The Stourbridge Observer, Cradley Heath, Halesowen & District Chronicle.
Stourbridge, West Midlands, England, 1884-07-19 00:00:00

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POTATOES.
The supply of potatoes continues good, for which the
demand is steady as follows: Kent kidneys, 65 to 7s. Essex
Shaws, is 6d to 6s; Cliwbourg, 55 to ; Jersey, fo Us;
Malta. 4s to is per cwt. - - -

'qrs7llo) V JULY 19, 18e4

tat BIOTITE RESERVED.]
AMBITION'S LADDER
ilk the A4or qf " Athersteme Grange,"
-"4 Life for
a Lave," d-c.

...MATTER 111,
" ANYWHERE, ANYWHERE OUT OF THE WORLD?!
"And if I list to sing of sad thlirgs oft.
It is that sad things in this life•of ours
.Are truest."
IF3urvraiNo with outward cold, though her veins
seemed all afire, her clothes hanging damply around
her wasted form, the woman who had so lately
parted from Mr. Sartoris darted swiftly through the
archway and plunged into the maze of ill-paved,
badly-lighted streets that stretched from thence
down to the riverside.
Once only she stayed in her headlong flight to
gaze with a pitiful yearning upon the house which
at that moment held all that was precious to her on
earth, her child.
1: Darling ! " she murmured, looking wistfully
across the road, "you will never know how much
I loved you. All memories connected with me will
soon fade from your mind, when I—ah, Heaven!
--where shall I be 1."
There was a light in the little parlour adjoining
the shop, but the bEnd was drawn. Out there, in
the darkness as she was, no one could observe her.
Indeed, the steady downpour of rain which now
succeeded the firm drizzle that had before prevailed
had cleared the streets and doorways of their usual
group, of gossiping women and loafing men, and she
crept cautiously over to 'the window and peered
through a rent in the blind into the room from
which the light gleamed so brightly.
Upon a hearthrug of gorgeous patchwork, in
front of the red, glowing fire, sat the child she had
entrusted a little while before to the care of Mrs.
_ _

Wood. At that moment, perhaps, had he appeared
dejected or in want of sympathy, her motherly
instincts might have cried out and moved her to
fly and comfort him, forgetful of all else.
Alas that one last chance of staying her from
the desperate course upon which she had resolved
was wanting. No tears bedimmed the childish eyes,
no look of gloom clouded the infant features she
.beheld with such wild longing. Curled in a com-
fortable position before the warm fire, laughing
with hearty glee at the antics of a kitten that darted
madly hither and thither around him in pursuit of
a reel tied to a piece of cotton held in his hand, ho
looked tln)Arery picture of infantile enjoyment, and
the miserable creature without turned from the
eight with a bitter pang at her heart.
"He is content and happy,' she cried to herself.
"Why should I break in upon his joy with my
misery ? Petter so, far better that he should forget
—as he fery soon will do—that ever he had a
mother. It will not be for long, and then—rest
at last from this weary life."
• Yet it was a hard struggle to tear herself away
from the spot where only a few yards divided her
from all of happiness she had known of late.
Lingeringly she turned to go, retracing her steps
more than once to look in again upon that scene
Which had so much attraction for her, but at length
she conquered the temptation and departed.
In a different direction this time. Out once
again upon a thronged road, for it was Saturday
night, and neither the growing lateness of the hour
nor the fast-increasing rain made any perceptible
difference to the ill-clad women who, with large
baskets on their arms, and in most cases a child or
perhaps two clinging to their skirts, were out cater-
ing for their Sunday dinners.
e Past such as these the solitary woman sped
swiftly along, threading her way through the
motley crowd moreby instinct than any exercise of
judgment, till the traffic grew less crowded, and
the shops fewer and farther between, to disappear
alto:nither a little further on, and be cucceeded by
old-fashioned brick houses with dismal-looking front
gardens, gradually merging into more pretentious
residences, detached and semi-detached, lying far
back and hidden from passers-by by shrubs and
trees; and then a wide, open expanse of gorse.
covered common, across which, regardless of its
many pools and damp, clinging grass, she still
Pressed steadily onwards, stopping at last beside a
high oaken fence surrounding grounds of several
acres in extent.
There was a doorway where she halted, and Mu
tried the latch cautiously, for just inside stood a
small cottage inhabited by the gardener, but the
key was turned in the lock, and, finding this, she
continued her walk for a hundred yards or so to
where a lane ran off at right angles to the main
road.

