KILLED AT A LEVEL CROSSING.

Waipawa Mail, Volume XIII, Issue 2499, 30 August 1890, Page 6 (Supplement)

KILLED AT A LEVEL CROSSING.

It was u clear moco&ght night. acetic — ft level creating for the convenience of people ufliag the pathway through the fields that led to tile little village cf Boechgrove, where merchants and well-to-do tradesmen of the manufacturing town dewe at hand resided. It «ras a a exceedingly dangerous spot, as approaching trains were bidden by a curve and wooded eminence a few dozen yards higher *ii». Two men were waiting here under .the shadow of tlio Overhanging trees for the passing of a goods that just then was laboriously suortuig alone* the up metals. “ You say ron can tell the character ol a ■tan Vv his hand writing. Can you tell me the character of the writer of. that aaid one of the man, handing his companion a slip of paper. Taking the- proffered document, the other stopped «E>n to the down line, where the clear mooifiigiii enabled liija to get a better vieof the writing, and alter a moment’s scrutiny remarked: . 4 “T Should say he w cowardly, sly, and Vindictive, with just enough determination, to a&ake him an niidcairuble enemy.” “ Well, to tell you the truth, I don’t think he is my friend.” “I would advise you to beware of But thp shrill whistle of an engine drowned the remaining words if they wore ever spoken. Two lights dashed down upon the unfortunate man, and in an instant his body was mangled beyond recognition. The other man uttered a deep groan that echoed in the surrounding woods, and covered his face with his hands to shut out tho horrible sight. Imagination the next moment conjured up a figure, that glided dose up to him, and hissed into his dazed ears : “ Murderer, 1 sow you do it.” Murderer !” He feebly realised what it meant., and casting a liunied glauce at the dreadful sight before him, rushed off across the fields. Away he wont tearing wildly through obstructive hedges, leaping with maddened agility over brooks.* never once daring to look behind. Out on the high road he still raced as if life depended on his speed, vainly ftndqpAouring to outran the demon of his disordered fancy, till, fagged out by his fierce exertions. he at last slackened liis pace to a quick walk. On by quiet homesteads, past wayside inns, now plunging into the shadow ot overliiuv'ing trees, or making wide detours to shnu ttie bickering liglits of some sleepy village. Onward, still onward, whither he never asked himself ; he only know he was leaving something dreadful behind. The farmhouse lights were fast diappearing one by one, the moon went down, clouds gathered in the skv, and deep darkness fell upon a madman’s aimless way. 4

I’apa will soon be here now, my pets,” said a young woman, as her eyes rested on two fair Children—a girl of eight years old and a boy ju.it beginning to lisp his words—who were scaled at a daintily laid out tea-table. A glow of pleasure overspread the children’s innocent faces, and f Tie girl exclaimed : “ Oh, I wonder what will papa bring home for Bertie’s birthdav. What would you like, Bertie ?.’ “Gee-ge li-ped the chubby little fellow. ‘•He jur, tliavca g -e-goc.” siM In'- : istov - “ a beautiful gee-gee, with ;t saddle and bridle, tti.it he can ride on all da3' long.” Mrs. Freebody—for such was the young woman’s name--went to the drawing-room window to look along the while road in hopes of catching a glimpse of ihe expected one. “lie’s not coming yet, dears,” she called •ut; “ hut he won’t be very long now.” ‘- Oh, mamma, won’t you tell me the moment yoi see him coming? I want to be at the window to welcome him and the girl twisted ah' >iffcrestlessly in her ohair. “ Me, me, too J” chimed in little Bertie. “ Yes, both of you shall be here to welcome him.” Then, ns Mr*. Freebody stood looking out on the lonely road, her mind went back to the days befeijre her marriage—clays that might have been so happy were it not for the obstinacy of Bclish friends. She was only a poor orphan, and this was an unpardonable sin in the elder eyes. The iron-hearted, cool, successful speculator wished to see his son united to a wealthy family, but a secret maqd-'ge th .varied the wily schemes of paternal ambition, and George was nowdisowned and (lisinh<£riied, the hulk of his father’s property being ma'l*? over to his fii-.it cousin, Harry Banks. Harry Banks! How Ethel Freebody shuddered ] when she thought of him—her re jected lover who afterwards gratified his revengeful feelings ; 1»7 becoming a loathsome spy on all her actions ! Th«i worst, however, was past. She looked round her pretty sitting-room, feasted her eyes ; on her dear children, ami thanked heaven for ; her present Impinnc. “What a naughty papa . Mill he never come ?” she sighed, turning away from the window and sitting<2«-;vu opposite the glowing 1 fli . She to ik up Bi me crochet work to whil; A\ :\j the tiif.- expectancy made so tedious, and lis+cued to the musical tones of her little.ones j till the mother’s faucy soared beyond the dull 1 realities of life to some land her fond heart clothed with unearthly loveliness and peace, 1 where th*- children's voices seemed like the J umiinnr ®f angola. In that land she was building a home of perpetual sunshine for her itlolL when b»ng went the knocker of the front door, and in art instant, her golden dream had vanished. Mrs. Frceoodv bent- her ears to listenVi.rlo the scivano opened tlic door. A low muttering was all that was audible. Then came tt .silence —such a mysterious silence. After a time the door was slowly opened, and the servant, pale and trembling, entered the room. “ ’Tie a p’.eeceman,'’ said the girl, with tremulous tone and secured looks. “ What does he want r” inquired Mrs. Freebo ly. as. calmly :»s tbennoontroliable fluttering at her heart would allow. The master, ma'am.” was the girl’s laconic replv. “ For HeavenV sake, speak out. Susan ! Whitt is the matter?” exclaimed Mrs. Freebody, ninfping up. •* <>h, ma’am, 0 dreadful accident !” was all th - giil could say. “Tell me at .>uce—oh, tell me at once what it is?” “The wor->t, ma’am,” stammered the frightened girl. “f>h, be brave, ma’am—it’s awful—the masi-.-r. ma’am, is ma’am —no mure —killed hv a train.” A heartrending shriek burst from Ethel Freebody’s lips ns she f- 11 down senseless.

