b — = — ^ 1 O r- 1 9 — o -^ Z ^ -^— ^ 6 = i^— 3> 6 ^ =^=^ r— ^^— ^ 2 ^ THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES fj''. n THE MINE He put the lantern down on the ground, grasping the hammer with both hands. Poiee III. 'yHE MINE *> ^ ^ OR, DARKNESS AND LIGHT. BY A. L. O. E. LONDON, EDINBURGH, AND NEW YORK THOMAS NELSON AND SONS CONTENTS I. The Old House . . . , 7 11. The Inmates of the House . i8 III. The Mine and the School . 33 IV. Solitary Hours 41 V. The Old Shaft 51 VI Solenm Questions 62 VII An Evening at Moorcroft Hatch 71 VIII Plans and Projects 80 IX. A Grand Discovery 90 X. The Expedition . 99 XI Down in the Mi?ie 107 XII The Treasure Found . • "5 XIII A Glance at the Past , 124 XIV. The Secret Grief • 133 XV. One Effort more . • 144 XVI Darkness and light . • 157 XVII Restoration .... 162 XVIII Conclusion .... 765375 . 171 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. -M- He put the lantern doivn Ofi the ground, grasping the hammer with both hands . . Frontispiece The entrance of Horace Moorcroft stopped further explosion on the part of Arthur . . , 73 Arthur found a hole of some size in the side of the hill ........ 96 Saved! 160 THE MINE. CHAPTER I. THE OLD HOUSE. fELL, all that I can say," exclaimed Arthur, passionately, " is, that I wish that I had never seen this place. I wish with aU my heart that I had never left school ! " " What ! not even for the holidays ? " said Phemie. , " Holidays ! " repeated the boy, in a tone of bitter irony, pausing a moment in his occupation of shaping a fragment of wood, with a very blunt knife, into a form meant to represent that of a boat ; " you might as well talk of holidays in a jail, with baiTcd windows and bolted doors, and hard labour, and bread and water!" and his knife went to work more vigorously than before. THii; OLD HOUSE. Phemie raised her quiet eyes from her work, and glanced at the liouse, which threw its shadow over the spot where she and her brother were seated, on a heap of shingle. A dull old house it was, standing alone by the sea-shore, a landmark to vessels as they passed at a distance ; for rarely did a boat land in the lonely little bay, on the beach of which stood Moorcroft Hatch. Though an old house, it possessed none of the picturesque beauty which we usually associate with ideas of antiquity. The Hatch boasted no pointed gable-ends, mullioned windows overhung with rich drapeiy of evergi-eens, twisted chimneys, low-arched doors, nor the stone porch which, with ts wooden seat, ofiers shelter and rest to the wayfarer. It was a tall, imsightly building, with small square old-fashioned windows, and red-tiled roof, from which the blackened chimneys stood straight up like senti- nels, defying the wind, which howled and shrieked among them. The place wore an aspect of dreariness and neglect. Some of the mortar had fallen from the bricks; the paint on the wood-work was blistered and peeled ; the creeper, which had once mantled the side of the house, stretched dead, leafless branches, the skeleton of itself, still fastened by rusty nails to the wall. Dust lay thick on the small panes of the windows, serving to conceal the absence of the -clean white curtains which give to English homes an air THE OLD HOUSK 9 of cleanliness and comfort. There was little of vegetation seen around. "What might have been intended for a garden, displayed scarcely anything but a jungle of tamarisk. Stones and sand encum- bered the soil ; except in one comer, which Phemie had cleared for herself, where the pebbles, laid in neat but formal order, served as a border to a small, tidy parteiTe. Hardly a vestige of green appeared for the eye to look upon, except on the old worn door-step which wore the hue suggestive of damp, while a few stray blades of grass, perversely enough, raised their sickly stems beside it, to bear witness that few were the steps which ever crossed the threshold now. A very dull old house it looked, as it stood turning its back to the warm setting sun, setting its face towards the east wind, and staring straight upon the sea, like a surly spirit, resolved to be daunted by nothing, but to make the worst of everything. " Well, what do you think of it ? " asked Arthur, as his sister's eyes were again lowered to her work. "You who seem born to be always contented — quite happy to be shut up like an oyster in a shell — what can even you say to such a house ? " "That it would look better if it were cleaner," replied Phemie, laying down her hem with minute exactness. 10 THE OLr HOUSE. " I defy any one to make it look well, under any circumstances ! " exclaimed Arthur. " It is the ugliest house, in the ugliest position, in the ugliest spot upon the face of creation ! There is not an object here to look upon that is not ugly ! " "The sea," quietly suggested Phemie. " The sea does not look here as it does anywhere else ! You never have a proper good storm in this miserable bay ! I like to see the great billows come rolling and tossing upon the shore, covering the beach with their creamy foam, and tossing on high their sparkling spray ! But here, even when I can see the distant waters all whitened with the gale, the waves come creeping in aB if they were ashamed of themselves, and had not life or spirit for a toss ! The very sea-mews never come near us here ; not a swallow builds its nest under our eaves ; one never hears the voice of a bird ! " "You forget the owL" "The owl! yes," said Arthur, contemptuously; "I just wish I could get a good fling at the fellow, Fd stop his hateful scream, that I would ! One hears the owl, and sees the bats — they are the only creatures likely to stay in such a place, except the mice and the rats behind the wainscot ! " " But I daresay that the house looked very dif- THE OLD HOUSE. 11 o» ferent in old times, when grandmamma was living, and poor papa and uncle were boys." " I don't believe that Uncle Horace ever was a boy ! " said Arthur, quickly. " You need not laugh, Phemie ; I mean he never was like other boys. He was like the statue of a boy, as he is like the statue of a man : there was never any fun or spirit in him." " Oh, but Mrs. Vesey says that he was a very lively boy." " I would not believe it if a thousand Mrs. Vesey a said it ! " exclaimed Ai'thur. " I am positive that Uncle Horace never played at leap-frog, nor kicked a ball, nor handled a bat in his life ! " " He has a bat in his hand in his picture," re- marked Phemie ; " and papa is standing beside him with a book ; and uncle looks the merrier of the two." " Where is there such a picture ? " asked Arthur, eagerly ; " I never saw one in the house." " It is in Mrs. Vesey's little room. She says that it used to be hung up in the dining-room, over the fireplace." " And why is it not there now ? " exclaimed the boy. " I believe," said Phemie, lowering her voice, " uncle could not bear the sight of it, it so reminded THE OLD HOUSE. him of poor dear papa. Mrs, Vesey says it made him gloomy." "He could not be gloomier than he is," observed Ai*thur ; " I don't think he knows how to smile," " That is because he feels papa's death so much," said Phemie, gently. " And it was so sad, just as they were coming home from India, after so many years' absence, and travelling together so happily ; it was so very sad for his only brother to suddenly die on the way." " I have heard that he was very fond of my father," said Arthui-, more quietly ; " though I can scarcely fancy Uncle Horace fond of any one or any thing." "He is kind to me — to both of us ; it is kind in him to give us a home," observed Phemie, with a gentle sigh. "I don't call it kindness," said Arthur impatiently. "He treats us like pieces of clock-work — winds us up regularly enough, expects us to stand quietly in our places, and tick, tick away at our tiresome round of duties ; and he never thinks that we can want any change, or any fun, or anything to keep us from growing as rusty as that old knocker which I am always longing to twist off and shy into the sea." " He takes a great deal of trouble with your studies.' THE OLD HOUSE. 18 " I wish he would leave me alone," cried Ai-thur, plying his knife with such energy that the blade suddenly snapped in the middle. He flung it from him passionately, and the half-finished boat after it. " What a pity ! " said Phemie. " Well," exclaimed Arthur, springing to his feet, "I'd rather break like the knife than rust like the knocker. I tell you what, Phemie — I have borne this kind of life for six months, but I won't bear it much longer." " I don't see how you can help yourself," observed Phemie, folding up her work ; for the sun had gone down, and twilight was closing around. x "Phemie, nothing provokes me like j^our quiet matter-of-fact way. You look as if nothing would ever put you out. You look as old-fashioned and sober as the house itself ; and as long as you are left to read, read, and stitch, stitch, from morning till night, you would not care if you never saw a being but the stiff house-keeper, Mrs. Vesey." " Oh, Arthur ! " — there was a little reproach in the tone, and in the touch of the small hand which was laid on his arm. " Ah ! well^ I daresay that you have no objection to have me too, though I should tire out any patience but yours with my grumbling. But you are patience itself, little puss, and a model sister as sisters go ; 14 tHE OLD HOUSE. but, you see, I want the company of boys like myself. I want boating, and fishing, and cricket ; I can't sit moping as you do ! A place like this suits an owl or a bat very well, but it won't do at all for an eagle ! " " I wish that you had a better companion," said Phemie, rather sadly ; then added more cheerfully, " Are there no neighbours within reach, Artliur ? You walk much further than I ever do ; have you never seen any one whom you could play with ? " " There's only one house within two miles of us," said Arthur ; " for, of course, I don't count the cottages at Oldshaft. You see that low clump of trees there, in the distance ? " "No, I don't see it," replied Phemie. " Well, you would see it, if it were not growing BO dark, or at least you would see it from the upper windows. There's a large house in the middle of these trees, quite hidden by them from the road. It belongs to an old Jew called Salomons ; I hear that he is very rich." " Have you ever been into the grounds ? " " Not I ; but I walked right round them yester- day, just because I liked the look of trees ; and it was pleasant to hear the cawing of the rooks, and the note of the thrush sounded cheerful." (266) THE OLD HOUSE. 16 *' Ob, I wish that we had a thrush here ! " ex- claimed Phemie. "As I skirted the high brick wall — for there's no seeing into the place — I heard something singing besides the thrush." " A blackbird," suggested Phemie. " Out ! it was not a blackbird, or bird of any other colour ; it was the voice either of a boy or a girl — I was not sure which, — very high and sweet. I could not help stopping to listen." " What sort of a song was it, Ai-thur ? " " Not a regular song — a kind of wild warble, as if the singer were putting his thoughts into music just as they came into his head." " His thoughts ! it was a boy then ? " " If you're quiet, I'll tell you all about it. The song, or whatever you might call it, sounded very sad and melancholic ; so, thinks I, there's some poor prisoner shut up in a cage, and leading as dismal a life as myself. Perhaps I may find that he'd be as glad of a companion as I should be to have one. So I waited till his ditty was done, and then I gave a little whistle." " And then ? " said Phemie, with some curiosity. " Nothing came of that ; so I determined to try music, and gave out * The British Grenadiers,' in fine style ! " 16 THE OLD HOUSE. "And did any voice answer? " " Presently there was a rustling of leaves on the other side of the wall, and then a sKm, small hand ap- peared on the top, and next a face was seen above it." " What sort of a face ? " asked Phemie. " Just the sort of face to match the voice. You scarcely could say if it belonged to a boy or a girl ; only there was a shirt collar, and a neck-tie hanging very loose : but in long dark hair all curling over his shoulders, and large eyes just like a stag's, and such delicate brows over them, Asahel looks more like a girl." " Asahel ? how did you know that was his name ? " " He told me, to be sure ; and I told him mine, and what a wretched life I led up here at the Hatch. He's as badly off as myself, I take it — living all alone with his old grandfather the Jew, He has never been at school as I have, and passes all the day moping over books," " Might he come here, do you think ? " Arthur shook his head, " I don't fancy so," was his reply ; " he seems shut up closer than I am," " Are you going to him again ? " " I did go to-day ; but I did not see him, though I walked right round the wall, and looked in at the gate, and sang all the songs that I could think of." " And why did you not tell me all this before ? " THE OLD H0U8R. 17 Arthur's sunburnt cheek coloured a little. "I thought that you might laugh at my romantic adventure," said he. " I do not see that it is romantic," replied Phemie. " That is because you have not seen my new friend. He looks like a bit of a poem himself — as if he lived in the times long ago. I can hardly fancy that he wears a jacket and trousers, or that he has ever tasted roast beef and plum-pudding." Phemie burst into a silveiy laugh, but suddenly checked herself as the door of the house unclosed, and a tall figure in black appeared at the entrance. " Children, how come you to be out so late, against orders ? " The voice was a stern one, and stern and gloomy was the aspect of him who spoke. Phemie, without uttering a word, hastened into the house; Arthur muttered something between his teeth, and followed with more slow and reluctant step. His uncle watched in silence till he had entered ; then saying, gi-avely, " I expect punctuality in future," closed the door, and the sound echoed drearily along the empty hall and the uncarpeted passages of the gloomy old dwelling. CHAPTER II. THE INMATES OF THE HOUSE. ,RTHUIl MOORCROFT had been a general favourite with his school-fellows. Active and strong, full of high health and ex- uberant spirits, he had been foremost in every scheme of amusement, and had taken the lead in everj'' game. He had a generous heart and an open hand ; and when a parcel had arrived with his name upon it, it bad been a cause of not disinterested rejoicing to all who shared his room. No one could have charged him with a mean or a shabby act. He was too brave to cringe to those above him, or to bully those below. Thus Arthur had been, as I have said, a favourite with his companions ; but with the masters he was occasionally in disgi-ace. His was a proud and wilful spirit — hating restraint, struggling against control — that republican spirit, THE INMATKS OF THK HOUSE. 19 SO common amongst boys, which allows no weight to age and experience, and regards discipline in the light of tyranny. Arthur had nearly completed his thirteenth year, when he heard of the death of his father, whose arrival from India he had been expecting. The in- telligence was not sent directly to himself, but in a brief business letter addressed to his master by his uncle, who became from thenceforth Arthur's natural guardian and protector. At a moment when the boy's hopes and expectations had been strongly ex- cited by the prospect of a meeting with his only surviving parent, the blow had at first been keenly felt. But Ai-thur had no personal recollection of his father, from whom he had been parted at a very early age ; his grief, therefore, was not of long duration, and his thoughts were soon turned into another channel by the perception of the change which would be made in the course of his own hfe. Mr. Horace Moorcroft's first letter had been dated from Sicily, into a port of which island the steamer in which he and his brother had been travelling had been driven by stress of weather. His next letter, still addressed, not to Arthur, but to his master, was forwarded from Southampton, auE AN WHILE Arthur had returned to the gloomy old Hatch in bad spirits and worse temper. He was disappointed about the mine, annoyed by Asahel's conversation, and secretly discontented with himself. He felt that he had fallen in the opinion of his companion ; but he would not acknowledge to his own mind that it was with justice that he had done so. It was pleasanter to self-love to accuse Asahel of changeability and enthusiasm ; to be impatient at his wild dreamy fancies, and attribute them to weakness of mind occasioned by such wretched seclusion from the world. But one fact was but too clear to Arthur : visits to Eshcol, which had been the greatest enjoy- ment of his Hfe, must now be suspended for a while, for he was resolved not to put himself soon 72 AN EVENING AT MOORCROFT HATCH. in the way of being asked questions which he knew not how to answer. Horace Moorcroft was a sufferer that evening from his pupil's unfortunate expedition. Arthur was inattentive, irritable, and idle, and sorely tried the patience of his stern and melancholy tutor. But poor Phemie suffered a good deal more, for with her the impetuous boy put himself under no restraint. It was strange that it never occurred to one whose temper was not ungenerous that it was hard to wreak the impatience which he felt upon his un- offending little sister, and unmanly to make her helplessness a reason for treating her with un- kindness. It was not till, after one of his surly answers, Ai'thur glanced at the face of poor Phemie, and saw the glistening moisture beneath her lashes, that the heart of her brother smote him. " Why, Phemie, what nonsense it is to take a joke in that way ! " cried Ai-thur. "I did not know that you were joking," mur- mured Phemie. "Joking or not, I never meant to vex you. Come, we'll have no more of this," said the boy ; " I vote that we have a little sociable game. You bring the chess-board, Phemie j I'll give you a lesson in playing." AN EVBTHNG AT MOORCROFT HATCH. 