"SETH"

By Frances Hodgson Burnett

Copyright, 1877

He came in one evening at sun set with the empty coal-train--his dullyoung face pale and heavy-eyed with weariness, his corduroy suit dustyand travel-stained, his worldly possessions tied up in the smallestof handkerchief bundles and slung upon the stick resting on hisshoulder--and naturally his first appearance attracted some attentionamong the loungers about the shed dignified by the title of "dépôt. " Isay "naturally, " because arrivals upon the trains to Black Creek were soscarce as to be regarded as curiosities; which again might be said to benatural. The line to the mines had been in existence two months, sincethe English company had taken them in hand and pushed the matter throughwith an energy startling to, and not exactly approved by, themajority of good East Tennesseeans. After the first week or so ofarrivals--principally Welsh and English miners, with an occasionalIrishman--the trains had returned daily to the Creek without apassenger; and accordingly this one created some trifling sensation. 

Not that his outward appearance was particularly interesting orsuggestive of approaching excitement. He was only a lad of nineteen ortwenty, in working English-cut garb, and with a short, awkward figure, and a troubled, homely face--a face so homely and troubled, in fact, that its half-bewildered look was almost pathetic. 

He advanced toward the shed hesitatingly, and touched his cap as ifhalf in clumsy courtesy and half in timid appeal. "Mesters, " he said, "good-day to yo'. "

The company bestirred themselves with one accord, and to the roughestand most laconic gave him a brief "Good-day. "

"You're English, " said a good-natured Welshman, "ar'n't you, my lad?"

"Ay, mester, " was the reply: "I'm fro' Lancashire. "

He sat down on the edge of the rough platform, and laid his stick andbundle down in a slow, wearied fashion. 

"Fro' Lancashire, " he repeated in a voice as wearied as hisaction--"fro' th' Deepton coalmines theer. You'll know th' name on 'em, I ha' no doubt. Th' same company owns 'em as owns these. "

"What!" said an outsider--"Langley an 'em?"

The boy turned himself round and nodded. "Ay, " he answered--"them. Thatwas why I comn here. I comn to get work fro'--fro' _him_. "

He faltered in his speech oddly, and even reddened a little, at the sametime rubbing his hands together with a nervousness which seemed habitualto him. 

"Mester Ed'ard, I mean, " he added--"th' young mester as is here. I heerdas he liked 'Merika, an'--an' I comn. "

The loungers glanced at each other, and their glance did not mean highappreciation of the speaker's intellectual powers. There was a lack ofpracticalness in such faith in another man as expressed itself in thewistful, hesitant voice. 

"Did he say he'd give you work?" asked the first man who had questionedhim, the Welshman Evans. 

"No. I dunnot think--I dunnot think he'd know me if he seed me. Theerwur so many on us. "

Another exchange of glances, and then another question: "Where are yougoing to stay?"

The homely face reddened more deeply, and the lad's eyes--dull, soft, almost womanish eyes--raised themselves to the speaker's. "Do yo' knewanybody as would be loikely to tak' me in a bit" he said, "until I ha'toime to earn th' wage to pay? I wouldna wrong no mon a penny as hadtrusted me. "

There was manifest hesitation, and then some one spoke: "Lancashire Jackmight. "

"Mester, " said the lad to Evans, "would you moind speakin' a word furme? I ha' had a long tramp, an' I'm fagged-loike, an'"--He stopped androse from his seat with a hurried movement. "Who's that theer as iscomin'?" he demanded. "Isna it th' young mester?"

The some one in question was a young man on horseback, who at thatmoment turned the corner and rode toward the shed with a loose rein, allowing his horse to choose his own pace. 

"Ay, " said the lad with an actual tremor in his excited voice--"it'shim, sure enow, " and sank back on his seat again as if he had foundhimself scarcely strong enough to stand. "I--I ha' not 'aten much furtwo or three days, " he said to Evans. 

There was not a man on the platform who did not evince some degree ofpleasure at the approach of the new-comer. The last warm rays of thesun, already sinking behind the mountains, seemed rather to take pridein showing what a debonair young fellow he was, in glowing kindlyupon his handsome face and strong, graceful figure, and touching up togreater brightness his bright hair. 

The face was one to be remembered with a sentiment approaching gratitudefor the mere existence of such genial and unspoiled good looks, butthe voice that addressed the men was one to be loved, and loved withoutstint, it was so clear and light-hearted and frank. 

"Boys, " said he, "good-evening to you. Evans, if you could spare me aminute"--

Evans rose at once. 

"I'll speak to _him_, " he said to the lad at his side. "His word willgo further with Lancashire Jack than mine would. " He went to the horse'sside, and stood there for a few minutes talking in an undertone, andthen he turned to the stranger and beckoned. "Come here, " he said. 

The lad took up his bundle and obeyed the summons, advancing with anawkward almost stumbling step, suggestive of actual weakness as wellas the extremity of shyness. Reaching the two men, he touched his caphumbly, and stood with timorous eyes upraised to the young man's face. 

