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VOL. XV.
NEW BLOOMFIEID, IJA.M TUESDAY, AUGUSTS, 1881.
NO. 31.
t
THE TIMES.
.An Independent Family Newspaper,
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The Doctor's Midnight Adventure.
I AM a doctor, a busy, professional
man, whose time i9 money; when
ever, therefore, I can nave it, I do. Many
and many a night have I passed in the
train, counting the hours thus gained as
a miner doe9 hi9 gold. Upon this point,
unfortunately, my little wife and I do
not agree ; but It is, I think, the only
point upon which we do not. Eight
hours in a comfortless 'railroad com
partment, wrapped up in your plaid
like a snake in its blanket, instead of
your comfortable sheet, stretched over a
comfortable spring mattress no, she
can not be made to see the propriety of
the exchange, nor will she believe that
1 sleep quite as well, If not disturbed, in
the plaid as in the sheets.
The train was just off as I sprang in,
and the shock of the start landed me on
my seat. Being of a slow, placid nature,
I was lu no hurry to recover from the
shock, and we were fairly otr, speeding
away as only an English expreas can
speed, before I looked around. I had
not the carriage to myself, as I had at
first supposed ; a ludy occupied the
further eud, and at the first glance, spite
of dim light aud the fact of her veil
being down, I saw her eyes, unnaturally
large and intense iu their expression,
were fixed upon me. I at all times pre
fer a carriage to myself, and if a com
panion I must have, let It be a gentle,
man, not a lady ; but there was no help
for it. The lady was there, and, more
over, she was looking at iu " 80 she
may," said I to myself ; " that shall not
prevent me from making myself as
comfortable as circumstauees will al
low.". Slowly aud deliberately, there
fore, I removed my hat, substituting for
it a cloth cap, which I drew well down
over my ears ; then I folded my arms
and composed myself to sleep. But in
vain. The eyes of my fellow passenger
haunted me. I saw them as distinctly
as if my own were opeu. Was she
watching me still V Involuntarily I
looked up and around, and my look met
hers, full, burning, intense, with far
more of meaning in it than I could at
all fathom. It was getting decidedly
f"ileasant, aud I was decidedly uncom
fortaop. Try as I might, I could not
keep my ej-s closed. Here were on me,
and meet them 1 niust.
In her attitude, too, a-w.fll as In her
Jook, there was something st-.imje and
mysterious. Huddled up in the coruer,
she seemed to be holding something
close pressed to her beneath the loug
loose mourning cape, bending low over
it in a crouching posture. Ouce or
twice, her eyes closely fixed upon mine,
I saw her shiver; but for that slight
convulsive movement, she sat perfectly
still.
Was she cold ? I otlered her my
plaid, glad of an opportunity to break
the ominous silence. If she would but
speak, make some commonplace remark,
the epell might be broken,
" I am not cold."
A commonplace remark enough; but
the spell was not broken. The mystery
that lay in her eyes lay also iu her
, 'voice.
What should I try next V I looked at
my watch 11.3(1 ; our train speeding on
at a furious rate, 110 chance of a stop
page for some time to come, and the full
open-wide gaze of my motionless com
panidn not for one moment removed
from my face. It was unpleasant, cer
talnly. It I changed my position, faced
the window instead of her, she must
remove her eyes from my face at least.
But there was a sort of fascination about
her and her look, which I preferred
meeting to shirking, knowing it was on
me all the time.
There was nothing for it, then, but to
give up all hope of sleep, and make the
best of my position and companion,
whom I now observed more closely.
That she was a lady there could be little
doubt; there was that lu her dress and
appearance that was unmistakable. That
she was pretty, there could be 110 doubt,
either ; those dark, intensely dark eyes,
the thick colls of warm burnished hair,
the small, pale features, seen dimly
beneath the veil ; yes, she was young,
pretty, a lady aud in trouble. Ho far I
got, but 110 further. How came she to
be traveling alone at that time of night,
aud with that look on her face ? What
coukl it be that she was holding pressed
so closely to her, and yet so carefully
kept out of sight ? From the size and
uncertain outline, I should have guessed
It to be a child ; but theu, there was not
the faintest motion, nor could she have
held a sleeping infant long iu that
position. I think that something of
curiosity must have been betrayed iu
my look, for her own darkened and
deepened into a perfect agony of fear
and doubt.
Ashamed, I withdrew my gaze at
once, aud, drawing out my note-book,
was about to make a memorandum,
wheu, with a sudden forward move
ment, she fell at my feet, arresting my
hand by the agonizing grasp of her own,
Its burning contact sending through me
a painful thrill.
