catches
em, that 1 11 be bound he’s glad to miss
’em sometimes. I’m ready, master.”
The young man rose, put on a rough
muffling outer-garment, and took up his
knapsack .nd other traps. The un< 1 ■
and nephew looked at each other in si
lence, and then the former blew out the
light before he removed the screen from
the window. It was dark work. Tom
and the stranger fell their wav along a
narrow parapet into the boat, while Mr.
Bi Uiter cautiously unloosed the moor
ings. 'Though they were so close that
they could hear the slip of the rope, the
gloom was so profound that they could
not see it. Not a word was uttered not
one good-bye.
Swiftly, stealthily they rowed on till
they were fairly cleai of the crowd of
shipping and barges. All that time the
young man had worked hard, so that
it took Tom's utmost skill to keep pace
with him. But no sooner were thev in
the open river than he ceased from his
straining exertions, and rested wearily
on his oars.
“I hope it is not too much for you,
sir,” said Tom respectfully, after a pro
longed pause.
There was no answer except a hard
breath, and a resumption of the rowing.,. /
It was an eerie journey. There had
been nothing to win Tom in the strang
er’s repellant silence or haughty expla
nation ; and now the very darkness shut
out even the dumb appeal of his young
years and manly beauty. Yet the good
man’s simple heart yearned pitifully to
wards his unknown companion. It
seemed so sad to be going out thus in
the dark, floating down the river to the
ocean like a broken, useless straw. Tom
thought of his own boy at home, and
how he and his mother would be sitting
down to supper at this very minute ; and
then he wondered where was the woman
on whose knee this lad had lain, and
what thev were doing—whoever they
were—in the house where he had been
brought up. He wrought himself up till
ha could keep silence no longer.
“Cheer up. sir.” he said kindly:
“you’ll have a brighter coming back
some day.”
“Coming back!” echoed the other
scornfully, as it he picked up Tom’s
words to cheapen them. “No coming
back for me. If there’s no more lor m»
elsewhere than here, at least there can’t * „
be less.”
(Continued.)
Sam Jones, of Cincinnati, says: “I
would rather be five hundred old maids
than the wife of one drunkard.”
7