CHAPTER XXI.

Te Aroha News, Volume II, Issue 93, 14 March 1885, Page 4

CHAPTER XXI.

EN ROUTE. " I have n ever known the winter's blast, Or the quick lightning, or the pestilence, Make nice distinctions when let slip From God's right hand."— Holland. They were very nice people, these Coatellos —genial, gentle, cultured, a thoroughly attached, domestic family, too. One did not need to know them long to discover that. I " We go somewhere every fall," explained ; Bessie, the younger of the girls, "and this year we have chosen Philadelphia. Papa is the only one of us who has ever been there. Last year we went to Denver, and the year before to Europe. We just go away for a change, to see new places and enjoy ourselves. It eeems to brighten us up, and gives us something to talk about for the rest of the year. Kitty and I have the selection of the trip always. Sometimes we find it hard to agree, but—" "But," interrupted Owen, mischievously — " ' Wherewe'er they went, like Juno's swano. Still they went coupled and inseparable. 1 " They all laughed, 11 Don't desecrate Shakespeare !" reprimanded Kitty, gayly. "My comparison is inelegant after Owen's," declared demure Bessie, with a mournful shake of the head. " I was about to say that we went 'all together, like Brown's cows.' " They laughed out again at the homely j old speech. Poor Vella tried to join in the mirth ; but, oh, how that new, fresh pain did tug, tug at her heart-strings ! Such capital friends as they had grown to be already ! Generous and warm-hearted to a fault were the Costellos. Vella's beauty, loneliness, evident sorrow aud trouble, had appealed to them — won their friendship and sympathy, " I think we all deserve a rest, and a heaping spoonful of fun once a year, Miss Vernell— that is the name you said, isn't it? We are none of us drones. Owen is an artist. He has a studio in Pike's Building. He is going to be famous some day. One of his pictures last year was so good we induced him to send it to the Exposition. Kitty's face was quite aglow with sisterly pride. "Was it, really?" asked Vella, with interest. " I was there quite often. Where did it hang ?" The others were looking on and listening, with amused, quizzical faces. " Well, you see, it didn't — exactly — hang at all," arowed Kitty, horpretty white brow woefully puckered. " You see, it was beyond the appreciation of the Coinmittee,and they — in fact, they returned it." "Oh !" There was a general laugh, Owen joining in heartily. A good many in the car looked up at the group and smiled. Their mirth was enlivening, infectious. " This is the last time for several > ears we shall have Owen with us," said Bessie, a shadow clouding the bright face. "He is going to Rome this winter. What a Mecca for artists that wonderful old city is. He had been there three years when we went to Europe. I think Kitty told you that was the year before last. He came back with us then. But he ha 3 been pining ever since. Yes, you have, sir ; don't attempt to deny it. So he is going back." For a little M'hile silence fell upon them. " I was going to tell you how busy we all were," broke in Kitty. "Papa, of course, is eternally down at that old office, and mamma has enough to do to manage her turbulent family. Bessie is an artist, too I — at least she U going to be. She studies at the Academy of Design. Last year she got big prizes for her water-colors— big," opening her eyes very wide indeed to convey an idea of immensity. "My dear," her mother interposed, gently, " you are boring Miss Vernell. She cannot be so interested in us. " "Indeed I am.'" declared Vella with sincere warmth. "The most difficult lesson for young people to learn," went on Mrs Costello, with her motherly smile, "is self-effacement " Vella'a own rare smile lit up her face like sudden sunshine as she turned to Kitty. "But you haven't told me a word about yourself. 1 know you are not idle." "I? Oh, Fm not of much account," frankly. "I help mother with the housekeeping — that's about all." "Don't believe her, MisB Vernell," cautioned Owen, dodging to avoid a threatened blow from a slim, grey-kidded &and. "She is a genius in embryo. She aspires to literary fame. She writes poems by the dozen. " Kitty blushed deliciously. " Don't mind him, Miss Vernell. His eulogistic announcement is my humiliation, It I do, it is only to hare them * returned with thanks.'" " The only trouble with us," said Bessie, J in her soft, quizzical way, "is that we are not appreciated. We are too brilliant for An age which lacks perception." Whereat they all burst out again in cheery laughter. " Now, girls, that you have burdened Miss Vernell with our family history, do you feel your consciences easier?" asked Mr Costello, with twinkling eyes. "You were very, very good to make such a friend of me," asserted Vella, earnestly. "1 hope our acquaintance will not end with our journey. I am going to visit an old school friend in Philadelphia. Ido h ope you will come and see me. I will give you her address." The girls looked askance at their mother. She smiled and nodded. "Thank you," Bessie said, brightly. " We shall be very glad to do so." It was quite late when they had their berths made up and retired. Vella removed her hat and cloak. She drew the curtains close, and without undreasing, lay down. Now that she no longer heard the gay voices of her travelling companions, no longer beheld their sympathetic faces, her depression, foreboding, anguish because of Marc returned tenfold. Without, she could hear the rain driving, the wind howling, as they dashed on through the night. She lifted a corner of the window-shade and looked out. Pitch darkness. She drew back with a shudder. She had a childish terror of darkness. Her head drooped to the pillow. Silence in the car-— silence absolute and profound. Not the faintest human sound. Without was the roaring wind, the beating rain. She flung her haads above her head. The hot, slow tears rose in her eyes. What would the end of it all be ? Ah, what ? "Marc!" she murmured— " Marc ! Do you remember the song they were singing that night you told me you loved me ? ' I know not who the blame should bear. Nor who should plead, nor who forgive. 1 Neither should plead, dear ; neither forgive, Marc."

By-and-by the white lids drooped|heavi\y ; a drowsiness crept over her. And on through the midnight darkneßS sped the train, rushed on and on. What is that? What happening ! Oh, merciful Heaven ! A shock, fierce, terrific as the crack of doom — a report like thunder— Shrieks, curses, clamor i Like a living thing the train rears up, up, rocks madly an instant from side to side, drops, topples, crashes, down !