LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XX, Issue 1501, 7 December 1878, Page 3

LITERATURE.

THE VILLAGE MYSTERY. (“ Chambers’s Journal.”) { Continued.) We lifted up the insensible figure. It seemed to be that of an elderly woman, perhaps fifty or thereabouts Her dress, of a coarse dark stuff, and her tidy shawl, and plain straw bonnet, of no fashionable make, seemed to point her out as a respectable woman of the peasant class, too old certainly to be the mother of the lovely baby, who could not possibly be more than a few months old. I returned as quickly as I could to the village, and began the sad work of trying to alleviate as far as I could the sufferings of those injured. Some were cn'y shaken and had slight contusions. The worst case, that of a man whose leg was shattered, had been taken to the inn ; and as further medical aid had been telegraphed for, there was little to be done for him till the doctors arrived, as I did not care to take the whole responsibility of amputation. I went down to the rectory, where I found several of the passengers being tenderly cared for by the kind people there. While seeing to their injuries, the young woman who had called me to the rescue of the little child came to the door and called, saying, ‘ Miss Hilda, will you come and speak to me?’ ‘What! is it you. Miss Brown? Come in. What is it ? How did you come down so far ?’ ‘ I came down on an errand to the village,’returned she, ‘and saw the accident Oh, never mind now, Miss Hilda ; take this, and keep it safe, for the love of mercy.’ The girl started as Miss Brown, unevoeriug he- bundle, disclosed the lovely face of the sleeping child. ‘ What child is this ?’ said she. ‘ Where did you find it ?’ But even as she spoke Miss Brown, saying hurredly, ‘ I once had charge of a little one so like that, and now it is gone, it upsets me to see that darling,’ turned and left the room. The two girls Hilda and Lucy stood openmouthed, and I stepped forward and explained how the child had been discovered. ‘ Mother will tell us what to do,’ said Hilda, and she ran off with the baby. I next saw it in Mrs Morton’s motherly arms, and she said, as she addressed me kindly, ‘ Another time, doctor, we must try and find out who is the owner of this little treasure; at present it shall have food and shelter here till wo hear further particulars. Some one is sure to make inquiries about it. ’ All that night the village was in commotion ; the telegraph wires never ceased bringing messages from anxious friends and conveying the answers, in some cases sad enough. Two died that night—one at the Fox and Hounds ; and the woman we had found, at tlie doctor’s house, whither she had been taken, and laid in my pretty fresh bedroom, which I little thought, when I arrived a few short hours before, would so soon be tbc scene of suffering and of death itself. To my surprise, when I returned to my quarters. I found the sufferer had been brought there, and moreover, 1 found Miss Brown earnestly u-ing every possible means to restore animation. When I entered she looked up. ‘I fancy she breathes still,’ she said. ‘ 1 have been trained to nurse, and I have been trying hard to restore her. What do you think ?’ I examined the patient carefully ; she did breathe, but so faintly that the movement was scarcely to be felt; and after about an hour’s anxious watching, she gave a deep sigh and breathed her last peacefully and without a struggle. ‘ Who is she ?' said I to Miss Brown. ‘A stranger here apparently,’ she amswered. ‘ Of course inquiry will be made in time.’ ‘ I will call Mrs Wilson, and all that can be done for her now shall be done at once. Your services arc required elsewhere, and your time ia precious to the living ; do not delay with the dead.’ Her face was deadly pale, and she sank on her knees beside the bed. ‘ Are you able for all this ?’ I asked. ‘0 yes. Send Mrs Wilson to me ; I dare not be alono. You think me foolish perhaps sir; but I am not very strong, and I have had much trouble ; this shock has tried me a good deal ;’ and her eyes filled with tears as she spoke. I hurried to find Mrs Wilson. ‘ Go upstairs to that poor thing,’ I said, ‘ please. You will find her ratner shaken by all this. I don’t suppose the doctor would bo angry if you were to take her a glass of wine.’ ‘ Trust me, sir,’ said the good old dame ; ‘ I’ll see to her, poor child. I wonder what brought her into the middle of it all ? Well, she is a good one, I believe, in spits of all they say m the village about her quiet ways. I don’t care; I am sorry for her, she is so young ; and she looks that sad now and then, I could a’most cry to see her. I will run up and see to her.’ ‘Do,’ said I; and I saw Mrs Wilson, as I quitted the house, ascending the stairs with a bumper of hot braady-and-water, At the gate I met Dr. Hamilt m. ‘ A sad business this, Summers, and a sad welcome so you, my boy. Any bad cases V ‘ Oome -with me,’ I replied. ‘ There is but ’ one serious cas-e li ft, and that, I fear, is hopeless ; but together wo will try what we can do and as we walked up to the inn, I gave my friend particulars of tho accident and its consequences. All through the night we watched anxiously to relieve the suffer rs; but as morning dawned, death mercifully interpos d in the caso of tho poor fellow lying at the inn. The others were recovering ; and the morning train brought the friimls of most of them, who were either rem >ved to their homes or remained awhi'c in the village a til Jit to travel. The remains of tho man were recognised, and talmn away by his friends for interment; but those of I the woman were still unclaimed. No one I arrived to seek her. No inquiries were made I respecting her, and after tho inquest and a

verdict of ‘ Accidental death ’ had been returned, she was quietly laid in the peaceful churchyard. Her ticket gave no clue to her identity; it simply bore the mark ‘ King’s Cross.’ Who could trace her in the great world of London? All particulars were for warded to the police, but no result followed There were no marks upon her clothes nor upon those of the child, although a neat wooden box, unclaimed by other passengers, w.n supposed to have belonged to her, as it contained a few odd volumes well worn, and articles of wearing apparel for a woman in her apparent circumstances, and a child; all very neat and exquisitely clean, but homely and plain in their make and fashion. Of Miss Brown we heard nothing more until the day of the funeral, when she attended it, dressed as usual in black. ‘I found her, sir,’ she said to the rector, ‘ and I thought I should like to follow her remains.’ ‘ It is very curious,’ said the rector, * that no inquiries have been made regarding her. I wonder whether we shall ever hear anything ?’ 4 If ymi ever do, will you be so good as to tell me ?’ asked Miss Brown, 4 Certainly, ’ replied he. 4 And now, would you not like to step on to the rectory and have a look at the baby ?’ 4 1 should very much,’ she answered. 4 My girls have grown so fond of it,’said the rector, 4 I don’t know how they will ever part wi.h it; but some one must be found to take ca -e of it. It cannot live at the rectory alw yg.’ 4 su >pose not,’ said Miss Brown rather sadly. 4 lt could not bo expected.’ I heard afterwards that when she went to pay her visit, baby took to her wonderfully in spite of her black dress, crowed and laughed, and was altogether, as the girls said, 4 too sweet a darling for anything,’ And the grave of the lone stranger lay under the shadow of the old church peacefully. What secret lay hidden under that fresh grassy mound F Would it ever see the light ? an she some simple peasant woman going on a journey to distant kinsfolk, who perhaps were ignorant of her intention, and therefore made no inquiries respecting her ? Or was she taking charge of this little one for another ? Was it not strange that no clue had been discovered as to whom they were, or where they came from ? Or was it a secret known only to one sad and troubled heart, that had been grossly and cruelly betrayed, and only wished to hide its shame ? Such speculations occurred to us all I think in turn ; but the wonder ceased to be a wonder after a time ; and presently good Mrs Morton made arrangements to place the child with little Mrs Coulson, who had lately lost her own baby; and after this, the excitement subsided and gradually died away. (To hp. continued.)