" Don't betray me 1 Don't give me
up to him! Oh don't ! I am so fright
ened!" It was but a whisper, breathed out
rather than spoken, yet It shuddered
through me like a cry.
" I can not always hide it. I can not
always bear it about with me ; it breaks
my heart, and I am so tired."
And letting the hand which still held,
pressed closely to her, the mysterious
burden that bo had raised my curiosity
drop heavily to her side, there hiy at her
feet and mine a little dead baby, a tiny
creature evidently not many weeks old.
Then the woman threw up her veil,
and, withdrawing her eyes for the first
time from mine, clasped her hands
before her, her figure thrown slightly
back, and looked down upon It. A
pretty picture; the poor young mother,
with her pale child's face and deep
mourning dress ; the wee baby, gleam
ing so white in its death and baby-robe
against the heavy crape skirt on which
it lay a pretty picture certainly for a
railroad carriage and lightened by its
dim midnight lamp.
"Dead !" wa9 my voluntary exclama
tion. She stretched her raised hands down
ward toward it with a despairing gest
ure, speaking with low, wild, rapid
utterance.
" It was not his look that killed it,
but my love. He hated it, my baby,
my first born ; for all the love I gave
him, ' he hated it, aud that his look
might not kill it, I held It iu my arms,
so close, bo close, till it wua dead. Oh,
my baby, my baby !"
The outstretched hands had reached it
now, aud raised it from the floor to the
seat, folding it around until the Inclos
ing arms and the down-bent face hid it
ouce more out of sight.
Was ever luckless traveller more
awkwardly placed? the dead child; the
prostra'.e woman ; the hour, midnight.
I am of u bluut nature. Mrs. Mertou
often scolds me for my bluut, straight
forward speeches ; but theu she has such
a pretty way of beating about the bush,
which it would Vie absurd for me to imi
tate as it was for tie ass to mimic the
tricks of his master s lip-dog. I must
go straight to the point as soon as I see
it. I did so now.
" How came you to be travelling
alone, and with a dead child ? Are you
goiug home "i"'
The question seemed, to arouse her
ouce more to the perfect freuzy of fear.
She turned to me as before, clinging to
my hand with small, liot fingers and
heart-broken cry : '
" Don't betray me, dou't give me up
to him 1 His look would have killed my
baby ; it would kill me if I had to meet
it. She is safe, for I killed my baby ;
and he hates me aud X have no home
no home." j
- I wag iu a perfect ;maze of doubt.'
i '
Could the pretty, soft young creature at
my feet be indeed a murderess t and
could it be her husband of whom Bhe
seemed in such abject terror ? My blood
boiled ; I felt ready to defend heragainst
a dozen husbands; but how V
It was midnight now ; we could not
be far from London ; the guard might
be popping his head in at any moment.
I jumped to a sudden conclusion.
" Were you going to any friend In
London ?"
" I know nobody In London."
" The poor little thing is either mad
or husband is a brute," was my mental
exclamation.
" Then you must come home with me
to my wife ; she will see afler you."
An upward glance of wild, ngnnlzed
supplication: .
" She won't betray me, or take baby
from me ?" And ouce more the wee
dead thing was lifted up into the arms
that seemed almost too frail to hold it,
and hidden away beneath the long
mourning cape.
I took her home. Mary received her
with a broad look of amaze that made me
smile, but that found no expression in
words. When, taking her aside, I told
her all I know, she wrung her hands in
sheer sympathizing pity.
" Murdered her own baby her first
born! Oh, how sad, how dreadful!"
Aud involuntarily she glanced toward
the door that hid from us our little ones,
safely cradled aud asleep. Then she went
back to our strange guest, who sat hud
dled up lu my big easy chair, the dead
baby still at her bosom.
" I must get her to bed," said Mary,
with a quick, determined nod ; and she
really did contrive to do so by soft, ten
der, cooing words, and solemn assur
ance of safety to herself and baby, whom
she kissed and cried over, aud consider
ed as she might some living object of so
licitude, much to the little mother's
comfort.
"And you won't betray me; and he
won't come and take her from me, or
hurt us with his angry look ? Oh, dear,
how nice it is to lie down I I am so
tired, and baby Is cold ; but I think I
can slee4 now a little and forget."
She was half asleepalready ; the heavy
lids had dropped together, the small,
pale fuce had dropped downward upon
the little downy head that lay against
her bosom.
