LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XX, Issue 1500, 6 December 1878, Page 3

LITERATURE.

THE VILLAGE MYSTERY". Chapter I. I arrived at Oeston at eight o'clock in the evening. The train was puuetual and I was sot down at the little station. My luggage was seized by a strong stalwart porter, who scrutinised me from head to foot, bust'ed about and seemed to expect me, offering to show me the way to the doctor's house. 'You are the uew assistant L suppose?' said he. 'The doctor was down here about five o'clock ; he told me you was a-coming, and raid he had to go out somewhere tonight after a man as had had his foot hurt by a machine some way off, and so he couldn't meet yon ; and you was to be so kind as excuse him ' I replied it did not matter, and walked on, the poster following with my portmanteau on Lis shrm'der. The village looked so peae< ful. The long straggling street, with its shops and houses ou each side, terminated in a slight hill, ou which stood the church, an old grey Norman edifice, long and low, its chancel clothed with ivy, amid which roses twined in red and white clusters. The square low tower, the arched windows, and the venerable porch, through which many a babe had gone to its christening, many a bride on her weddiog morning, and many both old and young to their last long home in the green church} ard, looked travcly and solemnly down upon the village I gazed up at the church, wondering what WOnld happen during my f-hort stay in this pretty village to sharte my career. Anything strange, anything unlooked for?' or simply the ordinary routine of a country doctor's life, wearing enough, ' ufc unromantic generally and placid. I said to myself as I stood before the church. ' Sh*ll you have to do with me and my life during my stay of one short j ear ? Who on tell ?' ' 1 liis way, sir,' said the patter, interrupting my rcv-rie, and dpub*lc<>9 wondering why I stood there at the church. < This way, sir, if you please ;' and we continued our road up the path winch skirted the churchyard ; past the village inn the Fox and Hounds, with its gaily painted signboard—horses, huntsmen, hounds, aU mixed up confusedly together, while in the distance a preternaturally large and very red fox looked, cunningly round upon his purniers; past the Post-office, tte brewery, some better cla»s houses of the well-to-do farmers ; past the rectorv, standing in its pretty lawn, dotted with flower beds, whereon a g oup of gaily dressed girls were standing, and so on to the doctor's bouse, a lew whitewashed building, standing in a pretty old fa hioned flower-garden, a little green gate and green palings covered with climbing ros. a and creepers, separating it from the road. The vjo; tor preceded me, and without further announcement, walked in at the wide open door shouting, 'Now, then, Bet'y, here's the gentleman ; look sharp, girl.' Betsy, a fair-ha'red, bright-looking lassie, came forward and courtesied, saying, ' Master's had to go out, sir. He was very eorry. I> it if you please, sir. supper's ready and your rccm and all ; and you was to do the best you could till ho j;ot back again.' It seemed to roc the quarters were com fortahle enough, and that life would be very bearable for a while. I knew the doctor. He was an old friend of my father's, and ought to have risen above a mere country practice ; but Fortune srui'es on some men and frowns on others, and Dr Hamilton \ya3 one of those whose professional akdi was groat, but whose modesty f,nu want of push—if I may so style is—made him content to live humbly in obscurity. When I had visited my comfortable room and washed off the traces of the journey from my hands and face, I descended the stairs and entered the parlour, where an in-viting-lookiug repast of hot smoking ham,, steak, poached eggs, tea cakes cheesecakes, and fresh fruit, wan spread upon a sm-w-white cloth; -,'hd an elderly woman, whom 1 discovered to bo Mrs Wilson, the doctor's cook, housekeeper and factotum, was standing by the tevtablc waiting to pour out my tea. She dropped a courtesy and apologised for her absence when I arrived. ' I was just got ting a cuo <j| cwam, sir, for you- tea, from Mrs Colly ' she said; 'and her poor husband'was took had with a cramp j'.t' his heart, ami 1| h;,d to wait to ge;i< bi.m a drop ojj something hot, poor man ! 1.-h, it js a bad job ! lie's tln.t awful when he's to'k bad, yon would hear him sereechin ;i mile off. And ho can't g> and milk the cows, nor do nothink to help hi 3 wife, poor thing. She';; my niece, you see. sir ; and thia girl I have here, she's her cUughtnr. ' She appears a nice tidy girl,' I tenj&skedf. ' Yes, fdr, she be,' retained t«,e housekeeper. ' Sh-i's a good girl). She don't go, like other girls,, bore and tattering there —more s the pity for them. She's one ■of ihe uuiet sort is Betsy. We always calls I bv r Bc'sy, sir ; but front ways she's called filizaheth. Yes, she's a good uu, though I do say it, as hat almost brought her up. y - ow do help yourself, sir, and make yourself at home, do. Perhaps them cheese-. cakes is not what you fancy.'