Langley met his glance with a somewhat puzzled look, which presentlypassed away in a light laugh. "I'm trying to remember who you are, mylad, " he said, "but I shall be obliged to give it up. I know your face, I think, but I have no recollection of your name. I dare say I have seenyou often enough. You came from Deepton, Evans tells me. "

"Ay, mester, fro' Deepton. "

"A long journey for a lad like you to take alone, " with inward pity forthe heavy face. 

"Ay, mester. "

"And now you want work?"

"If you please, mester. "

"Well, well!" cheerily, "we will give it to you. There's work enough, though it isn't such as you had at Deepton. What is your name?"

"Seth, mester--Seth Raynor, " shifting the stick and bundle in uneasyeagerness from one shoulder to another. "An' I'm used to hard work, mester. It wur na easy work we had at th' Deepton mine, an' I'm strongerthan I look. It's th' faggedness as makes me trembly--an' hunger. "

"Hunger?"

"I ha' not tasted sin' th' neet afore last, " shamefacedly. "I hadna th'money to buy, an' it seemt loike I could howd out. "

"Hold out!" echoed Langley in some excitement. "That's a poor business, my lad. Here, come with me. The other matter can wait, Evans. "

The downcast face and ungainly figure troubled him in no slight degreeas they moved off together, they seemed to express in some indescribablefashion so much of dull and patient pain, and they were so much atvariance with the free grandeur of the scene surrounding them. It was asif a new element were introduced into the very air itself. Black Creekwas too young yet to have known hunger or actual want of any kind. Thewild things on the mountain sides had scarcely had time to learn to fearthe invaders of their haunts or understand that they were to be drivenbackward. The warm wind was fragrant with the keen freshness of pineand cedar. Mountain and forest and sky were stronger than the humanstragglers they closed around and shut out from the world. 

"We don't see anything like that in Lancashire, " said Langley. "Thatkind of thing is new to us, my lad, isn't it?" with a light gesturetoward the mountain, in whose side the workers had burrowed. 

"Ay, mester, " raising troubled eyes to its grandeur--"iverything's new. I feel aw lost some-toimes, an' feared-loike. "

Langley lifted his hat from his brow to meet a little passing breeze, and as it swept softly by he smiled in the enjoyment of its coolness. "Afraid?" he said. "I don't understand that. "

"I dunnot see into it mysen', mester. Happen it's th' bigness, an'quiet, an' th' lonely look, an' happen it's summat wrong in mysen'. I'velived in th' cool an' smoke an/ crowd an' work so long as it troubles mein a manner to--to ha' to look so high. "

"Does it?" said Langley, a few faint lines showing themselves on hisforehead. "That's a queer fancy. So high!" turning his glance upwardto where the tallest pine swayed its dark plume against the clear blue. "Well, so it is. But you will get used to it in time, " shaking off arather unpleasant sensation. 

"Happen so, mester, in toime, " was the simple answer; and then silencefell upon them again. 

They had not very far to go. The houses of the miners--rough shantieshurriedly erected to supply immediate needs--were most of themcongregated together, or at most stood at short distances from eachother, the larger ones signifying the presence o£ feminine members ina family and perhaps two or three juvenile pioneers--the smaller onesbeing occupied by younger miners, who lived in couples, or sometimeseven alone. 

Before one of the larger shanties Langley reined in his horse. "ALancashire man lives here, " he said, "and I am going to leave you withhim. "

In answer to his summons a woman came to the door--a young woman whoserather unresponsive face wakened somewhat when she saw who waited. 

"Feyther, " she called out, "it's Mester Langley, an' he's getten astranger wi' him. "

"Feyther, " approaching the door, showed himself a burly individual, withtraces of coal-dust in all comers not to be reached by hurried and nottoo fastidious ablutions. Clouds of tobacco-smoke preceded and followedhim, and much stale incense from the fragrant weed exhaled itself fromhis well-worn corduroys. "I ha' not nivver seed him afore, " he remarkedafter a gruff by no means-ill-natured greeting, signifying the strangerby a duck of the head in his direction. 

"A Lancashire lad, Janner, " answered Langley, "I want a home for him. "

Janner regarded him with evident interest, but shook his head dubiously. "Ax th' missus, " he remarked succinctly: "dunnot ax me. "

Langley's good-humored laugh had a touch of conscious power in it. If itdepended upon "th' missus" he was safe enough. His bright good looks andgay grace of manner never failed with the women. The most practical anduncompromising melted, however unwillingly, before his sunshine, and thesuggestion of chivalric deference which seemed a second nature with him. So it was easy enough to parley with "th' missus. "

"A Lancashire lad, Mrs. Janner, " he said, "and so I know you'll takecare of him. Lancashire folk have a sort of fellow feeling for eachother, you see; that was why I could not make up my mind to leave himuntil I saw him in good hands; and yours are good ones. Give him asquare meal as soon as possible, " he added in a lower voice: "I will beaccountable for him myself. "

When he lifted his hat and rode away, the group watched him until he wasalmost out of sight, the general sentiment expressing itself in everycountenance. 