73 Phemie smiled through her tears, and ran for the board. It was in the attic room of her brother. It never occun-ed to the mind of Arthur that he might as well have gone for it himself The board was soon an-anged, and the pieces placed. Aithur commenced his lesson in a some- what pompous style ; and gave Phemie fair warn- ing, as he moved out his queen, that she must expect checkmate in three or four moves. But Arthur was 8ur})rised to see how quietly his attack was forestalled, the threatened square guarded, hLs scheme defeated. Wherever he moved he found his adversary prepared — playing slowly, cautiously, as if always on her guard, while in his impatience he lost several pieces ; till at length, to his astonishment no less than his wrath, he found that checkmate had been silently given him ! This was too much for the philosophy of Arthur. He pushed back his chair with such violence that he overthrew it ; one angry sweep of his arm scattered the pieces in every direction ; and Phemie might have had to endure another gust of temper from the adversary whom she had defeated, had not the entrance of Hoiace Moorcrofb stopped further explosion on the part of Arthur. A glance at the scene before him showed the uncle the state of affairs. "Euph^mia," said he 74 AN EVENING AT MOORCKOFT HATCH calmly to his little niece, who was down on the floor picking up the chess-men, " would you oblige me by lighting the candle ? the matches you will find on the mantelpiece. It is for those who throw down to pick up," he added sternly, fixing his eye upon Arthur ; " and let no one in future attempt to play at chess who has not sufficient self-command to lose a game without losing temper also." Horace sat down to his books, and waited patiently till Phemie, having mounted a foot-stool, succeeded in reaching the matches and lighting the candle. He then made her sit down beside him, to prevent her going to the assistance of her brother. Arthur felt very angry and very uncomfortable ; he was conscious that he had placed himself in a ridic- ulous, undignified position in the eyes of his uncle. The scattered pieces lay before him, tokens of his double discomfiture. For some minutes Arthur would not stoop to raise them ; till observing that his uncle appeared buried in his book, and that Phemie, with her eyes wandering from hers, was glancing uneasily in his direction, he hastily gath- ered up the chess-men, threw them helter-skelter into the box, and hastened up-stairs to his room. Arthur was soon tired of sitting there in the dusk, for no candle was allowed, by the rules of the house, to be lighted in the sleeping-rooms tiU bed-tima The entrance of Horace Moorcroft stopped further explosion on the part of Arthur. P'^ge 73- jlV evbnino at moorcroft hatch. 76 His thoughts were not pleasant companions ; they were constantly returning to Asahel, dwelling on his look of earnest, intense inquiiy, and revolving what answers might have been given to hLs ques- tions had Arthur had more leisure for reflection. What the young Hebrew had said of the state of the soul after death, full of ignorance as his ideas had been, recurred disagi-eeably to Arthur, as he sat alone in his dull, darkening attic, with perfect still- ness around him. As I have mentioned before, Ai'thui', though brought up in a Christian land, had very vague notions on the subject of religion. He supposed that if he behaved respectably, was sorry when he had done wrong, went to church sometimes, and said his prayers, he would be saved as a matter of course. He never considered w^hat a price had been paid for his safety — what gratitude, what devotion of soul is required from those who are Christians indeed — how hopeless would be his own state but for unmerited mercy — how weak and sin- ful and helpless he was in the sight of Him who be- holds the heart ! Arthur tried to drive away dull thoughts as well as he could ; again and again he wished himself back at school, or on any other spot of earth rather than Moorcroft Hatch. He tried to cheer himself by whistling, but disliked the sound of his own 76 AN EVENING AT MOOROROFT HATCH. voice in the dull, quiet place. He then looked over his play-box, examining his old treasures rather by feeling than sight, gave a heavy sigh over his bat and his marbles, and at last lighted upon a soiled pack of cards. It was quite a discovery for Arthur. " I'll teach Phemie to play," he said to himself. " The little creature is not likely to beat me with these. How lucky that I brought them from school ! " And having recovered his temper in his soKtude, and be- ing pleased at finding anything which promised amusement, Arthur sauntered down to the sitting- room, looking much more amiable than he had done when he had left it. The stern, handsome countenance of Horace, with the strong shadows which the light cast upon it, appeared in striking contrast to the little, innocent^ childish face at his side. Poor Phemie was weary of her book, a ponderous tome to which Horace had directed her attention, which was as heavy in read- ing as it was in weight. She had been longing foi the return of Arthur, but afraid to leave the room in search of him. Arthur disliked the economy of his uncle in nothing more than in his chary expenditure of candles ; the circumstance of only one being lighted at a time obliging him during evening hours to keep JUS EVENING AT MOORCROFT HATCH. 77 dose to Mr. Moorcroft. Horace seldom, however, appeared to take much notice of the children, but, pursuing his own occupations, left them to amuse themselves as they pleased. "Would you like me to teach you another kind of game, Phemie ? " whispered Arthur to his sister, who sat between him and their uncle. " I should like it very much," replied Phemie, in the same low tone, shutting her large volume, and making the candle flicker by the fanning of its pages as she did so. " Did you ever see things like these before ? " said Arthur, di-awing forth his pack, but keeping it rather in the shadow. " No ; what odd-looking things 1 What do you call them ? " said Phemie. " Cards," replied her brother. The word was not given in a very audible voice, but absorbed as he was in study, it struck sharply on the ear of Horace, He looked up hastily and said, " What have you there ? " in a tone louder and sterner than usual. "An old pack of cards," was Ai*thur's reply. A sudden flush of crimson overspread the pale face of Horace, the veins in his forehead swelled, his lip quivered with strange, terrible emotion. "Give them to me," he said hoarsely ; and there was 78 AN EVENINO AT MOORCEOFT HATCH, something in his aspect which made it impossible to disobey the command. He held the cards to the candle, his hand trembling as he did so — threw the lighted pack into the grate — watched the paste- board blistering, blackening, shrivelling — placed the half-consumed pieces upon those which were burn- ing, till nothing but a heap of cinders remained in the grate ! Aithur's face was red with anger. He rose from his seat. Horace, with a gesture of dignity, mo- tioned him to resume it. "There is no harm in cards," muttered Arthur angi'ily, as he sat down ; " many excellent people play at cards." Phemie glanced timidly at her uncle, afraid of the effect which Ai-thur's words might have upon him, for she had never before seen Horace show such emotion as he had exhibited that evening ; but Mr. Moorcroft's reply was not in anger. " Yes, Arthur, excellent people may play at cards ; and I have seen men in India who could handle un- harmed the venomous cobra di capello. But if you had once been bitten by the reptile — if you had known what it was to feel its poison burning in your veins — if your health had been hopelessly shattered, aU your enjoyment in life destroyed " — the voice of Horace rose to passionate energy as he AN EVENING AT MOORCROFT HATCH. 79 proceeded — " would you not hate the very sight of the serpent — would you endure to see it in the hand of a brother's son ? " Arthur's spirit quailed before the sudden burst of anguish which had been wrung from the strong, calm man before him. A curtain seemed for a mo- ment to be raised to give a glimpse of some dark mystery behind ; and interest and curiosity, not un- mingled with awe, took in Arthur's mind the place of the anger which had been his feeling at first. His uncle's gloom was, then, in some way connected with the vice of gambling — perhaps his rigid econ- omy was so also. But was it he himself who had fallen into this sin, or was he crushed by the errors of another ? Speculations of this kind so filled the head of Ai'thur that night, that he almost forgot Asahel and Oldshaft. {K6) CHAPTER VIIL PLANS AND PROJECTS. , RTHUK, was an active, energetic boy, and now that he had been driven from all his resources for amusement, he set his mind on discovering something that might supply occupation for the hours of leisure which hung so heavily on his hands. There was now no lise in going to Oldshaft — he dis- liked the idea of visiting Eshcol — he was tired to death of exploring the shores of the bay in search of shells which he could not find, or of crabs so small that not even a schoolboy thought it woi-th his while to catch them. Arthur resolved on the morn- ing following the day on which he had visited Old- shaft with Asahel, to examine the strip of shingle below the cliff, at some distance from the Hatch, where he thought that his search was more likely to be rewarded by an abundance of shells and sea- weeds. PLANS AND PROJECTS. 81 " I will build a little marine grotto in the garden," said Arthur to himself "and that will be a great amusement to Phemie." Whether Phemie's amuse- ment were the first object in the mind of her brother may well be a matter of doubt, as his pre- parations for his exploring expedition were made without at all consulting her convenience. Aitliur had no basket in which to put the marine treasures wliich he intended to collect ; and the first thing which struck his eye as capable of supplying the place of one was Phemie's neat cotton work-bag, of which he unceremoniously took possession. " This will be the very thing for me ! " cried Arthur, not to Phemie, who was absent, but to him- self; and though the initials E. M., prettily marked on the hem, stared him in the face, as though to re- mind him of the owner, and work and thimble were both left in the bag, he carried it oflT without giving a thought to the trouble which he might occasion, or even informing poor Phemie of what had become of her property. On Aithur hastened merrily enough, for he was always eager in the pursuit of pleasure, and fuU of hope as to his success. He soon passed the limits of the bay, and found himself on the ridge of shingle, on which the waves broke with a harsh, grating sound. Lank pieces of brown sea-weed, like India- 8S PLANS AND PROJECTS. lubber, intermixed with more delicate green, &trewed the space close up to the cliff, the lower part of which was studded with innumerable tiny shell-fish, clinging close to the rocky wall. Ai'thur put down his bag, and taking up a large pebble, succeeded in knocking off some of them, though not without breakinfj their delicate fabrics. He wandered on, interested in his occupation, and always hoping to find something more worthy of his trouble, till he was startled by a voice which sounded from above; and looking up, he saw the face of his uncle bend- ing over the high cliff. " Arthur ! Arthur ! go back ; — do you not know that the high-tide will cover the spot on which you stand ? " shouted Horace Moorcroft from the sum- mit. " It is not high tide, and it won't be for hours to come," called out Arthur at the top of his voice. " Go back at once, without one moment's delay," was the reply. The face above looked sternly anxious, and Arthur, muttering to himself something about ridiculous fears, and being treated like a child, slowly and reluctantly retraced his steps. Just as he re-entered the sweep of the bay, he was joined by Mr. Moorcroft from the path down the cliff. "It is my desire, Arthur," said the uncle, "and if that does not suffice, it is my positive command, PLANS AND PROJKOTS. 8S that you never again visit that part of the beach which lies under the cliff." " Of course I would not go when there was any danger," was Arthur's sulky reply. " Of the danger I must be the judge," said Horace sternly. Then aware that his anxiety had made him show caution which might be deemed extreme, he added, while a darker shade of sadness passed over his face, " I could not see you run even the slightest risk of sharing the fate of your father." " I never heard the particulars of my father's death. Was he drowned ? " said Arthur, glancing up at his uncle. Horace pressed his lips tightly together, made no reply, but walked more rapidly onward. Arthur was sorry at having asked a question which re- opened a deep and painful wound. Arthur returned home disappointed and wearied, and all his attempts to amuse himself having failed, he fell back upon his last resource — a long conver- sation with his sister. Phemie was cutting out some coarse calico to give as work to some poor girls at Oldshafb. Phemie was clever and ready with her fingers, and plied her large scissors with a skill which would hardly have been expected iB'om one of her childish ap- pearance. 84 PLANS AND PROJECTS. " Are you not going to Eshcol to-day ? " she said, when Arthur, with a weary yawn, threw himself on a seat beside her. " Eshcol ! no ; I don't know when I shall betake myself to that place again," was the rather in-itable reply. "You have not quarrelled with Asahel surely?" said Phemie, who perceived that something had gone wrong. " Quarrelled ! who talked of quarrelling ? He is not one with whom one could get up a row if one wished it. But he is so strange — he talks so oddly — he has such very extraordinary notions." "About what?" asked Phemie. " About religion." " No wonder, poor boy, for he is a Jew. I did not know that he ever spoke to you, Arthur, about such things. It must be very painful to hear him ; he must be so sadly, so veiy sadly in error." " I'll tell you what, Phemie," said Arthur, " Asa- hel has ten times more religion in him than I have, or you either." The young girl looked at her brother in great surprise ; then said, in a very low tone, " But Asa- hel does not know the truth ; he has not learned to believe in our Lord." " He has learned to love him," said Arthur, PLANS AND PROJECTS. 86 A bright gleam, like sudden sunshine, passed over Phemie's face. She clasped her hands and ex- claimed, " Oh, Ai*thur, do you think that he is a Christian?" " I do not know ; I don't believe that he knows himself. He is like some one groping about in the dark, feeling on all sides for something to guide him." And Arthur, whose memory was clear and strong, repeated almost word for word his conversa- tion with the Hebrew youth ; while Phemie, ne- glecting everything else in the intense interest of listening, sat with her eyes rivetted upon the speaker. "Oh, Arthur, how could you leave him so?" was Phemie's exclamation when her brother had concluded. "What was I to say?" replied Arthur, sharply. "Oh, there was so much — so much!" cried Phemie, pressing her forehead ; " if only my dear cousin Miller had been there. No one explains the Bible as she does." " Why, Phemie, you look as if the weight of the world had been suddenly put upon these little shoulders. Wliat is it to you what Asahel beheves ? " " What is it to me !" repeated Phemie, with feel- ing ; " if I saw any one drowning, should I look on and not care ? or shut up in a burning house, should 86 PLANS AND PROJECTS. I not long to open the door to them ? Oh ! I have thought what we could do," she exclaimed suddenly and joyfully ; " you can carry a Bible to Asahel — my Bible ; it has references, and marks, and — " "What ! would you give that Bible, of which you are so fond, to a stranger?" "Cousin gave it to me," said Phemie thought- fully, wrote my name in it on the blank leaf, with a beautiful prayer and a verse ; I should be very, very sorry to part with it, but — " " I don't see why you should trouble yourself about the matter," said Arthur ; " it is certainly no business of yours," " I thought — cousin used to teach me that when- ever we were given an opportunity of doing good to another, it showed us that God had set us work to do for him, which we could not leave undone with- out sin." Arthur made no answer to this. The idea had never entered his mind that he had any work to do for God. " If I give away my Bible, Arthur," said Phemie, changing her tone, " would you not let me read out of yours till I could save money to buy a new one?" " Well, you could take mine whenever you choose," replied Arthur, who, it is to be feared, PLANS AND PR0JBCT8. 