FROM THE DEAD.

Evening Star, Issue 10872, 4 March 1899, Page 4 (Supplement)

FROM THE DEAD.

[By J. M'Qotixbn, in the 'N. B. AdvebTISEB.'] " Sad Occurrence.—At Whitby, on Wednesday night, a lady, the wife of Mr Roger Thornton, of terrace, hired a boat and put out for a row; a mist fell shortly afterwards, and neither lady nor boat have been heard of since.. The sad event has caused widespread regret, as the lady was much esteemed by a large circle of friends in Whitby. Much sympathy is felt for Mr Thornton in his bereavement." Newspaper readers will remember the above paragraph, which appeared in the daily Press in the last week of July, 1890, and further, two days later, another paragraph, which stated that the boat hired by Mrs Thornton had been picked up along the coast beyond a certain sluica That was the end of the matter so far as the public was concerned. The immediate friends talked solemnly of the happening for nearly a fortnight, and then it faded from their minds, crowded out by other happenings more or less trivial; only was it left to him who had suffered the loss to mourn deeply and regretfully over the tragic event. "They were married and lived hapnily ever after," is the orthodox ending to "the written story, but it is not always so m real life. Often it is really then that the unfolding of the drama begins. Those who know will tell you that not one in a dozen unions is a success. If that is so, what must underlie the show of things! A skeleton in every closet, a skull at every feast, no fireside without its shadow., and men and women especially women all acting their parts everywhere. The circle in which Mrs Thornton moved thought that she was a lucky little woman. Her husband had money, and gave her a free hand to spend as she desired. He had married her for love, and she returned it with a full heart. She adored her husband; he worshipped the ground she walked on; and yet there was a fly in the ointment. Mrs Thornton had no child, and she grieved for her own as well as her husband's sake. He was passionately fond of children; she saw that when any friend called who had a little one with her. Oh! how she envied the mother! Often her hands went out to clasp a shadow—the empty air. Mrs Thornton knew her husband was disappointed, though he never said so. Women are skilful in divining the hidden things of a mean's mind, especially if the man is loved. Yet Roger Thornton was not one whit less kind than he had ever been, no less the lover. With rarest insight he forestalled her every wish, and left naught undone that could add to her happiness. No reproach had crossed his lips, and for his wife—" his little bunch of roses," he called her—a love-gleam was always in his eyes. " Roger," she said, one night, after a hard day's thinking; her face was pathetic and wistful.

"Fretting again, little woman," he returned kindly, and he drew his wife to him till her head rested on his shoulder. " Let me kiss the clouds away." "Roger. I have been thinking that we might adopt a child—some bright little thing, which would grow up as our own." Her lips ouivered, and a tear trembled from her eye and fell unheeded. She could not conceal her sorrow; her heart was so full on this night. She had lain awake through the long hours of the previous night, thinking till thought became pain, and this was the sum and substance of it.

"Tut, tut, Dorothy, put the idea out of your head; think of it no more; warm the viper into life, and its venom will be your reward. We could do nothing with other people's children. How are we to know its antecedents? There might be the blood of murderers in its veins. IHow would you like to be the foster-mother of a criminal? Such might readily be. Remember that the sins of the fathers live on to the third and fourth generations. Heredity may be a curse, but it is a solid fact all the same. No, no! I refuse absolutely to have anything to do with the matter. Now, cheer up, smile, and look happy. My little bunch of roses must not wither. What more shall I say to comfort you?" " But, Roger, you are so fond of children," urged Mrs Thornton. " Yes, that is so; but also I am fond of my peace of mind. Now, banish the idea, and let us be as happy as we can." Mrs Thornton turned away with a sigh. She had made the venture in a forlorn hope. There was only one more move she could make; she held it in reserve, only to be used as a last resource. She became chilled as she realised that the time had come. She could hold out no longer. She had borne both cross and thorns long enough in the sight of her husband. She must make a supreme, sacrifice; though to her, poor woman, it was more of a duty prompted by love than a sacrifice. " It's a lovely night, Roger. lam going for a row. dome and see me off." She took his arm affectionately, and together they went down to the sands, and Roger selected the boat she was to have. " Not far, dear. I will stroll up and down till you come back." "Don't wait; I'll be all right." Her eyes shone like altar fires, and the glow overspread her face. " You do look bonny to-night, Dorothy; a pretty, very pretty, little bunch of roses." With a tender grip of her hand he pushed off the boat, and stood watching it and her till both were but a speck out of the reddening sea. Then the mist fell.