"Theer's summat noice about that theer young chap, " Janner remarked withthe slowness of a man who was rather mystified by the fascination underwhose influence he found himself--"sum-mat as goes wi' th' grain loike. "

"Ay, " answered his wife, "so theer is; an' its natur' too. Coom alongin, lad, " to Seth, "an ha' summat to eat: yo' look faintish. "

Black Creek found him a wonderfully quiet member of society, the ladSeth. He came and went to and from the mine with mechanical regularity, working with the rest, taking his meals with the Janners, and sleepingin a small shanty left vacant by the desertion of a young miner who hadfound life at the settlement too monotonous to suit his tastes. No newknowledge of his antecedents was arrived at. He had come "fro' Deepton, "and that was the beginning and end of the matter. In fact, his seemedto be a peculiarly silent nature. He was fond of being alone, andspent most of his spare time in the desolate little shanty. Attempts atconversation appeared to trouble him, it was discovered, and accordinglyhe was left to himself as not worth the cultivating. 

"Why does na' tha' talk more?" demanded Janner's daughter, who was astrong, brusque young woman, with a sharp tongue. 

"I ha' not gotten nowt to say, " was the meekly deprecating response. 

Miss Janner, regarding the humble face with some impatience, remarkablyenough, found nothing to deride in it, though, being neither a beautynor in her first bloom, and sharp of tongue, as I have said, she wassomewhat given to derision as a rule. In truth, the uncomplainingpatience in the dull, soft eyes made her feel a little uncomfortable. 

"I dunnot know what ails thee, " she remarked with unceremonious candor, "but theer's summat as does. "

"It's nowt as can be cured, " said the lad, and turned his quiet faceaway. 

In his silent fashion he evinced a certain degree of partially for hishost's daughter. Occasionally, after his meals, he lingered for a fewmoments watching her at her work when she was alone, sitting by thefire or near the door, and regarding her business-like movements with awistful air of wonder and admiration. And yet so unobtrusive werethese mute attentions that Bess Janner was never roused to any form ofresentment of them. 

"Tha's goin' to ha' a sweetheart at last, my lass, " was one of Janner'sfavorite witticisms, but Bess bore it with characteristic coolness. "I'mnoan as big a foo' as I look, " she would say, "an' I dunnot moind _him_no more nor if he wus a wench hissen'. "

Small as was the element of female society at Black Creek, thisyoung woman was scarcely popular. She was neither fair nor fond: apredominance of muscle and a certain rough deftness of hand were herchief charms. Ordinary sentiment would have been thrown away upon her;and, fortunately, she was spared it. 

"She's noan hurt wi' good looks, our Bess, " her father remarked withgraceful chivalrousness on more than one occasion, "but hoo con heavea'most as much as I con, an' that's summat. "

Consequently, it did not seem likely that the feeling she had evidentlyawakened in the breast of their lodger was akin to the tender passion. 

"Am I in yo're way?" he would ask apologetically; and the answer wasinvariably a gracious if curt one: "No--no more than th' cat. Stay wheeryo' are, lad, an' make yo'resen' comfortable. "

There came a change, however, in the nature of their intercourse, butthis did not occur until the lad had been with them some three months. For several days he had been ailing and unlike himself. He had been evenmore silent than usual; he had eaten little, and lagged on his wayto and from his work; he looked thinner, and his step was slow anduncertain. There was so great an alteration in him, in fact, that Besssoftened toward him visibly. She secretly bestowed the best morsels uponhim, and even went so far as to attempt conversation. "Let yo're work goa bit, " she advised: "yo're noan fit fur it. "

But he did not give up until the third week of illness, and then onewarm day at noon, Bess, at work in her kitchen among dishes and pans, was startled from her labors by his appearing at the door and staggeringtoward her. "What's up wi' yo'?" she demanded. "Yo' look loike death. "

"I dunnot know, " he faltered, and then, staggering again, caught at herdress with feeble hands "Dunnot yo', " he whispered, sinking forward--"dunnot yo' let no one--come anigh me. "

She flung a strong arm around him, and saved him from a heavy fall. Hishead dropped helplessly against her breast. 

"He's fainted dead away, " she said: "he mun ha' been worse than he thowtfur. "

She laid him down, and, loosening his clothes at the throat, went forwater; but a few minutes after she had bent over him for the secondtime an exclamation, which was almost a cry, broke from' her. "Lord ha'mercy!" she said, and fell back, losing something of color herself. 

She had scarcely recovered herself even when, after prolonged efforts, she succeeded in restoring animation to the prostrate figure under herhands. The heavy eyes opening met hers in piteous appeal and protest. 

"I--thowt it wur death comn, " said the lad. "I wur hopin' as it wurdeath. "

"What ha' yo' done as yo' need wish that?" said. Bess; and then, hervoice shaking with excitement which got the better of her and forced herto reveal herself, she added, "I've fun' out that as yo've been hidin'. "

Abrupt and unprefaced as her speech was, it scarcely produced the effectshe had expected it would. Her charge neither flinched nor reddened. He laid a weak, rough hand upon her dress with a feebly pleading touch. "Dunnot yo' turn agen me, " he whispered: "yo' wouldna if yo' knew. "

"But I dunnot know, " Bess answered, a trifle doggedly, despite herinward relentings. 