87 would have missed some Btory-book more, " But why not keep your own Bible, and wait till you could get another to give away?" Phemie looked pleased for a moment at the sug- gestion, then said gravely, " But if Asahel should die in the meanwhile." " Die !" laughed Arthur, " he's not thinking of d3niig. Though," he added, remembering the fragile appearance of the form, and delicate beauty of the face of the youth, " he's just the one that, in a romance, would be made to go ofl" in a decline." " Arthur, you will take my Bible to him to- morrow." "I!" exclaimed Arthui*, not very courteously, "I'm not going to turn colporteur, and hawk Bibles about the country." " You know that this is something quite different. You have only to carry a book to your friend." " And get myself into a scrape with the old Jew!" " But, Ai-thur — " "I'm not going to do it," said Arthur decidedly ; " you had better say no more about the matter." " I don't know how I could send it," said Phemie, looking perplexed ; " if I could but go myself — " "Phemie, you're absurd!" exclaimed Arthur, findincr it much easier to make the assertion than be would have done to prove it. "I wish that 1 8P PLANS AND PROJECTS. had never spoken to you at all about Asahel or his questions ; you girls take such nonsensical notions into your heads, no one "with common sense can stand it!" And more discontented with himself than ever, Arthur sauntered whistling out of the room. Phemie did not for some time resume her occu- pation. She sat with her head resting on her hand thinking of Asahel, and by what means she could convey her Bible to the young inquirer. She was not one to be laughed out of what she thought right, though her sh3mess made ridicule very annoying to her, and she was not inclined to speak again to her brother on the subject of Asahel's belief. If she could see Arthur's companion herself, would she venture to place the Bible in his hand ? Phemie had heard so much of Asahel from her brother that she scarcely regarded him as a stranger, and the descriptions of him were little calculated to alarm even a timid girL Therefore, though distrustful of her own courage, Phemie hoped to muster up suffi- cient resolution. But how was she to meet with the Jew ? She must ask her uncle's leave to ac- company Arthur to Eshcol. This to Phemie was a more formidable effort. Horace had never spoken to her an angry word, but his manner inspired her with fear ; she never dared to be the first to address PLANS AND PROJECTS. 88 him, Phemie thought much over the matter, formed imaginary conversations with Asahel, endeavoured to recall all that she had been taught on religion by the pious instructress of her childhood, till her head almost ached with the efibrt ; nor did she retire to rest that night, nor rise again in the moining, with- out fervent and repeated prayers for the young Jew whom she had never seen. CHAPTER IX A GRAND DISCOVERT. SAHEL had been disappointed and morti- fied that day at not receiving his accus- tomed visit from Arthur. He waited long at the iron gate, looked wearily down the dusty road, listened for Arthur's well laiown whistle, and returned at last into the house with a heavy and anxious heart. Disap- pointed as the enthusiastic youth had been in his friend, he still felt Arthur's sympathy and com- panionship something which he could not bear to part with. Asahel feared that he had offended young Moororoft, though he vainly endeavoured to recall any word of his own that could have given just cause for displeasure. It was evident that Arthur did not like to speak about his religion ; but had not Asahel done him injustice in supposing that dislike arose fi-om indifference or ignorance ; A GRAND DISCOVERY. 91 miglit it not be that he shrank from entering on a subject so sacred with one whom he deemed an un- believer ? Thus Asahel reasoned with himself, per- plexed, mortified, and more than ever anxious to gain more knowledge of the mysterious Being of whom he had read in the torn pages of the Gospel Asahel's religion was not the clear, calm faith derived from early instruction in the Scriptures ; that faith which, through the power of the Spirit, pervades the whole character, influences every act, is like the pure light of dawn shining more and more unto the perfect day. There was too much of imagination, too much of excitement in the mind of the youth. He rather worshipped the idea of a hero, who more than came up to his highest concep- tion of unearthly virtue, courage, and self-devotion, than realized that in one so exalted he had found a Master to serve, a King to obey. Asahel was full of ignorance and error ; this was indeed the inevitable consequence of his position. He had been like one shut up in a dark tower, the thick walls of prejudice built up around him. Fancy had, in- deed, often cast a flickering, fire-fly gleam on his soul through the medium of the poets whose works he had read. This was beautiful in itself, but it failed to enlighten. The Old Testament Scriptures, like a golden lamp, had shed sufficient light to show 9S A GRAND mSCOVKRY. him some of his nearest and most obvious duties, while they directed his hopes towards a Messiah. The commandments were written on the memory of Asahel, and he tried in a certain degree to obey them, though from no princi])le of love towards the awfid Beinnf whom he had learned onlv to rerard with fear. The few leaves which he had read from the Gospel had suddenly poured upon Asahel a beam of bright, transcendent lustre ; but it rather dazzled than served to guide. There was some danger of his looking upon the most solemn realities as beau- tiful visions, of letting dreamy imaginings take the place of solid, practical religion. We leave him in his painful doubt and perplexity to return to our friends at Moorcroft Hatch. The next morning Phemie waited her opportumty of speaking alone to her uncle. She found none tin Arthur had as usual gone out for his walk after early dinner. She noticed that he did not proceed as usual in the direction of Eshcol, but turned more to the right, as if going to the hill which rose above Oldshaft, to which the most dii'ect route lay across the top of the cliff. Phemie sat alone in the room with her uncle, turning over the leaves of a book without reading, and won- dering, timid girl that she was, how she should com- mence the conversation. Horace looked as usual as A GRAND DISCOVERY. 93 if his whole soul were given to the volume before him. Phemie rose, and purposely made a little noise in pushing back her chair, to attract his attention This had no effect. She softly moved between Horace and the light, and stood uneasily twisting the strings of her little black apron. The grave eyes were raised from the page. " Did you wish to ask me anything ? " said Horace. "I wished to ask if I might walk beyond the grounds," replied Phemie, in a low, timid voice. " Certainly," replied her uncle ; " I thought that Mrs. Yesey took you with her whenever she went to Oldshaft." "I did not mean to go with Mrs Vesey," said Phemie. " Ah ! you would have a little variety in your walks. You shall accompany me, Euphemia ; more exercise will benefit your health." Phemie did not know what to reply, but she did not move from the spot. Assuredly a long silent walk with her uncle was one of the last things which she, or any other young lady of twelve, would have regarded as a pleasure. " Would you like to go with me ? " asked Horace, perceiving her hesitation. Poor Phemie coloured to the roots of her hair, she 94 A GRAND DISCOVERY. was sorely tempted to sacrifice truth to the fear of offending her formidable uncle ; but candour was one of the leading features in the character of the little girl ; she hung down her head, and a faint " No " was just audible from her lips. Had Phemie ventured to look up for a moment she would have seen the melancholy face before her relaxed into something approaching to a smile ; but she dared not raise her eyes from the ground. " You wish, then, to accompany Ai'thur ? He is hardly a suitable escort ; and yet you are so steady — " Horace was revolving in his mind the uneasiness which he had felt on seeing his nephew wandering along the beach, which would be covered by the waves at high water, and he was calculat- ing whether Phemie might not act as a useful drag-chain on the venturesome and somewhat wilftil boy. " Will you promise me one thing, Euphemia," said Horace, laying his hand on the head of his little niece with unusual gentleness in his manner; "will you promise me that nothing shall ever induce you to walk on the beach below the cliff? " "It was not there that I wished to go," answered Phemie. "Have I your word that you never will wander ihere ? " A OKAND DISOOTERT. 95 " I will not, uncle, since you fortid me ; but may I go to other places with Arthur ? " "Where you will," said Horace, resuming his reading. Phemie walked quietly out of the room, then ran up-stairs, joyous as a freed bird, took her Bible from its shelf, placed neat little markers in various leaves, drew pencil lines opposite such verses as she thought would be striking to a Jew, and in her hopes for Asahel, and the pleasure of helping an inquire, almost forgot that she was to part, for the sake of a stranger, with one of her dearest earthl}'- possessions. Meanwhile Arthur pursued his solitary walk in the direction of Oldshaft, but without any definite object. He looked often to his right, where, beyond the cliff, he could view the broad blue expanse of the sea, dotted here and there with a white sail, shininsf like a snow-flake in the sun. He turned over in his mind all his projects for entering the naval profession. He had bright visions of the blue uniform and gold-banded cap, which have such at- tractions for a boy ; fancied how he would distin- guish himself in the service, and seemed already to imagine half-a-dozen medals glittering on his breast, till he unconsciously assumed something of a swag- ger in his gait. Thus sauntering along, lost in his own fancies, («M) 7 96 A GRAND DISCOVERY. Arthur reached the foot of the bare, bleak hill, which hid from his view the hamlet of Oldshaft, and wliich lay some hundred yards from the edge of the cliff, so that he could either go round or pass over the hill. Arthur chose the latter way, for the strong fresh breeze on the upland was pleasant to the boy. He pursued the most wild and unfre- quented path ; the bare, desolate spot, looking as if never trodden by the foot of man. Arthur had not gone far before a wild rabbit started from behind a furze-bush some way before him, and darting off at speed, was out of sight in a moment. Arthur was in the mood for a chase, but the rapidity of the little creature's movements had made pursuit quite hopeless. He contented himself with flinging a stone in the direction in which it had vanished ; and thinking that perhaps it had left young ones in a burrow behind it, he scrambled up to the place from whence it had started. Arthur found a hole of some size in the side of the hill, quite concealed from sight by the furze- bush. He knelt down, and holding back the prickly screen with one hand, with the other felt about in the hole. It must have been a deep one, for he could not touch the end of it, and his curiosity was awakened at once. He looked round for a stick, and after a short search succeeded in finding one to Arthur found a hole of some size in the side of the hill. Pa^u- q6. A GRAND DISCOVERY. 97 answer his purpose. With it he endeavoured to sound the depth of the hole, but found no resist- ance when he held it downward in a sloping direction, " This is very strange ! " exclaimed Arthur. " This hole appears too deep for any mere burrow ; I wonder if it is possible — if it can be an opening," — he started to his feet with delight at the idea — " an opening leading down into the mine ! " With all the eager hope natural to his age, Arthur, pulling off his jacket to expedite his work, began labouring to enlarge the hole sufficiently to admit his person. He worked as though his life depended on his efforts, till the toil-drops poured from his brow, and he was so much tired that he was forced to pause to take breath. The sun was sloping towards the west ; the hour was past at^ which Arthur was always expected to resume his lessons with his uncle ; but still the boy went labouring on. He managed at length, with some little difficulty, to squeeze himself into the hole, going backwards that he might be able to keep his face towards the air and the light. What was the rapture of Arthur to find that when he had de- scended some short space, the hole grew evidently wider ; there seemed nothing to obstnict his further progress ; he could even raise himself to an erect position ! 9g A GRAND DISCOVERY. Ai-thur felt as Columbus may have felt on dis- covering a second world ! But he was afraid to go further into the darkness, especially as he was alone. A lif^ht would be absolutely necessary if he ventured deeper into the mine. Aithur scrambled out of his hole, and impatient as he was to communicate his grand discovery to Asahel da Costa, his chief con- cern was lest the heap of earth which he had scooped out in enlarging the hole might reveal its position to some passer-by, and so afford to a stranger the opportunity of first exploring the depths of the mine. Arthur spent some time in making everything look as smooth and undisturbed as he could, rejoicing in the size of the furze-bush, without which his object could never have been ac- complished. Then putting on his jacket, careless of the late hour, with nothing in his head but the prospect of endless amusement, adventures, and even wealth, whioh appeared now to be opening be- fore him, Arthur dashed off to Eshcol, and arrived at the gate so breathless that it was some moments before he could sufficiently regain his voice to shout aloud for Asahel. CHAPTER X. THE EXPEDITION. ^EVER had Arthur's patience been more sorely tried than it was on that evening. He called out the name of his friend again and again, but in vain ; and he disliked trying the bell, for he had an idea that though the old Jew might tolerate his grandson's taking an occasional walk with a companion, any- thing like a visit at that hour would be regarded and resented as an intrusion. Asahel had never yet ventured to invite him to pass the limit of the gate. Arthur, however, at length laid his hand upon the bell-handle ; but just as he was about to pull it, the well-known sound of Asahel' s light step re- joiced his impatient ear. " Why, Arthur, can it be you, so late ! " exclaimed Asahel, grasping his hand. " I was half afraid that you had given me up." 100 THE EXPEDITION " Ob, Asahel ! I have such glorious news ! " " I cannot hear it now — there is the gong sound- Lag for dinner — I cannot keep my grandfather wait- ing — I will listen to everything to morrow — " "I will be here at two," exclaimed Arthur, too eager to speak to give Asahel time to conclude his sentence ; " and oh ! I had almost forgotten — Asa- hel, you must bring with you a candle and a box of matches ; we shall need them ; I have discovered a new way into the mine ! " Asahel looked as much surprised a,s young Moor- croft could desire, but could not stay longer at the gate, even to talk over a subject so important. Arthur then returned home at a more sober pace, exceedingly heated and tired, with his clothes soiled, his shirt torn, and his sleeves and his hands alike of the colour of mud. Horace had reason to be angry, and he was so. Ai'thur went that night supperless to bed, as much to poor Phemie's distress as his own, for he was so much occupied with projects about the mine that he had hardly leisure even to be hungry. AU the first part of the following day, except when engaged at meals or at study, Ai'thur was shut up in his own room, very busy, as Phemie divined, for she was not admitted when she knocked at the door. THE EXPEDITION. 