"Her husband must be sent for," I
said resolutely, when we found ourselves
once more alone; and I glanced at an
envelope I had taken from the stranger's
pocket :
t MltS. TllF.MAYXE,
" Grantlcy Lodge,
" Uranttcy."
Mary stared at me aghast.
" Her husband, who hates her, and
would have killed her baby ! Oh, John,
you would not be so cruel ! She seems
so frightened of him, poor little thing !
You may be sure he is some horrid,
wicked tyrant. Aud if she really killed
her baby oh, dear, how sad it is!
Whatever will become of her!"
" But, my dear child, If she has a
husband or friends we must restore her
to them. Why, she Is little more
than a child! It's very strange, very,
aud sad ; but the mystery must be clear
ed, and the baby burled."
Mary still pronounced me cruel and
unfeeling beyond anything she could
have conceived.
" Of course, her husband is a mad
man, who will murder her as soon as lie
gets her into his hands. You know,
John, that husbands are always murder
lug their wives."
" Middle-aged wives, dear, or elderly,
whose lives are heavily Insured. I shall
telegraph at ouce."
" Then her death will be at your door,
sir mind that !" aud too indignant to
waste upon me more words, away went
Mary to take a last peep at our own
sleeping babes, at the dead baby about
which there was so much mystery, and
the poor youug mother whom fehe had
doomed to a violent death.
She was still bending over her, and
had called me up to the bedside to notice
the extraordinary length of the lashes,
and the beauty of jhe face In repose,
wheu we were startled by a knock at
the frontdoor. -
"It's the husband; I know It is. Oh,
John, dou't betray her; don't give her
up ; you wouldn't be bo cruel."
" Nonseuse, child ; watch by her till I
return. If she awakes, eay nothing
about"
" Her husband. As If I should !"
Our household having long since re
tired, long, Indeed, before my return, I
myself opened the door.
The street lamp dimly lighted two
figures; one tall, stout aud muftled.
" Mr. Merton "
I answered in the afllrmatlve.v
" You have kindly given slelther to a
lady ?"
" Just so."
The speaker nodded to his companion,
who touched his hut aud vanished.
The other stranger now entered the
hall and grasped my hand.
" Mr. Tremuyne?" 1 asked hesitating-
iy.
" Captain Tremay ne. How is she ?"
"Asleep, uuder my wife's care sleep
ing as peacefully as a child."
" Thank God ! So young at such an
hour In such a state"
I saw a long shudder run through the
tall, powerful frame.
" And the child " he added, after a
pause, In a lforror-strlcken whisper
" She had it with her?"
I hardly knew what to answer; but
he had thrown ofT his heavy ulster aud
traveling cap, and now stood before me
as handsome and pleasant and honest
looking a young fellow as I ever saw,
aud my heart warmed to him. He was
no assassin, or ruffian, or cowardly
bully, whatever Mary might say. The
shadow of a great horror that lay iu the
blue, mellow eyes had been laid there by
terror, not crime. ,
" The child is dead." I said softly.
" It died two days ago died sudden
ly in convulsiouB in her arms,' and the
shock turned her brain. She was doing
well, poor little thing ; ' but afterward
she grew delirious, and in her ravings
she accused herself and me. I could do
nothing ; she would not have me near
her, but beat me oil' with her hands, as
she couldn't bear the sight of me."
Here the man broke down. He walked
to the window, theu turned aud asked,
abruptly, "May I go to her'i"'
I thought of Mary, and hesitated.
" Bhe Is sleeping so peacefully just
now ; and if she was awoke suddenly
and saw you"
" She shall not see me," he broke in
eagerly. " I will be so quiet. But I
must see her. I nursed her through a
long illness a year ago, aud she would
have no one near her but me; and
now "
Under the heavy military mustache I
saw his lips quiver; he paused, then
added : " I must go to her !" not In com
mand, but yearning appeal, both in
voice aud eyes. .
" Will you wait here a minute? I
will see whether she still sleeps."
She still slept, the heavy, peaceful sleep
of a tired child, Mary keeping a stern
watch and guard over her. I beckoned
her out of the room.
" Well !" with fretful,impatient eager
ness. " You have seen him ? What is
belike? Is he horrid?"
"Judge for yourself; he is in the
dining-room. He says he must see ber
he must come in."
" That he shan't; ihe cruel wretch ; or
It shall be over my prostrate body!"
tragically.
' Well, go and tell him so."
"I will!" Aud away, nothing daunt
ed, went Mary.