Six months h ! d H-od miico Ethel left a wi'b'w. Aft*-r first paroxysms of grief subsided. she bravoiy faced th< bitter problem of the future. Kr>*i;i lan- t*.- time she hod inserted advertisements in the lotal papers offering he • services as a - In i- of im -:*-. but hitherto without -a.*.-tvv. n .).ody seemed :<• want lessons. Hef fm.ds were grov.mg amazu.gly less, au lsi.e sighed as she rartoi w.ih every shilling, well knowing that i: her prospects did not speedily improve she won 1 *! be driven into d- innate straits. Sho wat« hod for the poitnmu every morning, and u-iih despairing heart saw him pass the door. Sh- -j rawed more for her childrcu thin herself. They were already becoming tainted with the gloomv surrounding* of her hutthlo apartments, a ud their nicerv laughter was sea reel v ever ke»nl. She w;c- r awing 51.- evening in her sittingroom when she beard a knock at the front door. A visitor wished so -»ee her. She asked the landlady t..*l*mv Li.u up. She could scarcely believe h *r own eye* when the door opened, and in walked a **eiM >aiam the least expected of all her ac in .in: i In; f iatly the colour mounted to her cheek*. and k<v brows became contraotcd. “ You will pardon tny intru.>ioi», l hope,” said he, wit’i polite bow mid a flu Wo smilo ‘•but 1 am desired be rov uncle to call upon y. o to eeti vou are iu'need of hU assistauce.” “Ido a need a itauce. tl ink . u, Mr. Banka.” “ Ofcoui«eyou know it a his bounJen duty to look aft'-ruiur arid those of your child veil,' rewirlvcd li.r quondam lover. * 4 Indeed !” r- j wined JBth, 1, with a proud, haughty carl on her lips. -‘ Then I'll gladly relieve him from tlic. c-ailarrassing duty.’ “ You’re uuji.st,” exclaimed Mr. Banks, with affected warmth— *• very unjust to harbour bad feeling agr'nst one who. I firmlv believo, wishes to do you a kind turn.” “ I harbour no bad feelings against any one. Al| I desire is that (hone who ignowl mo so lr>nh would now do me th" favour of forgetting me altogether, t ’m* c-i /t quite t»u?t in converted enemies.’* Her couclud ug remark, spoken with a withering. di-*i<;io:ul look. ?. :>k deep into her hearer’s near*. He was cvidei.dy ill ;.t case, and laboureil >.* ird to g* t out his next w..rds. “Aw—haw can’t. I prevail upon you—aw 1 ShSffwt, Mr. Banks?” “ Oh. no—not that.” he hastened to say. “But really. Hth—Mr«. Froebnlv, I don’t think it’s wise—’pon iny word I don’t —to reject Mr. Freebod.-'s offei-.” “ I am extremely thankful for his kind offer, and thankful ♦«. you for your disinterested kindness in coming iruward as a mediator, but I prefer to relv ujwni tny own resources. Good evening. Mr. Banks/’ said Ethel, with that culm, frigid manner she could command at will. - F.aiap! I*aia/' U ' “ 110 von know whot your refusal means?” “ Trifiing inconveniences, perhaps.”. “ lor your children’s ekike, do, pray, ra-