101 *' Are you going to Eshcol to day, dear Arthur ? " she said, in her soft, childish voice. " Yes." The short response sounded almost like a growl. "I may go with you, if you do not dislike it." The silence which followed was taken for assent, but Arthur had resolved to be off quietly after his dinner, before his sister could be ready to join him. "He did not choose," he said to liimself, "to be hampered with a girl in an important expedition like this ! " Arthur was busy manufacturing out of some of the broken glass which he had got from the old gi-eenhouse something to answer the purpose of a lantern, to defend the candle from gusts of air ; and he thought it all the more necessary to do this, as the day happened to be particularly windy. Arthur's lantern, it must be confessed, was a re- markably clumsy affair ; but he viewed it with that partiality which young people usually feel for the work of their own hands. He placed it in a little back parlour, that he might not suffer even the trifling delay of going up-stairs to fetch it after dinner. Both Arthur and Phemie, from different causes, were impatient for the conclusion of the meaL Phemie felt the offering her Bible an effort — the ex- lOJ THB EXPBDITION. pectation of making it weighed on her mind ; she was anxious to have the interview over. Arthur counted every minute till he should be off for his mine. The plates of the children were both emptied in a short space of time, and, which was an unusual occurrence, they both declined second helps. Arthur could scarcely sit still till the meal was concluded, and the instant after the grace had been pronounced, he and his sister hurried out of the room. Phemie ran up-stairs to prepare for her walk ; Arthur dashed into the parlour to secure his lantern, and seized it with such eagerness as to occasion some little damage to the awkwardly finished piece of manufacture. This occasioned a trifling delay, but one so brief that, under ordinary circumstances, Arthur would have quitted the house long before his sister would have descended the stairs, for Phemie was usually rather slow in her movements ; but now she was in haste as well as himself, and in bonnet and shawl, with her Bible in her hand, she came down just in time to see Arthur dart through the hall door. " Arthur ! wait for me, just one moment — I'm coming, I'm coming ! " she cried out, and exerted her utmost speed to overtake her brother. Arthur neither stopped nor looked behind him ; Phemie THK EXPEDITION. 103 thought that he was in one of his teasing moods, and was only pretending not to hear in order to try her patience and her speed. Panting, breathless, half ready to cry, she continued to run and to call, always keeping her brother in sight, for the ground was open and bare. Notwithstanding all the poor girl's efforts, however, Arthur gained considerably upon her ; he turned a point before he reached Eshcol gate, and was lost to view for a few minutes behind the trees which grew in Mr. Salomon's park, while, to add to Phemie's distress, a large dog came barking and snapping at her heels. "What shaU I do! oh, what shaU I do!" she exclaimed, finding herself alone, and in what she deemed danger. " Oh ! how cruel of Arthur to hurry on so ; he might have waited just two min- utes for his sister ! " Phemie looked round her in fear and distress. She was about half way between Eshcol and the Hatch, and afraid to go either forward or backward; while the dog, running in circles round her, and barking fiercely, made her dread every moment that he would fly at her throat. She had soon, however, the relief of seeing Arthur and a companion emerging from behind the trees — not coming towards her, indeed, but hurrying off to the right in the direction of the hill above Oldshaft. 104 THE KXPKDITION. By pursuing a path which led to the same place, Phemie saw that she could join them before they had proceeded far, as she was nearer the cliff than they were, Eshcol Hall lying nearly half a mile in- land. She was now too much tired to run, but, without losing sight of the boys, she walked hur- riedly on, and found to her great comfort that the dog had ceased to pursue her. She came up with Arthur and Asahel just as they were beginning to mount the steep path which led to the top of the cliff. " How on earth did you get here, Phemie ? " cried Arthur, looking only half pleased at seeing her. Phemie was too breathless, and perhaps too much hui-t at his conduct, to reply. " Is this your sister ? " said Asahel, slackening his pace, and approaching the little girl with the gentle coui'tesy which was natural to him. He held out his hand to assist her up the path ; and while she timidly thanked him, wondering in her own mind at his singular gi-ace and beauty, more striking than even the description of Arthur had led her to expect, a sudden gust of wind carried off his cap, and ex- posed more fully to view his fair brow, and his soft, luxuriant hair. " Ah ! my cap ! " cried Asahel, springing forward in a vain attempt to save it, as the wind hurried it over the cliff. THE EXPEDITION. 105 " Come on," said Arthur, " there's no use in look- ing after it ; it's lost to you and your heirs for ever ! " " What a pity it is ! " exclaimed Phemie. " The breeze was teaching me a lesson in polite- ness," laughed Asahel, putting up his hand to pre- vent his locks from being blown over his face ; "it makes me uncover in the presence of a little lady." " Where are we going ? " said Phemie to Asahel, as, following Ai'thur, they now commenced scram- bling up the hill. " Arthur believes that he has discovered an open- ing into the mine, so we are about to explore it ; and as we cannot find treasures, any more than happiness, without some degree of light, I have brought two wax tapers along with me," replied the young Jew with a smile. " But js it not dangerous ? " asked Phemie anxiously. " We are only going a little way in, I suppose — just far enough to see if Arthur is really right in his conjecture. And I have read that as long as a taper burns clearly in a mine, a human being may tread there without peril." " This is the spot ; make haste ! " cried Arthur, who was in advance ; " quick, give me the taper, Asahel ; I must fix it into my lantern. There — and the box of matches." 106 THE EXPEDITION. "This is indeed a complete hiding-place," ex- claimed AsaheL "I should never have dreamed that an opening was here. Perhaps this was used as a place of concealment for the old Cavaliers ; or the LoUards hid here from their foes, perhaps — " " I wish that you would move a little aside," said Arthur, abruptly, " and let me light the taper in the hole ; here the wind blows out all the matches as fast as I can light them." Arthur crept into the hole, and lighted his lan- tern, Asahel holding back the furze-bush to facilitate his entrance. " Are you going in ? " said Asahel to Phemie. " I don't know — I think I would rather not — it's so small — " " Small ! you absurd little creature ! " cried Arthur from within ; " if I can get in, don't you think there is room for a tiny button like you ? " Phemie' s indecision was ended at once by the sharp bark of a dog approaching towards them. If she was afraid of following Arthur, she was a great deal more afraid of facing her tormentor without him ; she was terrified at the idea of being left alone, so, gathering her dress close around her, she made her way through the narrow opening, closely followed by Asahel da Costa. CHAFPER XI. DOWN IN THE MINE. , STRANGE sort of place this ! " exclaimed the young Jew ; " marvellously like a Cfrave ' " and his dream recurred to his mind " It is much wider a little further on," said Arthur, moving downwards into the hill. "I can't see the light which you carry," cried Asahel, as he groped his way in the dark, "That is because we block up the path so," an- swered Arthur; " my lantern burns clear and bright." " How strange your voice sounds ! " murmui-ed Phemie, half wishing now to return ; but as it would have been impossible for her to have done so without making Asahel go back first, for there was no room for her to pass him, she did not like to make the proposal She had a distressing sensation 108 DOWN IN THE MINK. of suffocation. Arthur being before and Asahel be- hind her, prevented much air from reaching the little girl either from the entrance or the interior of the mine, and she was beginning to think that she could endure it no longer, when the party emerged into a much wider part. This was, indeed, one of the lodes or fissures in the earth, along which in former days the miners had explored for the mineral treasures of the place. " We are in the mine, there's not a doubt of it ! " exclaimed Arthur, with an air of triumph ; " see what I've found — relics of the years that are past!" And Asahel and Phemie pressed to his side to ex- amine with gi-eat interest, by the taper's feeble light, not a heap of rich ore or of shining metal, but an old shoe and the broken handle of a hammer. " Proof positive that men have been here," cried Asahel ; " gnomes neither wear shoes nor wield carpenters' tools ! " " And now," said Phemie, timidly, " suppose that we go back." " Go back ! " cried Arthur, indignantly ; "no one but a cowardly girl would ever think of such a thing ! I want to see if there's no glitter of metal upon these dark walls ; " and he held up his clumsy lantern. The sides of the passage were somewhat irregular, bearing token that it had been the work DOWN IN THE MINE. 109 of nature, and not of man — a fissure through which water had probably once forced its way. The walls were coated over with a hard, crystalline, earthy substance, but Arthur was at first unable to detect the slightest appearance of tin. He walked on, closely followed by the others. The passage sometimes dipped downwards at a pretty steep decline, then again appeared almost level, while various paths, like wide cracks in the hill, branched off in difierent directions, " I dare not go on ; we shall be lost ! " exclaimed Phemie. " We shall soon turn," replied Asahel ; " my leave extends but to one hour. But is there not some- thing wildly romantic in thus wandering through the depths of the earth, knowing that grass is wav- ing high high above us, and perhaps little feet treading over our heads ! " Phemie looked more uneasy than delighted at the thought. She heartily wished that she had not followed Arthur from the Hatch, especially as it did not appear probable that the conversation would take such a turn as might enable her to offer her Bible. Asahel was as eager as Arthur in exploring the lode. Not that he was in search of riches, or would have cared gi'eatly had he found them, but the strange silence and darkness of the place, the 110 DOWN IN THE MINK. long black shadows cast by the solitary taper, the romance of exploring unknown depths, acted powerfully upon his imagination, " So here we are, like philosophers, fairly started on the search after happiness," he cried. " You, Arthur, carrying the lantern of reason — " "It ffives verv little lisrht here," said Phemie. "And casts tremendous shadows," rejoined Asahel ; "but its gleam would suffice to show us metal were there any to discover. But perhaps we shall find the treasure in a different shape from what we ex- pect. Look at those odd-shaped little lumps in the wall, Arthur, of a sort of nondescript colour, steel gray, with a dash of brass yellow ; I should not wonder if they had something to do with the metal we are hunting for here," Arthur raised the handle of the hammer, and broke off one of the lumps. It was brittle, and not like stone ; at the part where it had been broken it glittered with metallic lustre. "Hurrah, hurrah!" exclaimed Arthur, "there is metal ! I should not wonder if it turned out to be silver ! Come on ; come on quickly ; I see more of it ! Oh, Phemie ! I wish I'd your bag to hold these curious specimens ! " "I don't know what has become of my bag." " Oh ! I left it somewhere : I don't remember the DOWN IN THE MINR 111 place," said Arthur, applying bis hammer to the •wall with a vigour which made the gloomy place resound through all its depths. "We must make our further researches to-morrow," said Asahel ; " I'm on honour, and it is time to re- turn." " Wait a minute, will you ? " cried Arthur, who had lighted upon a larger piece of the ore, which obstinately refused to yield to bis blows. He put bis lantern down on the ground, and grasping the hammer handle with both hands, gave so sturdy a stroke that he broke off the lump, but staggered foi-ward himself with the impetus of the blow, and stumbled over the lantern I In a moment utter darkness enveloped the place ! Phemie uttered a faint " Oh ! " and Arthur an impatient exclamation. " We can easily light it again," said Asahel. "True ; give me the match-box quickly." "The match-box ! why, you have it yourself." Ajrthur hurriedly fumbled in his pockets, emptied them, and then exclaimed that Asahel had brought it, and must have it. " I gave it to you when you lighted the taper," said Asahel — Phemie turned very cold. "Well it is clear that I have it not," cried Arthur, ailer another fniitless search. " We had better (S86) ^ 112 DOWN IN THE MINE. make our way out of this place as fast as we can,** and, taking the lead as before, he went groping along the side of the wall, followed in profound silence by Asahel and Phemie. "Arthur, are you sure that we are going the right way ? " exclaimed Asahel suddenly ; " I am sui-e that the path by which we came sloped down- wards a good deal, and here we are going down- wards still ! " "We are all right," said Arthur, rather dog- gedly. The next moment there was the sound of a little splash — he had unwittingly stepped into a small pool of water ! " I am afraid that we have lost our way," said Arthur, a sensation of horror creeping over hia frame. There was another very painful silence, only broken by a drip, drip from the roof into the pool The walls were clammy and damp ; the air like that of a vault. " What on earth are we to do ! " exclaimed Asahel. " Buried alive in this horrible place ! " cried Ai-thur, clenching his hands with a gesture of despair, which, however, no one could see. " We must try to make our way back to our starting place," said Asahel, now taking the lead. DOWN IN THE MINE. 113 He felt for Phemie, and took her little icy hand within his own. Judging from her height and appearance, he thought her quite a young child, and his gentle heai*t amid its own oppressive fears had room for compassion for his poor little companion. Fearful, indeed, was that hour, when the three unhappy wanderers, gi-oping in the awful darkness, vainly tried to find their way back to freedom and sunshine ! Often did they pause to feel if any gust of fresher air on their faces betokened that they were near the opening on the hill ; but no, the air was close, heavy, and oppressive, whichever way they turned ! Then Arthur made passionate efforts to strike a spark from two stones. After bruising his hand very severely, he succeeded in striking one or two, and Phemie uttered an exclamation of joy; but it was impossible to light the taper at them — the feeble sparks died away in the darkness, like the hopes of the miserable three ! " Our long absence will alarm our friends," said AsaheL " They will search for us in every place." " Except this — every place except this ! " ex- claimed Arthur, in a thrilling tone of despair. " Our fate will be that of the lady who bid in the oaken chest — only our bodies will never be found ! " and he threw himself down on the ground, exhausted with his fniitless efforta 114 DOWN IN THE MINX. " If we were to cry out, very loud indeed," mur- mured poor Phemie, " don't you think that some one miofbt hear us ? " O Her suggestion was instantly adopted. Again and again rose a cry — a wild cry of distress from these depths, echoed back by a strange, hollow sound, which died away into silence again ! The wanderers had done all that they could, and all had been done iii vain ! Passage after passage had been tried, tiU their memory had become con- fused, theii- strength worn out, and they all at last sat down in despair, the dreary conviction chilling the heart of each that they would never see day- light again, that they would perish of want in these dreary caves, where no one would think of searching for them ! CHAPTER XII. THE TREASURE FOUND, [HAT was a time of awful trial ! As it was the sharp blow which discovered the hidden metal, so was it now the heavy stroke of affliction which proved the spirit of the sufferers. The hoiTor of darkness, the pang of hunger, the fear of death, had fallen upon all ; but the weight of that fear lay with very unequal power on the hearts of the three. It was strange that the most timid of the party had now the least to endure from terror ! Arthur and Asahel both felt intensely wretched as death suddenly stared them in the face. They would both have dared far more than Phemie ; they would more cheerfully have rushed into danger, as long as there was excitement to rouse them or hope to support. The desire of distinguishing himself would have incited Arthur to gallant deeds ; a ro- 116 THK TREASURE FOUND. mantic spirit of heroism would have impelled his companioiL But here there was no voice of fame to rouse with its trumpet-call ; nothing to awake enthusiasm or call for exertion : there was but the prospect of lingering sufferings, which no one would ever hear of — sufferings only to be closed by death. And death was terrible to both the youths, though from very different causes : to Arthur, because he had scarcely ever thought of it ; to Asahel, because he had thouGfht of it so much. To Arthur it now appeared as the sudden cutting short of every hope and enjoyment, a quenching of the light of life, a hoiTible blank — something resembling the darkness around him. Asahel had a keener sense of fear, for his imagination peopled that darkness with forms of terror : it was not death itself so much as the hereafter that he dreaded ; he could have suffered much, and with constancy, had he felt as- sured that he had nothing to fear beyond the grave. Arthur thought most of his present misery, Asahel of that which might yet be to come. But Phemie had been taught from her earliest childhood to connect the idea of death so closely with that of heaven, that they were inseparably connected in her mind. Death was to her the gate of the everlasting temple, the angel-messenger of the great King — the river on whose farther bank lay the THE TREASURE FOUND. 