The Gold Brick. Ann S. Stephens

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СКАЧАТЬ did not leave the dead body of my husband to be trampled on by a band of negroes?"

      "We could not help it—the blacks were ten to one."

      "But did no one see him but yourself? Did no one try to help him?"

      "Yes, one man."

      "And who was he?"

      "A fellow by the name of Rice."

      "What! Katharine Allen's half brother?"

      Thrasher turned paler than he had done before that evening. "Her brother—I did not know that," he muttered, uneasily.

      Mrs. Mason did not heed this; the conviction of her great loss grew more and more distinct to her mind; all the desolation that must follow the cruel news of that evening crowded upon her. She folded the little girl close to her heart, and began to weep over her in bitter grief.

      "Are you sure that Rice is connected with Katharine Allen?" asked Thrasher, taking advantage of a pause in her sobs.

      "Old Mrs. Allen was married twice," she answered, impatiently, for grief made her restive. "He was her only son by the first husband. Tell me where he is; I want to see him. I want to know every word and look of my poor, poor husband. Where can Rice be found?"

      "I don't know; he kept with the ship. I came directly home, fearing to let any less friendly person tell you the sad news."

      "You were very kind," sobbed the poor woman, "very kind; I shall never forget it."

      "I always wished to be kind to you, Ellen," was the almost tender reply.

      "I know it, I know it; but he always stood between me and any other man."

      Thrasher arose, and would have approached Mrs. Mason; but Rose clung to her neck with one arm and waved him away with the other.

      "She is my mother—you shan't touch my mother!" she cried, flashing angry glances at him through her tears. Thrasher looked upon the child with mingled hate and fear. It was wonderful how much power those deep blue eyes, sparkling with a thousand childish emotions, possessed over the strong man. There was something spirituelle in her loveliness that impressed him, as if an angel had been reading the record of his life, and rebuked him with those violet eyes.

      Thrasher arose hesitating, and almost timidly; he stood expecting Mrs. Mason to notice the movement; but she was occupied with her grief, and did not observe him.

      "Mother," said little Rose, smiling through her tears, "look up, mother; the man who makes you cry is going away."

      Mrs. Mason wiped her eyes, and strove to appear interested.

      "Hush, Rose, hush, he has been very kind to come with this sorrowful news."

      "Yes, mother, he's going right off, so don't cry any more."

      Mrs. Mason reached forth her hand; she was a tall, fine woman, with bright eyes, that tears only softened; these eyes full of touching sorrow were lifted to his. All that was good in the man's nature arose in response to this look. His hand trembled as it grasped hers. He could have fallen on his knees and wept over it, so great was the power of love in a nature that had little else to soften it. But the eyes of the child followed his movements vigilantly, and he dropped the mother's hand with a deeply drawn breath.

      "Give the gentleman a kiss, my little Rose," whispered the mother, touched by his humble demeanor.

      Rose turned her face squarely upon him and lifted her eyes. He met their clear glance and dared not kiss her.

      "Good-by," he said, standing before them uneasily.

      "Good-by," answered Rose, eagerly.

      "When you are better—when you are a little reconciled, Ellen, may I come again?"

      "No, no," shouted Rose, waving her hand, "no, no, no."

       "Be still, Rose, this is naughty. Remember he was your father's friend."

      Rose hid her face and began to cry. Thrasher took the mother's hand again, dropped it, and went away, softened and almost remorseful.

CHAPTER XIII.

       THE WAY-SIDE MEETING.

       Table of Contents

      A footpath intersected the highway some few rods below Mrs. Mason's cottage, and ran off among the hills that lay behind Castle Rock. At this point, Thrasher paused. He had only reached town that day, and his first visit had been to the white cottage. Now, he thought of his parents, who lived on a farm among those hills, and of another person whose home he must pass in going there.

      "I must see her, of course," he said, mentally; "but not at once. I have no heart for another scene. But the old folks—that will be all joy—no rebukes or entreaties ever came from that quarter. They will be hurt, too, if I sleep at a tavern, and the homestead so near."

      With these affectionate thoughts urging him forward, he turned up the foot path and walked slowly on, wondering at the tender feelings that rose and swelled in his heart as he drew near the family home.

      You would not have believed that the man who walked so quietly along the greensward with the moonlight on his face, could have been the same person who stood on the deck of that brig and superintended the number of lashes that should be dealt on the back of a human being. Once or twice, as his glance fell on some familiar object, a sweet brier bush, perhaps, or a cluster of tall mulleins that had grown by the footpath since he was a child, his eyes would fill with tears. There was something holy and homelike in the stillness that made a child of this cruel man.

      The footpath led Thrasher into the Bungy road. He had mounted one hill and was descending into the valley which lay between it and another, when he saw some dark object sitting on a pine stump, from which he had gathered moss years before. His step was smothered on the sward, and the night wind, which made a rustling sound among the leaves of a neighboring wood, rendered his approach inaudible.

      It was a woman shrouded in a cloak, but the light was so clear that he could see the outlines of her person, though her face was bent down and her limbs were drawn together as if she suffered from cold or sorrow.

      Thrasher's heart told him at once who the woman was, and the knowledge made a coward of him. He hesitated, turned to go back, but resumed his course again, ashamed of so much weakness. The woman's face was bent down, her hands were locked around her knees, and he could hear the swell of her sobs as she rocked to and fro, as if the motion gave relief to some great pain.

      Thrasher stood close by the unhappy creature, but she was lost in grief and did not look up.

      "Katharine!"

      She started to her feet with a cry that haunted his memory years after, and stood before him, shaking in all her limbs. Why did she not fling her arms about his neck as she had done at parting? Why did she shrink and gather the cloak so timidly around her? Did the shadow of some great wrong fall upon her with its sundering power?

      "Katharine, you know me, but don't СКАЧАТЬ