1 consider your decision. Don’t yon kxmw if j anything happened to you, they would be ! wholly denendent 1:0011 tueir ffT.mdfather r “Heaven forbid tney should over be dependent upon his charity,” wa3 Ethel’s fervent ejaculation. “Ethel!” Mrs. Freebody started on hearing herself addressed in so familiar a style, and curled her lip disdainfully. •T have forgotten ray passion,” continued Mr. Banks; “it has passed away, and left behind it an enduring friendship; and this I now offer you with any assistance I can render Ho waited a few minutes to see if Ethel would speak, but as she remained pale, cold, silent, and immovable, he passed out, vainly endeavouring to assume an unconcerned smile \iter her visito departed Bthei sat down oo : think. This was only the first of many un- : pleasant interviews with this detestable man. She felt certain her everyday life would henceforth be plagued with his unwelcomu attentions. She thought and thought for hours, revolving in her mind the possibilities-and probabilities of the future, catching at every gleam of hope that offered momentary consolation, till, dav.ed and 'bewildered, she laid her head on the table, and burst into tears. Bit lie Ethel was watching her mother, an l coming close to her side, wound her arras round tha sorrowing woman’s neck, and in the soothing tones of sympathetic childhood, murmured : “ Don't fret, mamma dear. I’ll 30cm bo able to earn plenty of money for you. I’ll soon be a Mrs! Freebody passionately kissed the little “ There now, mamma dear j don't cry any more, like a good, dear mamma,” said the child, wining her mother’s eyes. “ I’ll always be goo 1 to you, and love you : an* . when Pcrtie is a man we’ll be happy again. • ® ® ! *G>r. Fredericks, an eminent London prac- : titioner, was sitting beside n convalescent patient. There was a sunny smile on his benevolent face. He had taken an unusual interest in the pule, emaciated woman, for a chance fccnversatiou with the kindly landlady of the house where Ethel had taken lodgings on her arrival in London, whither she had flown to escape from her former lover’s unwelcome attentions, had given, him the cluo by which he longed to effect the reunion of two strangely-dissevered lives. Ho had been a good friend to Ethel throughout a long and critical illness, sending daily by his wife or servants some dainty morsel to tempt the invalid’s weak stomach. For the last week he : had been dropping some curious hints that ! mystified and perplexed his patient, but to-day he was much more explicit—seemed feverish to i unburden his soul of some great secret. He ! felt the patient’s pulse, applied the stethoscope to her heart, ana, satisfied wit’ the pro? .‘ess she was making, remarked : “ You’ll soon be well now. I expect you won't be long a widow.” “ Why do you think so, doctor V” “ Well, of course you do not wish to be alone all your life.” “ 1 loved my husband too well to ever think of marrying again,” sighed Ethel. “ I don’t want you to have a new lover.” “ What do you mean, doctor r” “ First let mo tell you a piece of news and the doctor wheeled his chair round to get a better view of his patient’s face. “Norton Villa is being redecorated.” “ All!” —and Ethel sighed deeply—“ who has taken tlio dear old home?” “ J have.” “ You, doctor?” Ethel gazed at him in astonishment. “ Yes, for you. You must get back there as soon as possible. You will meet an old lover there.” “ I don’t understand your meaning, doctor.” “ Well, let me be a little clearer. Do you remember a Mr. Bird, your husband's friend ?” “ Oh, yes, well. T often wonder what became of him. But there —ho was such an eccentric man. He had no relations to hind him to any particular place.” •‘He resembled your husband very much, did he not?” *-Yes, people used Jo think they were brothers; they dressed so much alike as “ He’s dead,” the doctor said, with an assumption of carelessness. “ Dear me, how sad !” exclaimed Ethel. “ Ts the poor fellow really dead?” “ Yes, Mrs. Freebody, and you’re in mourning for him.” “ Whatever do you mean, Dr. Fredericks?” “Simply this, my dear child—that it was Mr. Bird who was killed that night 0:1 the railway.” “And my husband—my dear George?” gasped the astounded woman, quivering with “ Was a witness of the terrible tragedy, received a severe shock to the nerves, was found wandering aimlessly about the roads next day, miles ami miles away from the scene of the accideut, unable to give any coherent account of his antecedents. lie was sent to an aslyum where a friend of mine is governor. I was on a visit to this friend when he was brought in, and tli- case interested me. The very morning I was called in to see you I had received a letter from my friend, telling me that your husband’s reason had returned, and that every effort was being made to flail you.” Ethel Freebody is once more th- mistress of Norton Villa. She is standing at the drawingroom window, looking along the white road. Tier heart is beating in wild expectancy, for Dr. Fredericks has gone to bring the lost one homo. Slowly the time drags on. The children are exploring every hole and corner ol the house, and ever and unon bursts forth a merry po-l of laughter. Another slow half-hour passes away, and then the joyful sound of carriage wheels is heard. Coming at last, nearer, stops. The door opem, but her strength fails in thi3 moment of supreme happiness, and she sinks into th -. nearest chair. A strong arm is soouhround her neck, and the voice sh- thought was bushed in death whispers— “ Drvit Etuet..” — i'. 'y