4 They look excellent,' sa;;3, 1 : ' b,y,t I must first ask for another olicG of that delicious ham, f or < ireaHy aj#, very hnugry/ '■ \h, that's rujtit,' ya,i<lj M,ra Wjja&n, ay she pus!led about, ' It'H tbs pig \yg killed last Christmas, sir : aod 4 a;l >'d tolh<a doctor,

says I, "Wo had snob. ps#,- no never since e\'c? I viom© vo yovj, »ud that's twenty'sv%'o, y?ai s. and n\o,ye, 5 ' Ay, he's a good man, 3iy, ;y\d ? t good master, and tbat'a more. 1 ? 4 r,, glad you've come, sir, to help him a

).it lie's not ho young as he use! to,bs. and aH this Djght-work in the winty «nnc is none too good for him. has a good he:irt, bless Liml And, s>> has the red or and ins good lad,', rt ud the young ladies, and all on ';•:.„. bless tin ju ali ! 1 hive pern t!;i .•• all grow ii|) ; and now ino is ii» he married, it seems strange like. Tiivoiiher day ; lie was a babby in tuj armi ;' and tlno ol I woman f-uhed. ' But f . won't stop litre a-ta'king to aft. Perhaps when you hv done you*' va you'd like to look round —and Vuu.-i ine, tho'o's M'ss Hilda aa white, us a ghcat, running in— What ,s the matter ':'

0, Mrs v-ikioa 1 ' cried a fresh young

voice, 'is ',h o doctor (n? There's been such

aft ..uivJ sioevlcv.b, and I have run all the way. Th<"i railway bridge )i*n broken, and VnoVo are a l'.t of nco;>!e hurt.' • Lord-vmercy !' cried Mrs Wilson; ' iihe like of that never happened, aSoje.—Wo,