117 paradise of God. Such were the images familiar to the child, Phemie was afraid of suffering — as who is not ? She was afraid of sorrow, and hunger, and pain ; she was not afraid of that which would put an end to them alL She had a Father and Friend in the distant land, and her thoughts had so often wandered thither, that she could not arrive as a stranger. While her companions were struggling in a sea of anguish, she was clinging to an immov- able Rock ; in the midst of the fearful gloom she felt a Father's sustaining hand ; there was light to her in the darkness, and even in trouble a secret peace, " It must be late, very late ! " exclaimed Ai-thur, after a long gloomy silence ; "I think that we must have spent a whole night here ! It is endless night in this homble place ! " Asahel drew out his watch and raised it to his ear, "It is stiU going," he said, "and it has not been wound up since last night. It cannot be mid- night yet." "Shall we pray together, and then try to sleep!" said Phemie, in a low faint voice. "I could not sleep here," murmured Asahel, "and I am afraid to pray," "Afraid!" repeated Phemie, very gently ; "oh! prayer is the only thing that can make us not afi-aid." 118 THE TRBASITRE FOITND. "Are you not afraid, Phemie ? " said AsaheL The little girl waited a brief space before she re- plied, "Yes, I am afraid; but when I lift up my heart to the Saviour, he comforts me." " Do you believe," said Asahel very solemnly, "that he — he who suffered at Calvary lives yet, and can hear you when you pray ? " Phemie clasped her hands and replied, " I know that nny Redeemer liveth." Asahel was struck at the child's answer, being given in the words of Job — words upon which he had often pondered with solemn inquiry. It was a little time before he broke silence. " And you be- lieve that your prayer can reach him ? " " He is beside us now," whispered Phemie ; " dark- ness cannot hide us from his eye, and death can only bring us nearer to him." " If I could but think that ! " exclaimed Asahel ; " oh, Phemie, if I could but share your hope ! " " You would — you would, if you could but read my Bible ! " exclaimed Phemie ; "I have it with me — but aU is darkness ! Oh, if we could but lijght the lantern ! " " We would then find our way to safety," cried Arthur, who, having Mien half asleep, had only heard her concluding words. "To safety! — yes, safety for the soul! " murmured THE TREASURE FOUND. 119 AsaheL " Here darkness is around me indeed ! And yet," he added, with more animation, "there seems a little gleam of light when I remember the strange di-eam which I had, and which the horrors of this place bring now more strongly to my mind!" " Tell us your dream," said Arthur, rousing him- self to listen, anxious to share any " gleam of light " that could shine on the darkness of the mine. He was lying full length, with his face towards the ground, his brow supported by his aim. The proud heart of the impetuous boy was humbled by the painful consciousness that it was he who had brought his companions into their perilous condition, and his better feelings were touched by their generosity in never uttering to him one word of reproach. Asahel repeated his dream, and felt his own heart kindle as he did so. He seemed to hear again the angel voice that breathed the words, "Free forgive- ness," — to gaze again upon the bleeding hand, and the pardon signed in blood. It was no longer to him like a dream ; it was the shadow of a living Truth — a vision of the world unseen ! The tears flowed down the pale cheeks of Phemie as she listened to the glowing words of the young Jew ; and when he had concluded, she exclaimed, " Oh, Asahel, why not do that now which you did laO THE TREASURE FOUND. in your dream — fall down at the feet of your De- liverer, and cry, ' My Lord, and my Saviour ? ' " " Would he not reject me ? " said AsaheL "Oh no! never, never!" cried Phemie. "He never rejects any who turn unto him. We may come in our darkness, we may come in our sin— the blessed Lord has mercy for all ! " "But I am so ignorant — so dark!" exclaimed Asahel; "my heart believes, but my mind lacks knowledge. I have been brought up amongst those who do not accept your gospel. Where could I find proofs that your Lord is the Messiah ? " " In the Old Testament — in your own Scriptui'es! " cried Phemie, eagerly ; " fiom the beginning to the end, they bear witness to him." And then, with a rapidity and fluency which seemed strange even to herself, carefully as she had thought over the subject before, she brought forward some of the principal prophecies and types, such as even a child may be made to comprehend As she spoke of the ark, the paschal lamb, the brazen sei-pent, Isaac bound on the altar, and the wondrous prophecies contained in Isaiah and the Psalms, her soft childish voice, in its earnest utterance, fell with more power on the mind of her listener than manly eloquence could have done ; for it seemed to the awe-struck Jew as though Heaven were inspiring a little child to bear THE TREASURE FOUND. 121 its life-giving message to one on the brink of the grave ! Asahel's own knowledge of the Psalms and the Prophets was invaluable to him now. Passage after passage flashed on his mind without being suggested by Phemie ; and in the intense interest with which he pursued the absorbing theme, for a short space the sufi'erings and perils of his position appeared almost forgotten. When the young speaker's silvery voice ceased, a low sob burst from the very heart of the Jew " Oh, Phemie, I must — I do believe ! Like the poor wretch on the cross, I turn to the Saviour at my dying hour. He is my last, my only hope : may he be merciful to me, a sinner ! " "And to me!" murmured Aii-hur, almost inaudibly. Never had religion seemed to him a thing so solemn, so real, as it did now. It is with a very different amount of interest that we look on a life-boat hauled in on shore when the sea is smooth and the winds are still, to tliat with which we behold it dashing through the breakers to our rescue — when we stand on a vessel enveloped in flame, or sinking in the depths of the ocean. There was nothing but religion now which could afford a ray of comfort to the lost children. "Oh, Arthur," cried Asahel, sadly, overhearing 122 THS TREASURE FOUND. the low exclamation of his friend, " your position is BO different from mine — you have always been a Christian." " I do not believe that I ever was a Christian," exclaimed Arthur ; " I never cared much for these things. I never did one single act — never gave up one single fault — because I knew that as a Christian I ought to do so, I am less fit to die, Asahel, than you. You had love without knowledge ; I know- ledge without love. Yours was ignorance — mine was sin ! " Yes, Arthur's religion had been like the taper which he carried with him now. There had been the forvn of what was most needed ; but what was the form without the light ? As he was now in danger of perishing, even with the taper in his hand, so what wiU it avail us to have been baptized and brought up as Christians, wanting the spark of heavenly love ! That spark was kindled in the bosom of Asahel ; by it he had found in that awful hour — in that gloomy mine he had discovered the treasure beyond all price — the hope of bliss unchanging and etenial, bought with a price which worlds could not have paid. Again Phemie suggerced, " Shall we pray ? " They knelt down together in that dark living tomb THE TREASURE FOUND. 122 — that valley of the shadow of death ; and Asahel, leading the devotions of his companions, poured out his soul in prayer to the Lord Jesus, the Redeemer of the world. A sweet feeling of peace, of humble confidence, came over the spirit of the youth — a feeling like that which he had experienced in his dream. He was willing to resifrn his life to that merciful Being whom, not having seen, he had yet loved ; and long after the prayer was ended Asahel lay meditating on the wonders of redemption, while Ai'thur restlessly made yet another attempt to find the entrance to the mine ; and Phemie, completely worn out, lay peacefully slumbering on the hard rocky floor. CHAPTER XIII. A GLANCE AT THE PAST. ND how had the time sped at Moorerofl Hatch durin": the long absence of the wanderers ? Horace awaited the return of hia nephew to his studies ; and when one hour passed, and then another, the non- appeai'ance of the truant excited a strong feeling of displeasure in the mind of Mr. Moorcroft, but not at first mingled witli any alarm. As it was not the first nor the second occasion on which Ai'thur had thus trespassed on the patience of his uncle, Horace was not yet uneasy as to the cause of the boy's prolonged absence. But he revolved in his mind what strong measures should be taken to prevent a recun-ence of the offence, and seriously considered whether it might not be advisable to send his wilful charge back to school A GLANCE AT THE PAST. 125 It was simply a principle of economy which pre- vented Mr. Moorcroft from deciding upon a measure which would have relieved him from a disagreeable responsibility and a wearisome burden. Horace had resolved not to touch a shilling of the pension to which Arthur was entitled for the services of his father till the youth should be old enough to be sent to college, when the accumulated sum would scarcely suffice to finish his education, and to set him out in hfe. Purely unselfish were the motives of the uncle in himself undertaking the drudgery of a tutor. But there was another cause of the rigid economy which excluded from the household of the gloomy old Hatch all the luxuries, and some even of the comforts of life. Horace was not laying by treasure; he was not hoarding up his money, as Arthur had supposed ; he was merely paying a debt to his con- science. He had entered life with the high resolves of a strong and generous nature, that had received a careful, though perhaps too rigid and exclusive a training. The world had been an untried battle- field to Horace, who had been educated entirely at home ; he had entered it fearlessly, confiding in his own strength and the power of his good resolutions. One of the latter, which the youth had even bound himself to keep by a secret vow, was to devote one- tenth of aU that he should ever possess to religious 126 A GLANCE AT THE PAST. and charitable purposes. The vow had been hastily made, and it had been wilfully broken. Horace had fallen into the snares which he feared not — had yielded to unexpected temptations. From the day when, a stripling of sixteen, he had fii'st set foot in India, he had never laid by the devoted sum ; nay more, he had soon plunged into debt. Twice the generosity of his brother had freed him from painful emban-assments, and twice had recurring tempta- tions induced Horace to violate the obligations of gratitude and duty. Tied down by debt, treading the downward path which afforded so sad a contrast to the straight course of virtue and honour on which, in his 3^outh, he had set out, there seemed little pro- bability that Horace would ever be able to return to his native country, though his health required the change, and a visit to England might afford him a chance of breaking free from the fata) habit to which he had yielded. Again Arthur's generous father interposed, and, by sacrificing the greater portion of the little sav- ings which he had intended to settle on his own childi-en, enabled his brother to accompany him on his homeward voyage. This liberality was the more remarkable, as the mother of the Moorcrofta had bequeathed to Horace, though the younger of her sons, the estate, of some extent though of little / A GLANCE AT THE PAST. 127 value, which she possessed in Cornwall, and in which the tin mine was situated. This display of partiality towards her favourite had been as unwise as it appeared unjust; the small receipts which Horace had derived from his property had been swallowed up like the rest of his income. But for the generous spirit of the elder Arthur, more fatal effects might have ensued ; jealousy might have severed the tie between the brothers, and Horace have been left without a friend. But Arthur never suffered himself even in thought to question the wisdom of a parent, nor did he ever relax in his efforts to reclaim her emng son. He strongly opposed his brother's intention of clearing himself from debt by selling the family estate, which could only have been done at, great disadvantage. He preferred di-aining his own purse to assist Ho- race ; and if the younger Moorcroft permitted the generous sacrifice, it was because he made a mental resolve that the land should descend to his brother's heir, and that at any rate after his own death the injustice to Arthur should be repaired. Horace's gi-atitude was deep, though silent. His love for his elder brother was one of the strongest passions of his nature, and to do service to his bene- factor he would readily have sacrificed his life. But, alas ! it is often a harder task to give up one beset- (2G5) 9 128 A GLANCE AT THE PAST. ting sin, than to face danger and death ! It would be difficult to say whether even the generous affec- tion and the earnest counsels of Arthur Moorcroft would have availed to effect any lasting change in the habits of his unhappy brother; but the crushing blow, the almost maddening grief, occasioned by his sudden loss, had accomplished more than all the efforts of his self-denying life. Weighed down to the dust by misery and remorse, Horace had learned the painful lesson of repentance, and turned at length from his besetting sin with unutterable hatred and abhorrence. The wretched man only endured life for the means which it might afford of repairing in some measure the wrong which he had done to his brother. He would deny himself in all things, and restore to the children every farthing of what he had owed to the father. He would now also keep his broken but unforgotten vow to Hea- ven, and devote to the poor a tenth of the substance which God had given to one so unworthy. Horace made a careful calculation of all the pay that he had ever received, and of the trifling rent which he had derived from the Hatch, and counted the tenth of it as a sacred debt which it should be the business of his life to repay. Secret remittances were made by him to various charities in India, and many a good work at home was helped by his anonymous A GLANCE AT THE PAST. 129 contributions. Horace, under any circumstancei% would have hated ostentation, but it would now have only filled him with shame had he sufiered men to esteem him generous, when he felt that he was only struggling to be just. No being on earth did he permit to know what he did with his money. Horace cared little for the opinion of the world ; or, if the imputation of meanness ever caused him pain, he took that pain as a just punishment for the errors of his earlier days. No one could have judged Horace Moorcroft more hardly than he judged himself; he was thought proud while he was deeply humble, and counted himself unworthy of the smallest mercies of Heaven. He was considered cold and hard, and perhaps in one way he was so ; but his was not the hardness of the unyielding granite, but rather that of the waves which have congealed beneath the icy grasp of winter — waters which once heaved restlessly under the influence of wind and tide, and which yet might melt and sparkle under the beams of a brighter sun ! Horace Moorcroft sat alone, with folded arms and eyes sternly bent upon the floor. His thoughts hatl wandered from the subject of Arthur, his wilfulness, and the means of subduing it, to the one gloomy theme to which, sleeping or waking, his mind would instinctively recur. Horace was thinking of his lost 130 A GLANCE AT THB PAST. brother. Time seemed to have no power to soften his grie^ to close up the ever-bleeding wound, for self-reproach and remorse had poisoned it, and though Horace trusted that he had been forgiven, himself he could never forgive. Lost in his gloomy recollections, he had completely forgotten for the moment that seveial hours had now elapsed since Arthur had left his home, when he was startled by a knock at the door, more loud and impatient than any to which the old timbers of the Hatch had re- soimded for many a year. As the thundering sum- mons was not instantly obeyed, it was repeated ; and Horace, anxious to ascertain the cause of the evident impatience of his unexpected visitor, hastily walked into the hall as his maid-servant opened the door, and met Mr. Salomons at the threshold. The old man looked flushed and excited, and his eyes had a restless uneasy expression. He scarcely returned the courteous gi-eeting of Mr. Moorcroft, to whom he was slightly known through matters of business, though they had not as yet exchanged visits ; and he at once proceeded to the cause of his coming. " Is Asahel — is my grandson at your house ? " asked the old man. The question was abrupt almost to rudeness ; it was of course answered in the negative. A GLANCE AT THK PAST. 