"I comn to yo', " persisted the lad, "because I thowt yo' wouldna turnagen me: yo' wouldna, " patiently again, "if yo' knew. "

*****

Gradually the ponderous witticism in which Janner had indulged became anaccepted joke in the settlement. Bess had fallen a victim to the tendersentiment at last. She had found an adorer, and had apparently succumbedto his importunities. Seth spent less time in his shanty and more inher society. He lingered in her vicinity on all possible occasions, and seemed to derive comfort from her mere presence. And Bess not onlytolerated but encouraged him. Not that her manner was in the leastdegree effusive: she rather extended a rough protection to her admirer, and displayed a tendency to fight his battles and employ her sharper witas a weapon in his behalf. 

"Yo' may get th' best o' him, " she said dryly once to the wit of theCreek, who had been jocular at his expense, "but yo' conna get th' besto' me. Try me a bit, lad. I'm better worth yo're mettle. "

"What's takken yo', lass?" said her mother at another time. "Yo're thattheer soft about th chap as theer's no makkin' yo' out. Yo' wur nivverloike to be soft afore, " somewhat testily. "An' it's noan his goodlooks, neyther. "

"No, " said Bess--"it's noan his good looks. "

"Happen it's his lack on 'em, then?"

"Happen it is. " And there the discussion ended for want of material. 

There was one person, however, who did not join in the jesting; and thiswas Langley. When he began to understand the matter he regarded the twowith sympathetic curiosity and interest. Why should not their primitiveand uncouth love develop and form a tie to bind the homely livestogether, and warm and brighten them? It may have been that his ownmental condition at this time was such as would tend to often his heart, for an innocent passion, long cherished in its bud, had burst into itsfull blooming during the months he had spent amid the novel beauty andloneliness, and perhaps his new bliss subdued him somewhat. Alwaysready with a kindly word, he was specially ready with it where Seth wasconcerned. He never passed him without one, and frequently reined in hishorse to speak to him at greater length. Now and then, on his wayhome at night, he stopped at the shanty's door, and summoning the laddetained him for a few minutes chatting in the odorous evening air. Itwas thoroughly in accordance with the impulses of his frank and generousnature that he should endeavor to win upon him and gain his confidence. "We are both Deepton men, " he would say, "and it is natural that weshould be friends, We are both alone and a long way from home. "

But the lad was always timid and slow of speech. 

His gratitude showed itself in ways enough, but it rarely took the formof words. Only, one night as the horse moved away, he laid his hand uponthe bridle and held it a moment, some powerful emotion showing itselfin his face, and lowering his voice until it was almost a whisper. "Mester, " he said, "if theer's ivver owt to be done as is hard an' loiketo bring pain an' danger, yo'll--yo'll not forget me?"

Langley looked down at him with a mingled feeling of warm pity and deepbewilderment. "Forget you?" he echoed. 

The dullness seemed to have dropped away from the commonplace face as ifit had been a veil; the eyes were burning with a hungry pathos and fireand passion; they were raised to his and held him with the power of anindescribable anguish. "Dunnot forget as I'm here, " the voice growingsharp and intense, "ready an' eager an' waitin' fur th' toime to come. Let me do summat or brave summat or suffer summat, for God's sake!"

When the young man rode away it was with a sense of weight and painupon him. He was mystified. People were often grateful to him, but theirgratitude was not such as this; this oppressed and disturbed him. Itwas suggestive of a mental condition whose existence seemed almostimpossible. What a life this poor fellow must have led since thesimplest kindliness aroused within him such emotion as this! "It is hardto understand, " he murmured; "it is even a little horrible. One fanciesthese duller natures do not reach our heights and depths of happinessand pain, and yet----Cathie, Cathie, my dear, " breaking off suddenlyand turning his face upward to the broad free blue of the sky as hequickened his horse's pace, "let me think of _you_; this hurts me. "

But he was drawn nearer to the boy, and did his best to cheer and helphim. His interest in him grew as he saw him oftener, and there was notonly the old interest, but a new one. Something in the lad's face--asomething which had struck him as familiar even at first--began to haunthim constantly. He could not rid himself of the impression it left uponhim, and yet he never found himself a shade nearer a solution of themystery. 

"Raynor, " he said to him on one of the evenings when he had stoppedbefore the shanty, "I wish I knew why your face troubles me so. "

"Does it trouble yo', mester?"

