THE GLASS KNIFE.

Wairarapa Standard, Volume I, Issue 32, 12 August 1867, Page 4

THE GLASS KNIFE.

She laughed, a foolish and yet a cunTiing laugh, as she replied, “ Oh, many ncntlmen come to seethe house; but nobody buys it. Papa says it shall always be Mary’s house.” “ flow silly she is !” I thought; and then —I cannot tell what made me utter the words —I added aloud, “ Has your papa got a glass knife ? ’ “ Yes,” she said, nodding repeatedly. “ Marv’s papa has got a sharp glass knife. Mary must not touch it; it would cut her.”

It was with difficulty I kept from cryin s out as I heal’d this confirmation of niv dream; I jumped up, and wishing Mary hurriedly good-bye, ran to the door. It was locked 1 All mv fears became certainties the moment ! knew we were locked in; but I had been in too many imaginary perils to be utterly terrified and despairing. I made no noise at tbc door; I returned to Marv, told her I would catch her a bird, and opened the window. Ah! what a height it was from the ground; and how the roof shelved beneath the little ledge! An English boy’s head would have turned dizzy as he looked down ; but I was a mountaineer, and it was a peril I could and must dare, for the next house had a parapet, which opened only at a spring from the outer window-sill, and if I could get on it I could doubtless obtain help from the neighbours.

Tittle Mary sat looking with stupid wonder at me as I climbed on a chair, got out on the narrow ledge, and then sprang full on the parapet at the side. I reached it safely. A garret window stood open on it, where sat a maid, busy making a new cap ; she looked out just as I alighted on the stone, and uttered a scream of alarm. I ran up to her.

“ Oh, pray,” I cried “ let me come in, and go down below ,• my father is being murdered in that house.”

She helped me in at once, ran down stairs with me, called a man-servant and told him what I had said. The man believed me. Who could have doubted the earnestness of my conviction 1 He went to his master, and they both at once walked to the next door and knocked. There was some slight delay in answering the door, and Dr Houghton (my new friend) bade the maid, who stood trembling on the doorstep of his house, run for a constable.

By-and-by a man opened the door, and enquired sullenly what he wanted. In answer, Dr Houghton and his man pushed past him into the passage, saying, “ Where is this child’s father f ’

Tne man turned pale, and stammered out something about calling the gentleman, retreating down the passage as he spoke. I flew to the door of the back room, where I bad left my father, and tried to open it, crying, “ Papa! papa !” My father’s voice responded from within, calling “Help ! help !” and then came a dull sound as of a fall. Dr Houghton and his man had followed me; they at once forced open the door between them, and a horrid scene presented itself. On the floor lay my poor father, covered with blood; the furniture was all in disorder, and the room bore testimony to a fearful struggle having taken place. I ran to his side, and called on him, in an agony of grief and tear, to speak to me, but be bad lost consciousness.

Dr Houghton and his servant lifted him on a sofa near, and the former, after feeling - his pulse, pronounced him still living, and sent his servant for restoratives and bandages. Meantime several passersby had dropped in, and the constables arrived with further succour, and they at once began a search for the murderer. The window presented the probable egress by which the assassin had escaped from the room, but it opened into a closed-in courtyard, from which there was no visible outlet, tiome one, however, shrewder than the rest, observed the scattered coal-dust, and examining - the now shut grating over the coal-cellar aperture, detected the mark of bloodstained fingers on it. They at once proceeded to examine the cellar, one or two jumping fearlessly down the aperture, the others descending the stairs in the regular way; and below a very singular discovi ry was made. In one of the cellars, which was not paved, an open grave was found —destined no doubt for the victim who had so narrowly escaped being murdered. Meantime I watched beside my father. After Dr. Houghton had hound up his wounds and administered some brandy, iio opened his eyes and spoke. “Is that you, George 1 God bless vou, my dear hoy; you came only just in time.” he said.

Dr. Houghton, seeing my father so much revived, insisted on having him removed to his own house, where, in short, he remained till his perfect recovery. As soon as he was able, he gave the following account of the outrage perpetrated upon him.

“ Soon after you left the room, George,” lie said, “Brown returned with the papers, which' he bogged me to look at, adding, ‘ Shall I make out a receipt ?—do you pay at once V I replied in the affirmative. He wrote the receipt; I gave the money, or lather a cheque for the money, and he begged me to examine whether I ha 1 the transfer right or not. I was just bending down, glancing at it, when a sudden gleam fell on the old

mirror which } r ou may remember faces the window, and happened to be opposite to me. I don't think I should have re-, merited it, if I had not been wearied by ray poor boy’s fears of a glass knife ; as it was, with a sudden start I turned, and thus escaped receiving a stab in the back of my throat from an actual glass knife, which passed by ,-ffty eyes at the same moment. I seized the villian’s arm instantly, but he was a strong man in spite of his apparent age. He drew the knife through my hand, cutting it with the sharp edge, but I succeeded in breaking it. Then he drew out a poignard, and the struggle began again. I fought bard for my life. There came a knock at the door, which evidently startled my antagonist; he relaxed his hold for an instant, and I disarmed him and wounded him with the poignard. Then I hoard my boy’s voice and shouted for help. But the effort of calling out gave my foe a momentry advantage over me; he released his arm from my grasp, and struck me heavily on the head. I fell, and remember nothing more till I saw your kind faces bending over me. The monster who thus made of a noble dwelling a shambles was never found; he had escaped in some wonderful manner from the cellar into which hehad descended —possibly by the ordinary staircase, during the confusion, before the constables arrived. His man-servant had also effected his escape, and the only person found in the house was poor little Mary, She was conveyed to the workhouse till her friends or connections should be found.

The cellar in which the open grave was discovered was dug over, and two bodies were discovered beneath its damp surface ; one not recognisable; the other indeiitided as that of a gentleman who, like my lather, had been in treaty for the house. The mansion itself belonged to a gentleman who resided on the Continent and to whom Brown was agent. He was allowed to occupy it till it siiould be sold, an event of not very probable occurance considering the use the infamous solicitor made of his trust. He never ventured to present or use in any way my father’s cheque, and my mother was so shocked at the deadly peril to which her husband had been exposed, that she gave up her wish for a town-house, and the project was abandoned.

I need scarcely say how heroic, it pleased them to think, their little son had been; and there was never a gathering round the heath,

When rain and wind heat dark December, without the story of my dream, and the brave use I made of it, being told; and amongst the legends of an old family there is certainly scarcely one stranger than tuatof The Glass Kxife. (concluded.)