131 " Has your nephew come home ? " " No," replied Horace ; " the boy has played truant to-day." " Truant ! " exclaimed Mr. Salomons bitterly ; " he has taken my grandson I know not where. Would that I had forbidden Asahel to have anything to say to him ! " Horace Moorcroft was annoyed, but scarcely yet alarmed. He turned quickly to his servant, who was lingering in the hall, and asked her if she knew anything of the movements of his nephew. The maid crumpled the corner of her apron. Both Mrs. Yesey and herself had been wondering all the afternoon, said the girl, at what had become of Master Arthur and Miss Phemie. "Phemie!" exclaimed Moorcroft, the blood rush- ins to his brow. He had not missed his Kttle niece, for she was seldom beside him at that part of the day ; but to hear that she had been absent so long awakened in a moment anxiety and alarm for the safety of both of his charges. Horace knew that Phemie's strength would not caiTy her far, while her character for steadiness and obedience made it ex- ceedingly improbable that she would willingly have played truant frum her home. It was, therefore, with an expression as anxious as that of his visitor that Mr. Moorcroft took his hat down from its peg, 132 A GLANCE AT THE PAST. and said, *'I will walk over to Oldshaft and make inquiries," " A serv^ant of mine has been at Oldsliaft already," said the Jew, "and others in various directions; the country for miles round has been searched. No one has seen anything of either of the boys since they started from Eshcol at two o'clock. I came here as a last resource ! " The face of Horace turned deadly pale, but his manner was strangely calm, and his voice quiet, as he said, "Have you tried the beach below the east cliff?" The old man visibly trembled. "It has been high-water there — they could not — " He did not conclude his sentence. Mr. Moorcroft drew out his watch and looked at it. " The tide has been on the turn for the last hour/' said he ; " shall we walk to the beach to- gether ? " No one that saw his cold quiet demeanour, as he quitted the house with his excited companion, would have guessed what a weight of agonizing fear lay like a mountain on his breast ! CHAPTER XIV. THE SECRET GRIEF, ' T was not long before the two gentlemen had ^ skirted the shore of the bay, and reached the shingle below the cliff. Horace walked so fast that his companion could scarcelj' keep up with his long rapid strides. Mr. Salomons spoke almost incessantly — talked of Asa- hel's constitutional delicacy, the deaths of the other members of his family, the ca-re which had from in- fancy been taken of the boy : it was doubtful whether Horace heard his companion or not, for he never answered a word. The sun was now verging towards the western horizon. Large masses of crimson clouds floated in the sky, and their reflection on the waves below gave the waters the appearance of a sea of glory. Even close to the cliff the shingle was still wet and shining from the efiects of the recent high tide, and 134 THE SECRET GRIEF. the feet of the gentlemen, as they hastily pursued their way, sometimes broke the bright bubbles on the foam- flakes which marked the height to which the last billow had reached. There was no human being in sight, save in a boat which was passing near, the measured dip of whose glanc- insr oars reached the ears of the searchers on the shore. Horace's quick eye was attracted by some small black object which lay on the beach at a little dis- tance. In a few moments he was bending with an interest amounting to agony over a simple cotton work-bag, the long strings of which had become en- tangled around a large stone, and which had thus been preserved from being swept off by the waves, though its wet state proved that they must have passed over it. Many a time had Horace seen that bag on the arm of his little niece, and any doubt of its identity that he might possibly have entertained was at once destroyed by the initials which he be- held marked upon the border. His lip quivered, but he could not speak ; he gazed on the relics with diy, tearless eyes, which wore the expression of something more terrible than mere apprehension. He did not even hear the voice of the old Jew be- side him, who was eagerly and loudly shouting across the water to the boatmen, to draw their ai- THE SECRET GRIEF. 135 tention to some floating object whicli the waves were bearing farther and farther from the shore. " There ! — there ! " cried Mr. Salomons, pointing nervously, as one of the men, stretching forward with his oar, first touched the object, and then lifted it on high, and shook the sea- water from it ; " what is it ? — my eyes are dim and dazzled — what is it ? " he repeated in a sharper tone, pressing Moorcroft's arm with a convulsive grasp, which at length enforced attention. " A light horse-hair cap with a band of blue velvet." The old man uttered a terrible cry, and raised both his arms with a gesture of despair. "It is Asahel's ! — my boy ! — my child ! he is lost ! " he exclaimed ; " he is lost ! " " AU are lost ! " murmured Horace, and closed his eyes, as if to shut out some scene of horror. Yet even at that moment of anguish he still clung to hope — the desperate hope that the bodies of the children might be recovered ; that perhaps even life might be restored. It was this desperate hope that made him hail the boat, and embark in it, accompanied by the miserable old man, who clung to him for support and guidance under a calamity that almost unsettled his judgment. It was that desperate h.ope which made Horace Moor- 136 THE SECRET GKIEF, croft, for hours, search the sea and the shore, while the golden beams of sunset gave place to twilight, and long after the gathering darkness had been dis- pelled by the soft rays of the moon. Even till mid- night the two bereaved companions pursued their miserable search, which became every minute more hopeless; but at length, with a feeling of despair, Horace gave the command to put into the shore. As the dripping oars were lifted from the water, and the boat's keel grated on the shingle, Horace sprang once more on the beach with a sense of utter desola- tion on his souL He could help the old man out of the boat, gently, compassionately, as though anguish had left room for pity — he had sufficient composure to reward those who had toiled in his service — he gave way to no loud burst of distress ; but there was something fearful in his silent grief as he led his companion up the shore. The sorrow of the miserable old grandfather vented itself in passionate upbraidings ; he accused himself, Arthur, Asahel, all the world ; spoke long and loudly, with vehement gestures, careless how deep he might be forcing down the barbed dart which was rankling in the bosom of the man whose arm was at that moment his support. The selfish heart of Mr. Salomons was scarcely capable of tender, self-den^nng affection, Asahel had been precious to THE SECRET GRIEF. 137 him, indeed, but rather as the only scion of his house, the object of his pride, the heir of his wealth, than as the subject of deep paternal love ; but the suddenness of the blow which had bereft him of his boy had awakened all the latent feeling which covetousness and worldliness had left — he mourned for Asahel as one without hope, for to the consola- tions of religion the unhappy old man was a stranger. It was not till Horace Moorcroft had seen Mr. Salomons safe at Eshcol, and had heard from the servants of the Jew their accounts of prolonged and fruitless searches in various directions, that he re- turned to his own desolate home. Drearier than ever it looked, in the cold pale moonlight — the shadows more intensely black; but all was shadow on the spirit of Horace. He found Mrs. Vesey watching at the door. She was almost afraid to question him, he looked so ghastly and ill ; but in a few brief words he told her the worst, and then went slowly up to his own room — not to sleep, not to rest ! Horace threw himself down on a chair, pressed his hand tightly over his aching brow, and a faint groan burst from his lips, as if wrung forth by uncontrollable pain. " Oh ! " he exclaimed, " God's judgment is heavy on me still ! I am not yet forgiven the death of my brother ! " 138 THE SECRET ORlEF. These words startled the old housekeeper, who had just softly opened the door to offer some re- fi-eshment to her master after his long night expedi- tion. She noiselessly closed it again, and retired shocked and terrified from the presence of one who could utter a sentence which seemed to convey so dark and dreadful a meaning. "The death of his brother! not forgiven the death of his brother ! " she repeated to herself, as with trembling knees she ascended to her attic, and paused sadly at the open door of poor Arthur's empty room. " I have heard that Mr. Moorcroft's death was sudden, but I never heard — I never dreamed that his brother was any ways in fault ! Mercy on us ! what a world it is that we live in ! Surely his brain was wandering when he said it ! he has had sorrow enough this night to drive him out of his senses ! " But the mind of Horace had not been wandering, nor had his thoughts been confused when he uttered those words of anguish. Memory was but too faithfully bringing before him a scene of which the events of that miserable ni<];ht seemed a fearful re- petition. It was not the first time that Horace Moorcrofb had trodden a sea-washed beach at the dark hour of midnight, seeking, and seeking in vain, for the corpse of one whom he loved. In order to THB SECRET GRIEF. 139 understand wliy his grief assumed the character of such deep self-reproach, it is necessary to enter more particularly than we have hitherto done into the circumstances attending the loss of his brother. My readers may have already divined that the besetting sin which had exercised such fatal influence over Horace was that of gambling, that vice which has plunged thousands and thousands into misery and ruin. It may be supposed that gratitude to- wards his brother and benefactor, joined to his own bitter experience, would have sufficed to have in- duced Horace to abandon this habit for ever ; but, alas ! it has been too often found how difficult, how next to impossible, it is to break from the bondage of this vice, when once it has taken full possession of the soul ! Horace had resolved to play no more, never to make another bet ; but he stood by the tables and watched the cards, and the result was such as might have been foreseen. In the steamer which conveyed the travellers from Alexandria, a Sicilian nobleman had taken his passage, and the society of the Conte di Novelli soon exercised a dangerous influence over Horace. The count was an inveterate gambler, but possessed the insinuating address, polished manner, and culti- vated mind, which make a man welcome in the highest circles. He appeared particularly to attacb 140 THE SECRET GRIEF. himself to Horace, who, on his part, was attracted by the fascination of his conversation. During the rough weather which it encountered in the Mediterranean, the steamer had to put in for repairs at a Sicilian port. This was a source of annoyance to the English passengers, who were im- patient to reach their own country ; but was very convenient to the count, who was landed but a few miles from his home. He invited Horace, with many professions of friendship, to pass the time of the vessel's detention with him in his villa di cam- pagna ; but this invitation was courteously declined. He then urged Horace to join a " re-union " of his friends at a little party which the count proposed to give two days after his landing. The elder Moorcroft, who had seen enough of Novelli to guess what the character of the meeting would be, and who disliked, for various reasons, the idea of his brother mixing in Sicilian society, dis- suaded him strongly from going, Arthur joined a party to visit Syracuse, persuaded that Horace had given up all intention of passing the night at the villa di Novelli. But a few thoughtless words from a lady, who commended the prudence of Horace in not venturing; to traverse the roads of a country which was then in a state of political disturbance, where armed insurgents, or insolent soldiery, might THE SECRET GRIEF. 141 render travelling after dark quite dangerous, had an effect on the sensitive spirit of Horace exactly oppo- site to that intended. He saw that it was possible that his refusal to go might be attributed to fear ! Novelli perceived his advantage, and pressed it, and left the steamer with a promise from Horace that he would set out to join him soon after sunset. " Take the path along the cliff, and you cannot miss your way," said the count as he parted from Horace ; " I well know that courage is inherent in Englishmen, but it might be as well, amico mio, in the present state of our distracted country, to carry with you some weapon of defence." " I shall carry a stout cudgel, that is enough. I do not believe that there is anything to fear." Horace was habitually a temperate man, but that day he was less so than usual. He knew that he was about to do a foolish thing, and it was with him as it is with all of us, one wrong step leads to another. Horace set out on his night walk a little flushed and heated with wine, and his mind not quite so clear and composed as it was wont to be. He was constitutionally courageous, and cared very Httle for danger ; but as he pursued his dark soli- tary path, the various warnings which he had re- ceived recurred to his memory. They were enforced by a low whistle from the beach, which suddenly 142 THE SECRET GEIEF, broke the stillness, and whicli sounded to his ear like a signal. Horace grasped his cudgel more firmly, and smiled as *he thought of the efiect of one good blow from an EngKsh arm, contrasting it with the use of the stiletto, a weapon fit only for banditti and assassins. The path just before him was narrow, a precipice rose on his right, on his left he could hear the moan of the surges below ; a cloud had passed over the moon — there was scarcely enough of light to guide him on his way. " This would be a perilous spot," thought Horace, " for a hand-to-hand encounter ; a struggle upon this narrow ledge would try of what metal a man was made." He stopped suddenly, for at that moment he fancied that he heard a quick step behind him. Before he had time to look round, a hand was laid on his shoulder ! Horace turned sharply, and with the sense of danger quickening his movements and giving force to his arm, he struck his supposed assailant one desperate blow — but one, but it was sufficient to send him reeling over the edge of the cliff! Horror of horrors ! in the cry of the perishing man, as he lost his footing and plunged over into the abyss — that cry which was tlie utter- ance of the name of " Horace ! " — that cry which for days and nights rung in the ears of him who had dealt the fatal blow, Moorcroft recognized the voice of his brother ! THE SECRET GEIEP. 143 From that hour of unutterable horror Horace bo- came a changed man. No one but himself knew the fearful circumstances attending his bereavement, but every one saw that its effects had crushed him to the dust. The impatient, fiery, high-spirited officer had become a broken-hearted mart It was true that Horace knew his brother's death to have been the result of a mistake — that it might be re- garded as an unhappy accident — that he himself was guiltless of even a thought of injuring one so be- loved : but Horace also felt that Arthur had died in a last attempt to draw him back from the path of ruin — that he had been the victim of his fraternal afiection ; and that had he been less generous, less devoted, he might yet have lived to return to his country and his children. Horace had repented in the sight of Heaven, but the consequences of his errors pursued him on earth. The record of his sins might be blotted out on high, but in his own heart they were written in letters of lire. Could we see the fearful results of our trans- gressions on our happiness below — could we see spread before us all the miseries into which the in- dulgence of one evil habit may lead us — how we would shrink back and tremble at the view, and own that even in what regards this life alone, " the way of transgressors is hard /" (265) 10 CHAPTER XV. ONE EFFORT MORE, jUT we have too long wandered from the youthful sufferers whom we left to spend the lingering hours of night in the dark recesses of the mine. Sleep came to them all at last, and for a brief space soothed them into forgetfalness of danger. Phemie was the first to awake. She did so with a strange feeling of oppression on her heart, though she could not at the first moment remember where she was or what had occurred. She wondered at the unnatural darkness ; but when she stretched out her hand to draw her curtain, and struck it against the cold rock, and felt an aching pain in her limbs as she moved on her stony couch, recollection came back like a torrent ; and only recalling her miseries, without being sufficiently awake to rouse her coui-age and faith to endure them, the poor child's ONE EFFORT MORE, 146 fortitude gave way, and she burst into a flood of bitter tears. " Don't sob SO, Phemie ; you'll drive me wild," exclaimed Arthur. His sister's weeping was hushed in a moment. "Oh, Arthur, I am afraid that I awoke you. I'm so sorry! It was very selfish in me to cry." "I can't bear to hear you speak so," said Arthur hoarsely, " when it was my folly that brought all this misery upon you." "You meant no harm, dear Ai-thur. None of us knew the danger into which we were going. Oh ! " she exclaimed, in an altered tone, " what is this laid over my feet to keep me warm during the night ? A jacket ! Arthur — dear, kind Arthur ! " " I did not put it there," said her brother ; " it must have been Asahel who did so. I do not be- lieve that I ever did one kind action in my life ; I mean one that really cost me something." "Should we not all lead different lives," mur- mured Phemie, " if the Lord would only save us from this terrible place ? " Here the musical voice of Asahel joined in. " I have often wondered," said he, "what my feelings would be were an angel to teU me that I never should see the light of another sun. I thought with what fei-vent zeal I should perform good works." 