"Yes, " with a half laugh, "I think I may say it troubles me. I havetried to recollect every lad in Deepton, and I have no remembrance ofyou. "

"Happen not, mester, " meekly. "I nivver wur much noticed, yo' see: I'mone o' them as foak is more loike to pass by. "

An early train arriving next morning brought visitors to the Creek--abusiness-like elderly gentleman and his daughter, a pretty girl, withlarge bright eyes and an innocent rosy face, which became rosier andprettier than ever when Mr. Ed ward Langley advanced from the dépôt shedwith uncovered head and extended hand. "Cathie!" he said, when the firstgreetings had been interchanged, "what a delight this is to me! I didnot hope for such happiness as this. "

"Father wanted to see the mines, " answered Cathie, sweetly demure, "andI--I wanted to see Black Creek; your letters were so enthusiastic. "

"A day will suffice, I suppose?" her paternal parent was wandering onamiably. "A man should always investigate such matters for himself. Ican see enough to satisfy me between now and the time for the returntrain. "

"I cannot, " whispered Langley to Cathie: "a century would not suffice. If the sun would but stand still!"

The lad Seth was late for dinner that day, and when he entered the houseBess turned from her dish-washing to give him a sharp, troubled look, "Art tha' ill again?" she asked. 

"Nay, " he answered, "nobbut a bit tired an heavy-loike. "

He sat down upon the door-step with wearily-clasped hands, and eyeswandering toward the mountain, whose pine-crowned summit towered abovehim. He had not even yet outlived the awe of its majesty, but he hadlearned to love it and draw comfort from its beauty and strength. 

"Does tha' want thy dinner?" asked Bess. 

"No, thank yo', " he said; "I couldna eat. "

The dish-washing was deserted incontinently, and Bess came to thedoor, towel in hand, her expression at once softened and shaded withdiscontent. "Summat's hurt yo', " she said. "What is it? Summat's hurtyo' sore. "

The labor-roughened hands moved with their old nervous habit, and theanswer came in an odd, jerky, half-connected way: "I dunnot know whyit should ha' done. I mun be mad, or summat. I nivver had no hope nornothin': theer nivver wur no reason why I should ha' had. Ay, I mun bewrong somehow, or it wouldna stick to me i' this road. I conna get ridon it, an' I conna feel as if I want to. What's up wi' me? What'stakken howd on me?" his voice breaking and the words ending in a sharphysterical gasp like a sob. 

Bess wrung her towel with a desperate strength which spoke of no smalldegree of tempestuous feeling. Her brow knit itself and her lips werecompressed. "What's happened?" she demanded after a pause. "I conna mak'thee out. "

The look that fell upon her companion's face had something of shame init. His eyes left the mountain side and drooped upon his clasped hands. "Theer wur a lass coom to look at 'th place today, " he said--"a ladylass, wi' her feyther--an' him. She wur aw rosy red an' fair white, an'it seemt as if she wur that happy as her laughin' made th' birds mockback at her. He took her up th' mountain, an' we heard 'em both evenhigh up among th' laurels. Th' sound o' their joy a-floatin' down fromthe height, so nigh th' blue sky, made me sick an' weak-loike. They wurna so gay when they comn back, but her eyes wur shinin', an' so wur his, an' I heerd him say to her as 'Foak didna know how nigh heaven th' topo' th' mountain wur. '"

Bess wrung her towel again, and regarded the mountain with manifestimpatience and trouble. "Happen it'll coom reet some day, " she said. 

"Reet!" repeated the lad, as if mechanically. "I hadna towd mysen' asowt wur exactly wrong; on'y I conna see things clear. I niwer could, an'th' more I ax mysen' questions th' worse it gets. Wheer--wheer could Ilay th' blame?"

"Th' blame!" said Bess. "Coom tha' an' get a bite to eat;" and she shookout the towel with a snap and turned away. "Coom tha, " she repeated; "Imun get my work done. "

That night, as Seth lay upon his pallet in the shanty, the sound ofLangley's horse's hoofs reached him with an accompaniment of a clear, young masculine voice singing a verse of some sentimental moderncarol--a tender song ephemeral and sweet. As the sounds neared the cabinthe lad sprang up restlessly, and so was standing at the open door whenthe singer passed. "Good-neet, mester, " he said. 

The singer slackened his pace and turned his bright face toward him inthe moonlight, waving his hand. "Good-night, " he said, "and pleasantdreams! Mine will be pleasant ones, I know. This has been a happy dayfor me, Raynor. Goodnight. "

When the two met again the brighter face had sadly changed; its beautywas marred with pain, and the shadow of death lay upon it. 

Entering Janner's shanty the following morning, Seth found the familysitting around the breakfast-table in ominous silence. The meal stooduntouched, and even Bess looked pale and anxious. All three glancedtoward him questioningly as he approached, and when he sat down Jannerspoke: "Hasna tha' heerd th' news?" he asked. 

"Nay, " Seth answered, "I ha' heerd nowt. "

Bess interposed hurriedly: "Dunnot yo' fear him, feyther, " she said. "Happen it isna so bad, after aw. Four or live foak wur takken down illlast neet, Seth, an' th' young mester wur among 'em; an' theer's them assays it's cholera. "

It seemed as if he had not caught the full meaning of her words; he onlystared at her in a startled, bewildered fashion. "Cholera!" he repeateddully. 