For four years Roger was loyal to the memory of his dead wife. Then his solitary life became unbearable, and he felt that somehow he would be forgiven, that the fair spirit in a far-off world would make allowance for his weakness, would find excuse for him, would know she would always be an evergreen in his heart. " God forgive me if I do wrong," Roger had said to himself when once more he stood before the altar, waiting for the blessing of the church upon his new union. The marriage turned out a happy one—so happy that his previous life became little more than a chastened memory. We have no concern with Roger Thornton's life for two years or more. Doubtless he would have his daily worries and cares, his hopes and despairs, but they affected him little in the main, for at the lapse of this time he is much the same man, with warm human blood in his body. He is romping with a curly-headed boy, who toddles gleefully across the floor, in eagerness to grasp some toy that the father holds out to him. The room is aglow with light and comfort. In a chair near the fire sits Mrs Thornton, watching the manoeuvres of the boy and the man—babies both—in their happy abandon. " See, mother, what a clever wee man we have got," Roger cries, as he catches the boy and throws him almost to the ceiling. The curtains are not drawn, for the house stands back from the road. If anyone does look in and see what is going on—why, then! he does not grudge the glimpse of domestic joy they will see; they are welcome to it. "0 Roger! look, look at the window!" Mrs Thornton cried out, and Roger Thornton was just in time to catch the sight of a haggard, white face with staring eyes pressed against the glass—and then it was gone. It was a moment or two before the startled man came to his senses, and he then hurried to the door. The mist-laden wind blew icily into his face as he looked up and down the road, but no one could he see. The trees rustled drearily and shook off dead leaves, and eerily the moaning of the sea came up through the mist. Roger Thornton shivered as if no had seen a ghost, and strained his ears to try to catch a sound of human movement. It might have been fancy, but there did seem to come to him a sound as of someone in distress, a woman's cry; but when he walked out in the direction from whence it came he came across no one. Had he been able to hear, he would have known in part the agony that a soul can endure. " God, give him back to me; 0 God, give me back my husband!" was the prayer that was upborne through the damp night air. His quest futile, Roger went back to his wife to report his failure. He was disturbed, unnerved; a face had looked at him from the grave; a cold hand was on his I heart. Those eyes haunted him. What could it mean? Most likely some wretched woman roaming about the country-side, frightening honest people out of their senses. "Whoever it was, they have gone. There is no trace. I've searched back and forward, and could see no one." "I wonder who it was," Mrs Thornton said, with a shudder, hugging h«r boy closely to b.er, a Some poor t dementi creature-?,

homeless, I should say; bat if she were hungry, why should she rush awaj?" Mr Thornton vouchsafed no reply; he only shook his head, as if it were beyond his comprehension. The incident, disagreeable though i& was, when nothing came of it, gave way to the pressure of other affairs, and was forgotten. A second time the shadow of death fell on Roger Thornton's home. His wife was dead. Unavailinglv she had given her life to save a babe which did not survive its birth. Again Roger Thornton was overwhelmed with grief. It would seem as if he were fated to a black-edged existence— Sorrow had claimed him as her own. Weary days dragged out into hopeless weeks; time brought no solace. Had it not been for his boy, Roger Thornton would have stepped out of the world's back-door—would have faced the darkness rather than have endured the despair. " Boy, boy," he said, sorrowfully, with his hand on the little chap's head—the tears were trickling down his face—"boy, were it not for you—were it not for you—l could not live another day. 0 boy! I pray that you may never know what it is to have the torture that I have had." The boy, young though he was, looked up into his fathers face, and took his hand and said: " Freddie is sorry! Freddie is very sorry! Poor mother is dead! Daddy, daddy, look! Look at the window—see!" Roger Thornton looked, and saw the face which he had seen before —the hungry, starving eyes—the face of his drowned wife. "God in Heaven, what does it mean? Ami mad?" he cried, as he darted to the door, only to be blinded by the darkness. He stumbled to where the light streamed from the window. He fell against someone, whom he caught. Hoarsely he shouted: " Ghost? Devil? Woman? What?" "Hush, Roger; it is I—Dorothy—once your wife. I will go away. I thought, unseen, to look upon your happiness. 0, Roger, forgive me! for I loved you. Say you forgive me, and I will go." " Dorothy—alive!" Then Roger Thornton tottered and fell insensible. When he came to himself he was in bed, and a thin, sad-faced woman was seated by the bedside, waiting evidently for his consciousness to return. She was quick to note the change. " Roger, I have learned that she who was your wife is dead, and have dared to wait till you came back to your senses. Now I can go; I have seen you, spoken to you. I will kiss you if you will let me. Then I will go to where I came from, and no one will ever know. Roger, you have a son. I stepped aside and gave you Hagar. Roger, in pity, forgive me. I loved you—oh, how I loved you!" Passionately she kissed his lips, as her face was pressed to his, his hand was raised, and his arm encircled her neck. " Dorothy, Dorothy—back from the dead! What are we to do? God pity us and guide us!"