146 ONE EFFORT MORB. " We can do nothing here ! " exclaimed Arthnr. " Except believe and submit," suggested AsaheL " And oh, what a comfort to know," cried Phemie, " that the great work has been done for us already. We are not left to our own poor efforts." '^But if I ever get out — " began Asahel. " How one's heart leaps at the very word ! " in- terrupted Arthur. "How the mere thought of light and food and fresh air seems to give one new life and spirit ! My eyes ache so with this horrible darkness ! " " I do not see why we should despair of escaping," said Asahel more cheerfully. "Let us make one more resolute effort. We will divide, that we may more thoroughly examine the place ; know each other's position by frequent hallooing ; and the first who catches a glimpse of the daylight shall shout three times as loud as he can." This proposition was eagerly seconded by Arthur, at whose age hope is usually buoyant, and whose energies were stimulated by the sharp pang of hunger. Phemie felt secretly fr'ightened at the idea of being separated from her companions, and dying, perhaps, quite alone. She, however, kept her fears to herself, and only proposed prayer before they divided. Again the three knelt down on the cold, hard ONE EFFOBT HOB£. 147 floor, and Asahel poured out his supplications in the name of the Redeemer, He then asked Phemie if she could remember by heart some portion of the Gospel; and she repeated the first verses of the Ser- mon on the Mount. "These were never the words of a mere man," exclaimed Asahel, when her soft voice was silent. " The world says, ' Blessed are the rich, the proud, the admired.' God's thoughts are not as our thoughts." "And even in this dark prison — even in this place of death," murmured Phemie, " we see that the blessing of the Lord may rest upon us." Arthur had often heard those beautiful verses which his sister had repeated, but they had never carried before such self-condemnation into his soul. He had despised meekness ; thought poorness of spirit a name for weakness ; and as for hungering and thirsting after righteousness, he had neither felt a want nor a wish on the subject. He knew now only too well what it was for the mortal body to hunger. Could the longing of the soul for purity and holiness ever resemble this, or its love of knowledge the painful yearning for light which the wanderers experienced now ! They soon separated from each other, as Asahel had proposed, and Phemie was left alone to grope 148 ONE EFFORT MORE. her way in the darkness. She listened to the halloos, which grew fainter and more faint, and longed and prayed for the signal shout, which would have filled her heart with transport. But, alas ! that welcome shout never echoed along the gloomy lodes. The searchers never saw one gleam of day- light piercing the darksome mine. A fall of earth had taken place veiy near the hole in the side of the hill, and had so completely blocked up the passage, that, had a lifetime been spent in searching, no gust of pure air, no glimmering ray, would have guided them to the opening. Their prison was com- pletely sealed ; and again, after their exhausting wanderings, the three met, more weary and hungry than ever; and their fortitude would have entirely failed them but for the hope which shone beyond the grave. And thus by nature are all mankind wandering in darkness and in the shadow of death. Eagerly they enter life, hopefuUy they commence their search for happiness, and believe that the feeble light which they bring will suffice to guide them to that which they desire. But what would it have availed to the lost ones in the mine if the walls of their prison had been of pure gold ? — it could not have satisfied their hunger — ^it could not have preserved them from death ! And so, if we carry on the image, " What ONE EFFORT MORE. 149 shall it profit a man if he gain the ivhole world and lose his own soul ?" K he have not the bread of the Word of God, the living waters of the Spirit — if the Kght of the gospel shine not on him — if he has his portion in a world of trial and change, and no sure hope of at length finding his way to the eternal sunshine of heaven — what shall it profit him though all earth could ofier were laid at his feet ? While the three remained in their dreary prison, the sky blushed rosy at the approach of the sun; the bright orb rose upon the earth, the birds twit- tered to welcome the light ; and the sounds of man's labour were heard again — the blow of the hammer, the stroke of the axe ; the fisherman spread his sail to the wind, and the regular dip of the boat- man's oar broke the ripple on the glancing waters. The earth was bathed in beautiful sunshine ; the poorest, the meanest could bask in the cheerful beams, which never penetrated the living tomb in which the poor wanderers were buried! Even Oldshaft, with its mud hovels and shingle- buUt sheds, looked almost gay in the light of morn- ing. Merry voices of children were heard there ; women spread out linen to bleach in the sun ; one man sat mending his nets, another eating his simple meal ; and the clinking clang from the blacksmith's forge told that his rlav of toil had begun. He was 160 ONE EFFORT MORE. engaged that morning in replacing a shoe which had been dropped by the horse of a traveller. The rider sauntered up and down while the smith was busy at his occupation, and entered into conversation with a group that were gathered at the door of a cottage. It would have been impossible, on that day, to have spoken for five minutes to any inhabitant of Oldshaft without hearing something of the subject which was uppermost in the minds of all — the woful disappearance of the children, who had been drowned by the rising of the tide. All kinds of rumours were abroad, some true, some exaggerated, some entirely false. It was said that one of the bodies had been recovered, but this statement had been contradicted ; one of the women knew for certain that Mr. Salomons had gone mad ; " and no wonder," said she, stooping to kiss a little prattler at her feet ; " it's a sore stroke to a parent to lose a child, and a Jew has feehngs as well as Christians." "I was a certain as summat was a-going to happen," said an old woman, who was standing near, shaking her head in a mysterious manner ; "it ain't for nothing when the voices are heard from the dead ; " and with her wrinkled finger she pointed to the earth. "I heard 'em, too, I'm sure of it," said the first ONE EFFORT MORE. 161 ■woman who had spoken, lowering her voice to an awe-struck whisper. " Heard what ? " said the traveller, quickly. "Sounds from the old mine, where poor Nat Bui-ns perished," said the aged woman, speaking slowly, and measuring each word which she uttered. "When there's a death a-going to be, then — then — " (the little children crouched nearer to their mother, as the old speaker glanced fearfully round her) "there's a warning voice from below-^ and we all know what it bodes ! " " What sort of a sound was it ? " inquired the gentleman, with interest, "Well," said a man near, rubbing his grizzly chin, "a sort of underground rumbling, I should say." " No — a wailing — a cry for the dead ! " said the old woman, and her bony hand trembled as she spoke. " You heard it too ? " said the traveller, turning with animation towards the young mother. "I heard summat : I can't say what it was like; I thought it was the wind shrieking, and I tried to get to sleep," replied the cottager in a hesitating tone. " Is there any entrance into the mine of which you spoke ? " asked the gentleman. " It is just 152 ONE EFFORT MOEB. possible that what you heard were cries for help from the poor children, who may be wandering within it." The suggestion was received with blank astonish- ment. Such an idea had never entered the minds of the peasants, and with open eyes and mouths they stared first on the stranger, then on each other, every one afi-aid to give an opinion upon a question so extraordinary. The gmith, who had finished shoeing the horse, had with some others joined the group. His sleeves were turned up, so as to expose his muscular arms, and the heat-drops stood thick on his swarthy brow ■ he was the first to break the silence. "It's umpossible!" he cried, giving out the sen- tence with the determined force with which he might have struck the iron on his anvil; "there never was a way into the mine but by the old shaft, and that," he said, pointing to the spot, " has been choked up ever since I was a boy." " You've a strong arm, and I daresay a strong will also," said the stranger. " How long do you think we should take in clearing out that rubbish, and getting entrance into the mine ? " The blacksmith's only answer was a whistle, The cottagers looked almost as much surprised as when the horReman had made his first suggestion. ONE EFFORT MORE, 153 " Not to be thought of — not to be thought of!" cried the old woman, raising her hands. " It's just tempting fate ; there's a spell in the place ; no one ever gets good by going near it. There's the Mr. Moorcroft, who threw away all his money on it some thirty years ago, warn't he kUled by a fall from his horse ; warn't poor Nat Burns blown up by the 'plosion, warn't — " " My good friend," said the stranger, rather im- patiently, " here is a question of life or death. Three of yourselves have heard unusual sounds be- low the earth; some poor children at the same time are missed ; it is common sense and common hu- manity to make sure that they are not buried in the mine." "Shall we send to Mr. Salomons?" suggested a boatman. " No," replied the stranger, decidedly ; " I would not waken in the mind of a bereaved parent a hope so likely to end in disappointment. There are enough of us here to do the work. What!" he continued, glancing around him, " can Englishmen hang back — or must your labour be purchased by gold?" and he hastily drew out his purse. " No, no," cried the smith; " we want no money, we only want — " " An example," said the gentleman, pulling off 154 ONE EFFORT MORS. his coat ; " who'll lend me a mattock ? I'll he- gin." In a few minutes all the men were at work, the stranger the foremost of them all. The smith, in- deed, muttered that they were throwing away labour, making a hole just to fill it up again ; the old woman muttered dismal auguries and forebodinsrs — it was well that the men were too busy to hear them. There was soon quite a mound of the rub- bish and sand which they had dug out of the shaft, and at every symptom of relaxed exertions on the part of the diggers the indefatigable stranger roused them to fresh efforts by words and example. " I'll tell ye what," said the smith, wiping his hot brow, " I'm ready enough to dig, I'm not a-gi'udging my work ; but," he added, resuming his spade, and striking it down with tremendous force into the ground, " no power shall make me go into the mine ; " and he set his heel on his tool with an air of dogged resolution. *"Tis full of bad air; 'twould poison a toad," said the boatman ; "let who will go in, I'll not be one !" " Mind my word," cried the old woman's shrill voice; "and if you don't heed it, ye wiU rue it: whoever goes into that mine wiU be blown up like Nat Burns. I'd as lief walk right into a furnace." ONE EFFORT MORE. 166 The stranger was surprised to find the amount of ignorance and superstitious fear prevailing amongst the people of Oldshaft. Hardy fellows, who would have charged up to a cannon's mouth, and met any ordinary danger without flinching, resisted both arguments and persuasions when they ran counter to the prejudices and superstitions which had been fostered amongst them from their childhood. The men worked for hours, and worked hard, until a way was broken into the mine, and the long-de- serted lode was open for the entrance of any one bold enough to explore it. But the place was con- sidered unlucky — haunted ; it was firmly believed that to enter it was to die. When the stranger, standing with a torch in his hand, called on his brave comrades to assist him in pursuing his under- ground search, every one silently hung back ; no one was willing to respond to his call. " Is there no one who will follow me?" he ex- claimed. There was a pause, and then a murmuring amongst the men, in which the words " fire-damp," " choke-damp," " fool's-en-and," " never return again," might be distinguished. " Are you fathers ?" he continued, with kindling eyes ; " if it were your children who were lost instead of those of an unhappy Jew, would you forego the slightest chance of saving them ; would you shrink from the 156 ONB EFFORT MORE. greatest danger ? Think that your own littlfi ones may be wandering in the darkness ; how readily would you venture aU for their sakes !" Another pause, but no voice replied. " What ! — you are afraid! — you will not follow!" cried the stranger; " win none go with me? — enough — I go alone 1" CHAPTER XVI. DARKNESS AND LIGHT. [HE three wanderers were seated close to- gether ; the terrors of that fearful time had drawn them nearer to each other. Arthur was the saddest and most silent of the three. Physical suffering and mental dis- tress were alike new to the youth, and had found him altogether unprepared : but he would have been ashamed to have shown less fortitude than Asahel, whose character he had regarded as soft ; and while Pliemie could speak quietly and calmly, her brother would have blushed to have shed a tear. Phemie's lips were parched, and her voice very faint, and her small hands trembled as she clasped them together; hut a holy firmness was given to the child ; and when she repeated a verse from a favourite hymn, her heart bore Vitness to the truth of the words, — 168 DARKNESS AND LIGH'E. " Tie Religion that can give Sweetest pleasures while we live f 'Tis Religion must supply Solid comfort when we die 1 " " Yes, yours — ours is a beautiful religion," said Asahel; "and oh, so different from what I had deemed it. Religion seemed to me to belong only to the conscience, and now I feel that it is the life of the heart. God is so terrible when we look at him only as a Judge — so unspeakably glorious when we behold him as a Saviour." " But you always had part of the Scriptures," said Phemie ; " and there is so much about God's love in the Old Testament as well as in the New." " I am afraid," replied Asahel, " that I rather read the Scriptures for the beauty of the poetry and the interest of the stories than really to gain know- ledge on religious subjects. But what I have heard since I entered this gloomy place has thrown a new light upon all which I have read. In every part of the Old Testament I find something to remind me of the Lord : Judah ofiering to suffer in the place of Benjamin ; David hazarding his life for his sheep, or, after once being rejected by his people, return- ing to take possession of his throne, all his enemies subdued before him — I see in them emblems of the DARKNESS AND LIGHT. 159 Saviour. And to think that I shall one day behold him ! Soon, perhaps very soon, I shall stand in hia presence — no, rather shall worship at his feet!" " Asahel !" exclaimed Arthur, " you seem to think little of the wretched state in which we all are now." " I do not forget it, I cannot," replied Asahel, a feeling of faintness stealing over his frame. " I know that we are in the depths, the deep depths. But," he added, with more animation, " we may resemble the Israelites passing through the Red Sea — God will lead us through the waters of trouble ; we are bound to the promised land, and the pillar of light shines before us," Phemie convulsively gi'asped his arm. " Look ! look! do you see nothing?" she exclaimed, tremb- ling violently in every limb. Both the boys looked with an intense eagerness on a reflected gleam which appeared on the wall not far from where they sat, at a spot opposite one of the long dark passages which they had explored in vain, "It moves! — it grows brighter!" exclaimed Asahel. Arthur spiung to his feet with a loud, wild shout, which rang through the farthest recesses of the mine, and even reached the ears of the cottagers of Old- (265) 11 160 DARKNESS AND LIGHT. shaft. It was answered by a glad but distant cheer. Scarcely less rapturous than the feelings of the rescued wanderers were those of the stranger when startled by the shout which apprised him of the success of his almost hopeless search. The children rushed forward, guided by the light, which poured a stream of brightness through the lode. Arthur was the foremost of them all ; and the tears, thanks, blessings, and agitated greetings which fol- lowed when they grasped the hand of their pre- server, and felt themselves rescued from their living tomb, the reader may better conceive than I at- tempt to describe. The stranger had stuck his torch in a cleft in the waU ; the light painfully dazzled eyes so long accustomed to the profoundest darkness ; and yet, oh, how welcome was that light ! " Phemie, we are saved ! " exclaimed Arthur. "God had mercy on us, Arthur," sobbed his sister. " Arthur ! Phemie ! " exclaimed the stranger, in a loud, agitated voice, grasping a hand of each, and looking at them with an expression of the most intense emotion. "Children, children, who is your father ? " " Our father's name was Moorcroft ; he is dead—" Saved ! Page ibo. DARKNESS AND LIGHT. 