"Theer's them as knows it's cholera, " said Janner, with gloomysignificance. "An' if it's cholera, it's death;" and he let his handfall heavily upon the table. 

"Ay, " put in Mrs. Janner in a fretful wail, "fur they say as it's worsei' these parts than it is i' England--th' heat mak's it worse--an' herewe are i' th' midst o' th' summer-toime, an' theer's no knowin'wheer it'll end. I wish tha'd takken my advice, Janner, an' stayed i'Lancashire. Ay, I wish we wur safe at home. Better less wage an' moresafety. Yo'd niwer ha' coom if yo'd listened to me. "

"Howd thy tongue, mother, " said Bess, but the words were not ungentlyspoken, notwithstanding their bluntness. "Dunnot let us mak' it worsethan it need be. Seth, lad, eat thy breakfast. "

But there was little breakfast eaten. The fact was, that at the firstspreading of the report a panic had seized upon the settlement, andJanner and his wife were by no means the least influenced by it Astolidly stubborn courage upheld Bess, but even she was subdued andsomewhat awed. 

"I niwer heerd much about th' cholera, " Seth said to her afterbreakfast. "Is this here true, this as thy feyther says?"

"I dunnot know fur sure, " Bess answered gravely, "but it's bad enow. "

"Coom out wi' me into th' fresh air, " said the lad, laying his handupon her sleeve: "I mun say a word or so to thee. " And they went outtogether. 

There was no work done in the mine that day. Two of three new casesbroke out, and the terror spread itself and grew stronger. In fact, Black Creek scarcely comported itself as stoically as might have beenexpected. A messenger was dispatched to the nearest town for a doctor, and his arrival by the night train was awaited with excited impatience. 

When he came, however, the matter became worse. He had bad news to tellhimself. The epidemic had broken out in the town he had left, and greatfears were entertained by its inhabitants. "If you had not been soentirely thrown on your own resources, " he said, "I could not havecome. "

A heavy enough responsibility rested upon his shoulders during thenext few weeks. He had little help from the settlement. Those who wereun-stricken looked on at the progress of the disease with helpless fear:few indeed escaped a slight attack, and those who did were scarcely moreuseful than his patients. In the whole place he found only two reliableand unterrified assistants. 

His first visit was to a small farm-house round the foot of the mountainand a short distance from the mine. There he found the family huddled ina back room like a flock of frightened sheep, and in the only chamber ahandsome, bright-haired young fellow lying, upon the bed with a pinchedand ominous look upon his comely face. The only person with him wasa lad roughly clad in miner's clothes--a lad who stood by chafing hishands, and who turned desperate eyes to the door when it opened. "Yo'retoo late, mester, " he said--"yo're too late. "

But young as he was--and he was a very young man--the doctor hadpresence of mind and energy, and he flung his whole soul and strengthinto the case. The beauty and solitariness of his patient roused hissympathy almost as if it had been the beauty of a woman; he felt drawntoward the stalwart, helpless young figure lying upon the humble couchin such apparent utter loneliness. He did not count much upon the ladat first--he seemed too much bewildered and shaken--but it was not longbefore he changed his mind. "You are getting over your fear, " he said. 

"It wasna fear, mester, " was the answer he received; "or at least itwasna fear for mysen'. "

"What is your name?"

"Seth Ray nor, mester. Him an' me, " with a gesture toward the bed, "comnfrom th' same place. Th' cholera couldna fear me fro' _him_--nor nowtelse if he wur i' need. "

So it was Seth Raynor who watched by the bedside, and labored withloving care and a patience which knew no weariness, until the worst wasover and Langley was among the convalescent. 

"The poor fellow and Bess Janner were my only stay, " the young doctor waswont to say. "Only such care as his would have saved you, and you had aclose race of it as it was. "

During the convalescence nurse and invalid were drawn together witha stronger tie through every hour. Wearied and weak, Langley's oldinterest in the lad became a warm affection. He could scarcely bear tolose sight of the awkward boyish figure, and never rested so completelyas when it was by his bedside. 

"Give me your hand, dear fellow, " he would say, "and let me hold it. Ishall sleep better for knowing you are near me. "

He fell asleep thus one morning, and awakened suddenly to aconsciousness of some new presence in the room. Seth no longer sat inthe chair near his pillow, but stood a little apart; and surely he wouldhave been no lover if the feeble blood had not leaped in his veins atthe sight of the face bending over him--the innocent, fair young facewhich had so haunted his pained and troubled dreams. "Cathie!" he criedout aloud. 

The-girl fell upon her knees and caught his extended hand with apassionate little gesture of love and pity. "I did not know, " shepoured forth in hurried, broken tones. "I have been away ever sincethe sickness broke out at home. They sent me away, and I only heardyesterday--Father, tell him, for I cannot. "

He scarcely heard the more definite explanation, he was at once so happyand so fearful. 

"Sweetheart, " he said, "I can scarcely bear to think of what may comeof this; and yet how blessed it is to have you near me again! The dangerfor me is all over: even your dear self could not have cared for me morefaithfully than I have been cared for. Raynor there has saved my life. "

But Cathie could only answer with a piteous, remorseful jealousy: "Whywas it not I who saved it? why was it not I?"

