Our Novelettes.

Western Star, Issue 903, 6 December 1884, Page 2 (Supplement)

Our Novelettes.

“MAD FROM LIFE’S HISTORY.”

( Concluded .) Like a dream passed before her her early life in the little vine-clad coatago on the hillside in her own bright land of Italy—her education in France —her brillant success as a sincer ■—her love—her husband and the i-hnrt, sweet happiness of ttie first period of her married life. Oh, how she had longed to see him again ! In her terrible anger she had prayed for strength to revenge herself upon him, but in her bodily weakness her better nature rose paramount, and a haif-forgotten thought rose to the surface of her mind, and hovered like a good angel above the troubled waves of her agitation. Yes, she had heard of one who had said, ‘ Vengeance is mine—-I will repay and Zara, worn out mentally and bodily, willingly left the responsibility in higher and wiser hands. She thought she would get out at the next station and return to London by the next train—she would not trouble Claude —she Oh, great Heaven, what is this ? « * * * * A broken embankment, with acres of bleak moorland stretching away on either side, an overturned steam-engine, and the debris of railway carriages scattered around. The clear moon shed her cold light upon the upturned faces of the dead and the dying—strong men writhing in mortal agony, wailing, terrified children, and helpless, half-frantic women. An accident had happened to the down train to Yauston. Like other ill news, the rumour of the disaster was soon wafted over the surrounding country, and ere long, kindly offers of help were given, and country vehicles of every description were in requisition to carry away the sufferers and the bodies of those placed beyond the reach of earthly suffering. Hough, labour-hardened, but tender hands carefully raised a dying man and placed him in a waggon; a brown-haired girl, with an agonised white face, took her place in it also, and laid the sufferer’s head upon her lap ; she removed the fair, wavy hair from off the white brow, and murmured; I 'as she kissed the the livid lips — * My Claude —my darling—take me with you—my own—my own alone !’ The waggon was a large one—another death-iike form was lifted into it, and a dead child was placed upon her lap. No sigh, no complaint escaped from her lips. Looking vacantly at the dying man, and then at the girl, she said in a hollow voice—- * Who are you ? Why are you here ?’ ‘ I was to have been his wife,' replied the girl, softly. * I am his wife,’ said the other, ' and this is his child—his dead child,’ she repeated, mechanically, looking at the pure waxen face of the babe upon her lap. ‘ ‘ _ , The dying man opened his eyes, and, trying to raise himself, uttered the one word ‘ Zara I’ and then his spirit fled. They laid his dead child beside him. True, noble-hearted Meta Vane stooped and kissed the sweet little face, and then, taking Zara’s hand in hers, said—- ‘ It is our loss.’ # * * * * ‘Who is that pretty creature ?’ asked a visitor one day of the keeper of a private lunatic asylum. ‘ That is Zara Petijos. You may recollect having heard of her; she wrs the great opera-singer who went mad when her child died.’ ‘Zara Petijos—ah, I am not surprised—persons of her class are so excitable.’ ‘ She is very quiet now. The Franklins of Yauston were interested in her, and placed her here. You’ll come in and have some luncheon ?’ ‘Thanks—just a glass of wine. I am obliged to hurry back to town for the forthcoming Flower Show.’ Ellis Clabb.