I smiled. ' She will no more resist
the pleading of those blue, handsome
eyes than could her husband. He will
ln her over by a look." I was right;
she soou returned, and not alone.
" He will be very quiet and she need
not see him. I thought it would be
better," all this apologetically.
He crossed the room as noiselessly as
a woman, stooped over the bed in
silence, then sat down beside it. Mary
shaded the lamp bo that the room was
lu twilight, and so we all three sat down
to wait.
For more than ' an hour we waited,
theu Mary stole out. Captain Tremay ne
looked up as the door opened and closed:
theu, with a quick sight, laid his brown
curly head down upon the pillow as
close as possible to that of the poor
young wife without touching it, and
moved his hand'up toward hers where
it lay on the coverlet, but without
touching that either, for fear of awaken
ing or disturbing her.
It was not until the first gray streaks
of dftylight were struggling in through
the window, beside which I sat, that
there was a Blight stir ; Bhe bad awaken,
ed at last.
"Hugh!" she breathed, dreamily at
first, then urgently, " Hugh I"
" Yes dear."
She turned her face toward his where
It lay beside her. She was only partial
ly awake, as yet, her eyes were still
closed; but the hand on the coverlet
crept up softly toward him, fluttered
over his face, rested one moment caress
ingly on the brown curls, then, with a
Joug contented sigh.her arm stole round
his neck.
"Husband, kiss me!"
" His presence has saved her," was
my mental comment. "There is noth
ing now to fear;" and, unnoticed, I left
the room.
Chilled and cramped with the long
sitting after the night's journey, I was
not sorry to find the sitting-room bright
with lamp and fire light, the kettle sing
ing on the hob, breakfast as comfortably
laid out for two as If the hour had been
nine instead of six, and Mrs. Merton as
neat and fresh aud trim as If that mid
night tragedy had been all a dream.
Let cavllists sneer as they may, there
is nothing for a man like a wife, if she
la a good one. I myself may have had
doubts on the subject wives are but
women arter all, and, therefore, be try
lug at times, even the best of them.
But certainly had no doubts whatever, .
as I stretched out my feet to the blaze
aud resigned myself cheerfully to being
petted and waited on.
"Weil?" questioned Mrs. Merton,
when my creature comforts had all been
duly; attended to, and not before.
I told her how matters stood; Bhe was
delighted.
" And so they are fond of each other,
after all ; and his being unkind to her
and her poor little baby was only a de
lusion. How dreadful ! How delight
ful, I mean! Poor fellow so young
and handsome and nice! I felt so sorry
for him.
" He must have traveled down In the
same train as she did."
"Oh, no ; he told me all about it. He
had beeu summoned up to town on bus
iness, and left home yesterday morning.
In the evening the nurse left her, as she
thought, asleep, to fetch something
from the kitchen." 1
" Have a gossip there, you mean."
"John," solemnly, "you don't like
Durjes, you know you don't."
' My dear, I am a married man, and
moreover an M. D. A well-balanced
mind must bate somebody or some class
of bodies ; and, as a rule, medical men
hate nurses."
"Nonsense, John! Well, Mrs. Tre
mayne got away while the nurse was
down stairs, and, being traced to the
station, where she had taken a ticket to
London, Captain Tremayne was tele
graphed to, and was stopped as he got
into the train on his way home. Some
one must have seen you leave the sta
tion." "As he came to look for her here,
somebody mu9t have brought him ; two 1
came to the door."
" It will be all right now that be has
found her; she will get quite well, and
he will only have to comfort her for the
loss of ber poor little baby."
I wipe my pen, blot the MSS., and
rise. My story is done, and as it is the
first, so will It probably be the last I
shall write.
Mrs. Merton looks up from the gloves
she is mending. "The story done! Why
all you have written is only the begin
ning of the end ! You could not surely
have heart to break off in that unsatis
factory manner. Not a word about
Captain TreniayDe'e gratitude, or the
hamper they sent up at Christmas, or
the birth of their liule eon last year,
aud the pretty way iu which she coaxed
you to be grandfather, though her uncle,
the Duke, was only waiting to be asked;
or how she insisted upon our bringing
baby and Johnny and Freddy, and how
baby"
But I seized my hat and gloves. Mary
is, as I have said, the best of wives, if
just a little trying at times, and her
baby the most wonderful of all created
babies but I have au appointmeut at
twelve.
(tylfa man can be happy and con
tented in hia own company, he will gen
erally be company for other.