And the place where Seth had stood waiting was vacant, for he had leftit at the sound of Langley's first joyous cry. When he returned an houror so later, the more restful look Langley had fancied he had seenon his face of late had faded out: the old unawakened heaviness hadreturned. He was nervous and ill at ease, shrinking and conscious. 

"I've comn to say good-neet to yo', " he said hesitatingly to theinvalid. "Th' young lady says as she an' her feyther will tak' my placea bit. I'll coom i' th' mornin'. "

"You want rest, " said Langley; "you are tired, poor fellow!"

"Ay, " quietly, "I'm tired; an' th' worst is over, yo' see, an' she'shere, " with a patient smile. "Yo' wunnot need me, and theer's them asdoes. "

From that hour his work at this one place seemed done. For several dayshe made his appearance regularly to see if he was needed, and then hisvisits gradually ended. He had found a fresh field of labor among thesufferers in the settlement itself. He was as faithful to them as he hadbeen to his first charge. The same unflagging patience showed itself, the same silent constancy and self-sacrifice. Scarcely a man or womanhad not some cause to remember him with gratitude, and there was not oneof those who had jested at and neglected him but thought of their jestsand neglect with secret shame. 

There came a day, however, when they missed him from among them. Ifhe was not at one house he was surely at another, it appeared for sometime; but when, after making his round of visits, the doctor did notfind him, he became anxious. He might be at Janner's; but he was notthere, nor among the miners, who had gradually resumed their work as theepidemic weakened its strength and their spirits lightened. Making thesediscoveries at nightfall, the doctor touched up his horse in some secretdread. He had learned earlier than the rest to feel warmly toward thissimple co-laborer. "Perhaps he's gone out to pay Langley a visit, " hesaid: "I'll call and see. He may have stopped to have a rest. "

But before he had passed the last group of cabins he met Langleyhimself, who by this time was well enough to resume his place in thesmall world, and, hearing his story, Langley's anxiety was greater thanhis own. "I saw him last night on my way home, " he said. "About thistime, too, for I remember he was sitting in the moonlight at the doorof his shanty. We exchanged a few words, as we always do, and he said hewas there because he was not needed, and thought a quiet night would dohim good. Is it possible no one has seen him since?" in sudden alarm. 

"Come with me, " said his companion. 

Overwhelmed by a mutual dread, neither spoke until they reached theshanty itself. There was no sign of human life about it: the doorstood open, and the only sound to be heard was the rustle of the windwhispering among the pines upon the mountain side. Both men flungthemselves from their horses with loudly-beating hearts. 

"God grant he is not here!" uttered Langley. "God grant he is anywhereelse! The place is so drearily desolate. "

Desolate indeed! The moonbeams streaming through the door threw theirfair light upon the rough boards and upon the walls, and upon the quietfigure lying on the pallet in one of the corners, touching with pityingwhiteness the homely face upon the pillow and the hand that restedmotionless upon the floor. 

The doctor went down on his knees at the pallet's side, and thrust hishand into the breast of the coarse garments with a half-checked groan. 

"Asleep?" broke from Langley's white lips in a desperate whisper. "Not--not"--

"Dead!" said the doctor--"dead for hours!" There was actual anguish inhis voice as he uttered the words, but another element predominatedin the exclamation which burst from him scarcely a second later. "GoodGod!" he cried--"good God!"

Langley bent down and caught him almost fiercely by the arm: theexclamation jarred upon him. "What is it?" he demanded, "What do youmean?"

"It is--a woman!"

Even as they gazed at each other in speechless questioning the silencewas broken in upon. Swift, heavy footsteps neared the door, crossed thethreshold, and Janner's daughter stood before them. 

There was no need for questioning. One glance told her all. She made herway to the moonlit corner, pushed both aside with rough strength, andknelt down. "I might ha' knowed, " she said with helpless bitterness--"Imight ha' knowed;" and she laid her face against the dead hand in asudden passion of weeping. "I might ha' knowed, Jinny lass, " she cried, "but I didna. It was loike aw th' rest as tha' should lay thee down an'die loike this. Tha' wast alone aw along, an' tha'' wast alone at th'last. But dunnot blame me, poor lass. Nay, I know tha' wiltna. "

The two men stood apart, stirred by an emotion too deep for any spokenattempt at sympathy. She scarcely seemed to see them: she seemed torecognize no presence but that of the unresponsive figure upon itslowly couch. She spoke to it as if it had been a living thing, hervoice broken and tender, stroking the hair now and then with a touch allwomanly and loving. "Yo' were nigher to me than most foak, Jinny, " shesaid; "an' tha' trusted me, I know. "

They left her to her grief until at last she grew calmer and her sobsdied away into silence. Then she rose and approaching Langley, who stoodat the door, spoke to him, scarcely raising her tear-stained eyes. "Iha' summat to tell yo' an' sum-mat to ax yo', " she said, "an' I mun tellit to yo' alone. Will yo' coom out here?"