honey; the doctor's not in; but the newdoctor's come ; and although he is but young, he will do his best. I'm sure he will.' I stepped forward, and with this introduction to ' Miss Hilda,' came out into the little girden where she stood, saying, ' I am at your service. Will you show me the way ?' Shal I ever forget her as she stood there in the soft evening light, her hab swinging by i's broad ribbons in her hand, her simple muslin dreis, h< r browu hair dishevelled wi h the speed with which she had run, her glowing eager face, its look of horror and anxiety! ' Oh, do be quick i' she cried, as she turned and led the way. ' Prepare your rooms, Mrs Wilson !' she cried; 'they might bo wanted. Lucy has run to the Rectory to tell mamma to do the same.' I waited only to snatch my travellingflask, which lay on the hall table, aud I knew contained a little brandy, and sped after my fair guide. As we hurried along, she said, ' My sister and I were going up the lane late to see an old woman who i< ill. Just as we approached the railway bridge, the train came up ; it got to the middle of the bridge ; it seemed to stop, and to our horror, half the carriages fell through as the bridge broke like a rotten stick. 0, Mr Summers, it was awful; I shall never get it out of my head ;' and the girl's color, which had returned with her rapid walk, faded iigain to a deathly pallor. ' I don't think you ought to come on her",' I siid; 'it will be a harrowing sight, unfit for you. Let me persuade you to return aud prepare at home for the sufferers, if they should need your care.' 'O, no, no!' she cried; 'let me come. Indeed, I am strong, very strong. I won't faint and be a bother to you I' she added with a half smile. I read in her fa3e that it was use'ess to remonstrate, and we ran on. Already the news had spread ; the crowd had gathered, and every moment new arrivals came People in these paits retired very early to their beds, and many had got up again and were arriving partly dressed. On the r"ad and on the embankment lay the broken carriages, the centre ones of the train, some third c'ass, and likewise one second. Hardly a piece was left whole; they were broken up and smashed into little bits. Some of them had fortunately been empty. Hut there were many sufferers notwithstanding. The usual excitement, confusion, and bustle prevailed ; persons hurrying aimlessly to and fro, women shrieking, men shouting, and both calling in their terror on the name of Cod. The light was still good ; ten o'clock on an evening in June, with the mcon slowly risiHg, is never dark ; but hero and there a lantern Hashed its doubtful Hght on some upturned face lying on the roadside, on those who suffered and on those who ministered to them, and made the wild scene wilder and more awful. I did what I could in attending to the sufferers. There were not many very serious cases apparently; but some of the men had brought down carts, and into these those who were unable to walk were carried and taken to the Rectory aud to the Pox and Hounds and other housea which had hospitably been opened to receive them. .rtß I was looking round to see if any had been overl oked, before I went to attend to the poor suff rem, 1 felt an eager grasp upon my arm, and tu;ning quickly, saw a young wi man, wrapped in a Jong light gray cloak, standing beside ma. 'Come, for n ercy's sake!' she said. 4 lf you are a man, come and help here!' I followed. She seamed to fly over the ground, stepping lightly over the heaps of ruin and dehri?, climbing over carriages, jumping over pieces of wood and wheels and tsushions of carriages heaped together in inextrioable confus'on. 1 wondered at her haste, which I tried in vain to emulate. At last she cried, ' Oh, how slow you are! Come, come quickly !' I made a desperate effort, and was beside her. TheM», amid a tangled mass of ruin and confusion, amid planks and broken iron, shivered glass, passi-rn'ors' luggage-some of the boxes having been broken by the force of the fall—clothes, heavy boots, wooden panels and articles too numerous to mention, lay a female figure quite motionless ; and beside ber, calmly s'eeping as if in it?, oradle at at hoTie, the loveliest infant \ think I ever saw, the cheeks flushed w}th a bright rosy hue. the curly h.;i\p upon its forehead. A cherub indeed i» seemed from heaven, sent do wi, amoag all the terror and agony of that night's week. The carriage in which the woman arid child had benn was shattered to pieces; but the portion of the scat on which the baby had been placed had fallen as it was, with the cushion under it, and iiad become firmly wedged between twogreat pieces of iron, just beside tho. child on each hand. A piece of wo,o>d had likewise faden crosswise over the child, so that it was completely sheltered and quite untouched —lying a 3 it were in a box. This same piece of wood had stru -k the w<unan and had killed her, for I fancied life was extinct. So carefully and securely was the child wedged in that 1 could not extricate it. My companion seemed possessed of super atural ttrength ; she tore at the heavy wo,od with her slender hands ; she ran fox a largo piece of iron and implored me ia use it as a crowbar, then flew for assistance. I scarcely then noticed | her, but I remembered afterwards her pale I face and set fixed expression, ber eagerness, even beyond what the situation warranted. I assured her the cVild was safe;, so, and I continued my efforts, to extricate it; and at last some ps?B< n,? having arrived to help me, we succeeded in lifting off the heavy barrier, aud took out the child, apparently quite unhurt I placed it in the I young woman's arms. It scarcely awoke, but turned and nestled in her bostn I heard her say softly, ''l bauk God !' and saw t,hs> tears f.ill gently from her eyes as she turned and left me. The thought occurred to mo for a moment : Strang that, she has never thought about $Je. woman, with whom the child W«W —perhaps its mother. Surely one so g?at],e and, kind apparently, would have I tiaouglit of her too? She secm,cd *e pause after a minute, and ' coming back, said hurriedly, 'ls she dead, sir f 'I do not know,' I answered. ' 1 will remove her to the house. She may bfi only stunned; but 1 fear the worst.' (To h/> pii)):U.nv.cm.y