161 "He lives ! — he lives ! " exclaimed the stranger, clasping them both to his heart. "He lives to praise and bless God who has restored to him his children. Arthur 1 Phemie ! you are in the arms of your father ! " mi:% CHAPTER XVIL RESTORATION. 'T was indeed the brother of Horace, his long- lost, deeply-mourned brother, who, led by the highest motives, had sacrificed his own eager impatience to arrive quickly at his home ; and in his search for the children of a supposed stranger, had become the earthly means of rescuing his own ! It will be necessary briefly to describe to the reader the circumstances attending Mr. Moorcroft's preservation, and to show why, for so many months, his family had had reason to believe him to be dead. The fall from the Sicilian cliff, from which he had been hurled by a brother's arm, had stunned but not killed Mr. Moorcroft. The waters which received him below broke the shock of his descent, and were probably the means of saving his life. RESTOHATION. 163 Notwithstanding the despairing haste with which Horace had flung himself down the nearest path, and, regardless of difficulty or danger, made his way by night down a cliff which the boldest would scarcely have ventured to descend by day, his brother, stunned and senseless in the water, must infallibly have perished by drowning had not other means of rescue been near. A party of men, proscribed and hunted down by the Sicilian government for political oflfences, had taken refuge in a cave close to the spot where Arthur feU. Urged by feelings of humanity, they had drawn the senseless body from the waves, and carried it into their place of concealment. Prudence and a regard to their own safety had made the fugi- tives preserve profound silence when the wretched Horace passed and repassed the cave while pursuing his vain search for his brother. They neither knew the anguish of his soul nor the generosity of his character, or they would have thrown themselves on his honour, and so saved him from many months of grief almost beyond endurance. It was nearly a week before the Injured Moor- croft recovered his consciousness of what was pass- ing around him ; and during that period the steamer which had borne him to the ill-fated island had started on its way to England, with his broken- 164 RESTORATION. hearted brother on board. Arthur awoke from hia death-like trance to find himself in the hands of the police ! The hiding-place of the fugitives had been discovered — they had been seized as enemies of the govei-nment ; and the fact of his being found in their cave made the Englishman be arrested as their accomplice ! In vain the poor, weak sufferer pleaded his utter ignorance of all that had occurred since his fall, hia innocence of any conspiracy or design to interfere with Italian politics — in vain he claimed the rights of a British subject, and demanded permission to communicate with his own consul. He found neither mercy nor justice. The jealousy of the Sicilian government is weU known ; its severity towards political ofienders, and the secrecy with which it conducts its operations against unhappy offenders. Arthur Moorcroft spent months in weari- some captivity, cut off from all communication with his friends, and tortured by the thought of what Horace must endure whilst believing him killed by the faU. At length the miserable situation of the English gentleman became known to some of his country- men at Palermo. Every effort was made to pro- cure his release ; and as no proofs of guilt had ever been discovered, those efforts were happily success- RE8T0BATI0N. 166 ftiL Arthur Moorcrofb made use of the first hour of his liberty to write to his brother ; but not being certain of his place of residence, he addressed his letter to an agent in London. This had occasioned a nttle delay in its reaching the place of its desti- nation ; and with such rapidity had Moorcroffc travelled, m his impatience to reach his home, that he had actually outstripped his letter, having learned from a Mend whom he met at Southampton that his family had settled in Cornwall. Moorcroft was on the last stage of his journey, when the accident of his horse having cast off its shoe necessitated his stopping at Oldshaft. He there heard of the sup- posed death of three children; and the reader is acquainted with the rest. Great was the amazement of the good peasants at Oldshaft when Mr. Moorcroft, who had taken the precaution of marking his way as he explored the mine, emerged from its dark recesses into the daylight, with his three pale, haggard, but happy charges ! The old woman herself forgot all her pre- dictions of evil in her haste to run for food for the half-starved wanderers ; and all were loud in the praises of him whom, but an hour before, they had regarded as an obstinate, fool-hardy enthusiast. Asahel was anxious to return to his grandfather as speedily as possible. He scarcely satisfied the 166 RESTORATIOlf. cravings of hunger, but taking a piece of bread in his hand, said that he -would eat it as he walked. His manner was restless and excited, and less joyous than that of his companions. There was something weighing on the heart of the youth, and his nerves were shaken by long fasting and the late painful strain upon his mind. " I shall need other food," he said in a low voice ; the words were addressed to Arthur, but his eyes instinctively sought those of Phemie. She was clinging with delight to the arm of her newly-recovered parent. But she quitted it in a moment ; she had read Asahel's look ; without a word she pressed her Bible into his hand. The twenty-four hours which they had passed together, under circumstances so awful, had made the two understand each other better than years of casual intercourse could have done. They had faced death side by side ; they had exchanged thoughts on the most solemn of subjects, when they believed themselves standing on the brink of the gi'ave. If Asahel had found in Arthur a pleasant companion, in Phemie he had discovered a friend and a sister. " Pray for me, Phemie," he whispered, as he placed the precious gift in his bosom ; "I may have much to suffer, and I feel myself so helpless and weak." He read a silent promise in Phemie's moistened RESTORATION. 167 eyes, and refusing the proffered escort of Mr. Moor- croft, darted off in the direction of his home. Loud were the rejoicings at Eshcol Hall on the sudden return of the lost heir! Mr. Salomons, in the excitement of his joy, welcomed, questioned, embraced, and chid his gi-andson by turns, till at length the wearied looks and fevered pulse of the poor boy procured him a dismissal to his own room. Asahel, as soon as he was alone, sank on his knees, and poured out a fervent thanksgiving for the pre- servation of his life, and as fervent a prayer that that life might from thenceforth be devoted to the service of his Lord. Asahel felt that a great change had passed on his mind since last he had knelt in that room. He must no longer dwell in an ideal world of his own ; his existence was no more to be as a poetical dream ; he had embraced a faith, and he must hold it fast ; he had given himself to a Saviour, and he must confess him at whatever cost. Asahel was not accustomed to " endure hardness ; " his gentle, sensitive spirit recoiled from a harsh word or look, and, in his enfeebled state, he dreaded beyond expi'ession an explanation with his grandfather, the Jew. Eagerly he sought in the Scriptures for en- couragement and guidance ; and as with him prayer accompanied perusal, he was not left to search in vaiu. With delight he read the parts of the gospel 168 RESTORATION. which he had never seen before. All was to him so vivid and new ! The imagination of Asahel pictured to hiTn every scene as though it were actually passing before him. He put himself into the place of those of whom he read, and could almost believe the words of the Lord especially addressed to himself. The humble prayer of the miserable leper, the feelings of the son of the widow of Nain when he opened his eyes to the light, the joy of the weeping penitent when she heard that her sins were forgiven, — all were realized by the young Jew, with a distinctness known to few of those favoured ones to whom the beautiful liistories in the gospel have been familiar from childhood. Asahel found courage to tell Mr. Salomons the next morning, with downcast eyes and a glowing cheek, that he had learned to love the faith of the Christians, and to believe in Jesus of Nazareth as the Messiah. Asahel' s confession was received in a very different way from that which he had expected. Mr. Salomons looked certainly surprised, but neither angry nor distressed at the communication. He treated Asa- hel' s new belief as a childish fancy, — a light spark which would soon die out of itself, if not fanned by opposition. He smiled at his grandson's earnestness. To the worldly man everything unconnected with RESTORATION. 169 gain and gold appeared like an airy, unsubstantial bubble. He thought that Asahel's wanderings had unsettled his ideas, that there was feverish excite- ment in his mind, and contented himself at first with a little worldly advice, and a few sneers at those whom he called Gentiles. But for the deep obligation under which Mr. Salomons lay to the father of Arthur and Phemie, he would, doubtless, have forbidden his grandson to have farther intercourse with the family at the Hatch ; but Mr. Moorcroft was the preserver of Asahel, and the old Jew was not ungrateful He therefore left matters for a time, as he said, to right themselves, and closed his eyes to the consequences. But Asahel was not to escape altogether from the burden of the cross, — the painful trials which await a convert. When the tidings of his change was bruited abroad amongst the members of the Jewish community, a fierce spirit of persecution was aroused, and though Mr. Salomons took little part in them, many and strong efibi-ts were made to shake the young Christian's constancy. How precious then to the gentle Asahel were the warm sympathy of Arthur and Phemie, and the calm, wise counsels of their father ! how precious, above all, the power of pouring out his cares and trials at the throne of grace ! The firmness shown by one of so tender and loving 170 RESTORATION. a nature — the strength of principle displayed by the once dreamy, ease-loving youth, were not without their effect on Mr. Salomons. If he found that the seed of the gospel had taken deep root in his grand- son's heart, that the spark of religion in Asahel's breast had become an dnextinguishable flame, he found also that the tree bore the fruit of filial obe- dience and love — that the flame, from whatever source lighted, shed a brightness upon his home. All opposition from the old Jew died away. When those of his creed angrily expostulated with him on Asahel's openly becoming a Christian, Mr. Salomons would philosophically reply, that as long as the youth continued to give him satisfaction by his conduct, he was free to believe what he chose, and to he called by what name he liked best. CHAPTER XVIIL CONCLUSION. |UT I have forestalled at the close of the preceding chapter that which was the gradual work of years. I will now go back to the eventful day on which Asar hel and his companions were released from their imprisonment in the mine. The warm glow of the afternoon sun gave bright- ness even to the dull walls and dim windows of Moorcroft Hatch. Not a cloud darkened the azure of the sky, only a few white flakes dotted the blue expanse. The wind had sunk to the gentlest breeze, too light to ruffle the waves, or to disturb the clear, lake-like mirror which reflected the hue of heaven. It was a bright and lovely day, and everything seemed to rejoice in the sunlight, save the one gloomy and desolate being who paced the shingle before Moorcroft Hatch. 172 CONCLUSION. For hours Horace Had walked up and down, rest- less as a lion in a cage, unconscious either of weari- ness or of the lapse of time. He was enduring an inward struggle — a sti-uggle to feel resigned — a struggle to recognize God's wisdom and love, even in his darkest dispensations. And Horace was painfully questioning his ovm heart in regard to the charges whom he had lost. He was asking himself how far he had performed his duty to the orphans of his beloved brother. He had indeed made sacri- fices, great sacrifices for their interest, but had he ever made their happiness his object ? Had he not cast a shadow over their short lives — been cold, and hard, and repulsive — suflered the weight on his own spirits to press down theirs, and contented himself with performing bare duties, while neglecting all the gentler ofiices of afiection ? It would be well if all thus examined their own conduct towards those amongst whom Providence has placed them, before deatli makes future reparation impossible, and leaves the survivor nothing but vain regret. Suddenly Horace heard his own name pronounced, and started as though the voice had been from the dead ! The throbbing of his heart was agony, and he turned to see the speaker with an uncontrollable emotion which turned his cheek of an ashen hue. Three forms were hurrying towards him. His lost CONCLUSION. 173 nephew and niece pressed eagerly forward, joy in their sparkling eyes, good tidings on their Kps ; but Horace neither saw nor heard them — he was con- Bcious of the presence but of one : with a bound he sprang forward to meet him, clasped him to his breast, as though to assure himself that it was indeed no vision, no phantom that he saw ; and then all the strong man's fortitude gave way, joy effected that which grief had not done, and, with all the weakness of a child, Horace fell on the neck of his brother and burst into tears ! It was three days after this happy reunion of the long-divided family of Moorcroft, that they all went on a sailing excursion, accompanied by Asahel da Costa. Mr. Moorcroft guided the little vessel ; Horace sat with folded arms in the bow, a calm peaceful expression on his manly features, to which they for long had been a stranger, but his eye constantly rested on his brother, as though to assure his own heart that he really beheld him again, Arthur and Asahel had been working hard at the oars, but the latter had soon become wearied with the exertion, and the sail being now spread to the breeze, the young rowers had shipped their oars, and enjoyed the smooth motion without further effort of \74 CONCLUSION. their owtl Phemie, the picture of happiness, sat at her father's feet, and ever and anon expressed hei enjoyment by a low, sweet song. " Arthur," said she, turning round to her brother with a play fill smile, " did you ever think that we could be so happy, so rich ? I do not believe that we shall care to go again to seek for treasures in the mine ! " and she rested her arms on her father's knee, and laid down her head upon them, and as she felt the fond pressure of his caressing hand, thought herself rich indeed ! "And yet, Phemie, I was not wrong," cried her brother. " I expected to find a treasure, and I found it — a far better treasure than I looked for ! It was in that dark gloomy place, when we were almost in despair with hunger and misery, cold and fear, that we came upon something better than all the mines of Peru could hold, for the first light that shone on our dazzled eyes showed us our long -lost father ! " A bright, heavenly expression passed over the countenance of Asahel, the fatherless and motherless boy. Could we put his silent thought into words, it might appear somewhat as follows : — "And I too have found a treasure, above all money and above all price ! When human comforts were gone, when all earthly hope was crushed, and CONCLUSION. 175 the darknass of death seemed around me, then for me too a light arose ! I beheld a Guide through all the dangerous mazes of life, a Preserver from the fate that I feared, and now can my soul rest in peace and joy on the love of my Father in heaven ! " (265) 12 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles j This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. r i i '1 1 1 j i \ 1 Form L!)-100m-9,'52(A3105)444 .^:,;!i,!i^.f,f^.^i«EG,ONALLIBRARy77cm'