He followed her, wondering and sad. His heart was heavy with the painand mystery the narrow walls inclosed. When they paused a few yards fromthe house, the one face was scarcely more full of sorrow than the other, only that the woman's was wet with tears. She was not given to manywords, Bess Janner, and she wasted few in the story she had to tell. "Yo' know th' secret as she carried, " she said, "or I wouldna tell yo'even now; an' now I tell it yo' that she may carry the secret to hergrave, an' ha' no gossiping tongue to threep at her. I dunnot want foakstarin' an' wonderin' an' makkin' talk. She's borne enow. "

"It shall be as you wish, whether you tell me the story or not, " saidLangley. "We will keep it as sacred as you have done. "

She hesitated a moment, seemingly pondering with herself before sheanswered him. "Ay, " she said, "but I ha' another reason behind. I wantsummat fro' yo': I want yo're pity. Happen it moight do her good evennow. " She did not look at him as she proceeded, but stood with herface a little turned away and her eyes resting upon the shadow onthe mountain. "Theer wur a lass as worked at th' Deepton mines, " shesaid--"a lass as had a weakly brother as worked an' lodged wi' her. Hername wur Jinny, an' she wur quiet and plain-favored. Theer wur otherwenches as wur well-lookin', but she wasna; theer wur others as hadhomes, and she hadna one; theer wur plenty as had wit an' sharpness, but she hadna them neyther. She wur nowt but a desolate, homely lass, asseemt to ha' no place i' th' world, an' yet wur tender and weak-heartedto th' core. She wur allus longin' fur summat as she wur na loike toget; an' she nivver did get it, fur her brother wasna one as cared furowt but his own doin's. But theer were one among aw th' rest as nivverpassed her by, an' he wur th' mester's son. He wur a bright, handsomechap, as won his way ivverywheer, an' had a koind word or a laugh furaw. So he gave th' lass a smile, an' did her a favor now and then--loikeas not without givin' it more than a thowt--until she learned to live onth' hope o' seein' him. An', bein' weak an' tender, it grew on her fro'day to day, until it seemt to give th' strength to her an' tak' it bothi' one. "

She stopped and looked at Langley here. "Does tha' see owt now, as I'mgetten this fur?" she asked. 

"Yes, " he answered, his agitation almost master ing him. "And now I havefound the lost face that haunted me so. "

"Ay, " said Bess, "it was hers;" and she hurried on huskily: "When youwent away she couldna abide th' lonesomeness, an' so one day she said toher brother, 'Dave, let us go to th' new mine wheer Mester Ed'ard is;'an' him bein' allus ready fur a move, they started out together. Buton th' way th' lad took sick and died sudden, an' Jinny wur left tohersen'. An' then she seed new trouble. She wur beset wi' danger asshe'd niwer thowt on, an' before long she foun' out as women didna worko' this side o' the sea as they did o' ours. So at last she wur driv'upon a strange-loike plan. It sounds wild, happen, but it wasna so wildafter aw. Her bits of clothes giv' out an' she had no money; an' theerwur Dave's things. She'd wore th' loike at her work i' Deepton, an' shemade up her moind to wear 'em agen. Yo' didna know her when she coomhere, an' no one else guessed at th' truth. She didna expect nowt, yo'see; she on'y wanted th' comfort o' hearin' th' voice she'd longed an'hungered fur; an' here wur wheer she could hear it. When I fun' her outby accident, she towd me, an' sin' then we 've kept th' secret together. Do yo' guess what else theer's been betwixt us, mester?"

"I think I do, " he answered. "God forgive me for my share in her pain!"

"Nay, " she returned, "it was no fault o' thine. She niwer had a thowt o'that. She had a patient way wi' her, had Jinny, an' she bore her troublebetter than them as hopes. She didna ax nor hope neyther; an' when theercoom fresh hurt to her she wur ready an' waiting knowin' as it moightcomn ony day. Happen th' Lord knows what life wur give her fur--Idunnot, but it's ower now--an' happen she knows hersen'. I hurried hereto-neet, " she added, battling with a sob, "as soon as I heerd as she wasmissin', th' truth struck to my heart, an' I thowt as I should be herefirst, but I wasna I ha' not gotten no more to say. "

They went back to the shanty, and with her own hands she did for thepoor clay the last service it would need, Langley and his companionwaiting the while outside. When her task was at an end she came to them, and this time it was Langley who addressed himself to her. "May I goin?" he asked. 

She bent her head in assent, and without speaking he left them andentered the shanty alone. The moonlight, streaming in as before, fellupon the closed eyes, and hands folded in the old, old fashion upon thefustian jacket: the low whisper of the pines crept downward like a sigh. Kneeling beside the pallet, the young man bent his head and touchedthe pale forehead with reverent lips. "God bless you for your love andfaith, " he said, "and give you rest!"

And when he rose a few minutes later, and saw that the little deadflower he had worn had dropped from its place and lay upon the pulselessbreast, he did not move it, but turned away and left it resting; there.