Down here she turned, still keeping the fence to
her right hand, and feeling rather than seeing her
way, the lane being so overshadowed by trees that
even in daylight it must have been dark and
gloomy; now, with the Moen low down and black
clouds shrouding every star, the darkness was so
- intones as almost to be felt. Still she kept on till
she arrived at a gap in the enclosure guarded only
by a privet hedge, through which she scrambled,
unheeding that in the passage she left shreds of her
scanty garments clinging to the bushes which had
rent them as she forced her way in, and pressed for-
ward, reckless of the shrubs and brambles which
everywhere impeded her progress, to where in the
distance two or three flickering lights cast their
feeble rays upon the outer darkness.
These signs of life proceeded from the windows of
a low, rambling house, the dim outlines of whi h
were hardly to be seen, but were too well known to
her who now visited them thus secretly to make her
movements at all uncertain, and she crept cau-
tiously, silently forward, keeping well in the
shadows as she wet, till she reached a flight of
stone steps, ascending which she found herself upon
a wide verandah that ran round two sides of the
house.
Here she became even more- cautious than 1-efore.
Hardly a breath escaped her, not the slightest
mei° of her skirts could have been heard, even
by the most attentive listener had the night been
calm and still, instead of, as it was, blusterous,
stormy, and of pitchy darkness.
Suddenly she stopped, clenching her hands tightly
and f azino• intently upon the picture that pres_ental
itself to her view.
It was beside a easement opening elani no
veran lah that she halted thus abruptly. Thick
curtains hung inside, but they were undrawn, and
the subdued but powerful light of a lamp upon a
tal le near-the window enabled her to soo distinctly
into the apartment.
A library, evidertly, and judging from the aspect
of the books that filled shelves fitting all round the
walls, its owner was a student. /Co garish bindings,
no gilt embossed lettering or fanciful embellishment
was there; all looked solid, sombre, dull, and
decorous.
The furniture, too, was substantial and old-
fashioned, but faded and covered with dust, as were
the looks around the walls, the pamphlets, parch-
ments, maps, and charts that littered the table and
lay strewed confusedly about upon the floor or
• piled on chairs.
But not on any of these things did the womaa
• look, though her mind took it all in with the one
brief, comprehensive glance which she cast around,
recalling as it did the time—now long past by-
-when it had been her pleasure to reduce that chaos
to some semblance of order, and reap a rich reward
in the approving smile bestowed upon her for her
pains by him whose familiar figure—alas, how
changed I—was now once more before her.
- A man of middle age, wasted in form and feature,
-with hollow, sunken eyes and hair and beard of
grizzly grey, but handsome still, though with a hard
and unrelenting expression in his face.
He was seated before the table, pen in hand, and
several closely written sheets of paper on the
ground beside him. Some current of thought, how-
ever, had apparently disturbed his labours, for he
ha I ceased to write, and sat with his head leaning
listlessly upon his left hand, his eyes fixed dreamily
upon the window.
"For the last time!" murmured the woman who
was watching him. "Never again—ah ! never.
Hard, cold, and unbelieving, will he be over pitiless,
or is there hope that he may repent even yet? Ah,
fool: Blind and besotted, relentless and unyielding,
why is it that even now I cannot hate him as I
would wish ! Hate! when I love him yet—have
never ceased—and ho—oh, merciful Heaven !—I
cannot bear it.
And crouching down by the window in an
abandonment of despair, but still looking in with a
heoungored, pitiful yearning, she remained silent for
aczifew minutes, till the unconscious object of her
.:y resumed his writing.
a stran, controlling her sobs, she rose erect with
closer. 13g% fixed look, and approached the window
"Ii I could only hear his voice again," she
whispered
,l,ongast* gly to herself. "If he would only
speak—
Her wish was granted almost as soon as formed..'
Unknowingly she ha
d not being propdelfessd against the easement,
an
fastened it flew open,
letting in a Sudden gusirof oar which extinguished
the lamp.
The occupant of the room started up. Dark as it
was outside he fancied he saw something like the
outline of a human figure, the passing vision of a
white face, the sight of which eent a thrill of vague
terror through his veins.
Who is there ? " he asked sharply, starting
up
and pulling hastily open a drawer in the table
before him. "Speak, or I shall fire."
And he levelled a pistol at the open window, for
the house, though so near London, was in a lonely
suburb and stood by itself.
But no answer came, and groping his way round-
the table he pawed out on to the verand,:th.
All was silent and deserted there, ppafraernotile:yr
though had he pursued his search a littlea
among the shrubs that lined the garden paths
scarcely a dozen yards away, he might have been
more saceessful, might, perhance, have saved a
desperate, reckless human soul, and regain such
happiness for himself as had once been his. But
this was not to come to pass.
"It must have been the wind, after all," he mut-
tered.

And then, after satisfying himself by another cur-
Dory glance that no larking figure was concealed
about thA vArandah he re entered the house and ht

anew his lamp, the light from which shone brthe
once more upon the eyes of the wretched creature'
hidden without among the bushes.
Only for a brief time, however, for now he
fastened the window more securely and drew close
the blind, and as the light was thus hidden from her'
vision so utter darkness and impenetrable glooin!
clouded her poor, half-crazed brain, and creepingf
stealthily back by the same path she had come slid
departed.
The grey dawn of the following Monday morn-
ing broke chilly and damp over the mighty city.;
wherein abides so much of sin and misery, of
poverty and crime, to counterbalance its advantages
of wealth, enterprise, and noble charities. Dull,
heavy masses of fog rolled over the muddy, sluggish
river, which had not yet received its daily burden
of busy traffic.
But signs of the day's approaching toil were
beginning to show themselves. 'The 'wharves lining
the muddy banks wero already exhibiting tokens of
activity, and from the cabins of the lighters and
barges which, laden almost to the water's edge,
were awaiting the incoming tide to bear them
onward to their various havens, sleepy-looking
men emerged, yawning and stretching,their arms as
they stepped upon deck.
Close by Battersea Old Bridge, among a dozen
others, lay the barge "London Pride," the master
of which trim vessel was early astir, and busying
himsel in casting loose the hawsers, mooring h's
little craft alongside the wharf; while his buxom,
if somewhat coarse-looking better-half, was busily
occupied in superintending the preparation of the
morning meal and scrubbing the ruddy cheeks of
the half-dozet or more little ones who called her
mother 1n the confined, boxed-in hole at the stern
of the barge which served them for "parlour and
kitchen and hall." _ _ _

Sudenly Bill Humphries uttered a shout. •
" Hallo ! " he cried, in an excited voice. "What's
this? Here, mother, come up quick! Here's a
woman in the water."

" Mother " rushed up at the alarming summons,
with her tribe of healthy children scrambling poll
mell at her heels' and gazed half curiously, half
awe-stricken, at the not quite unfamiliar spec- I
bele.

"Poor thing!" murmured the woman. "She'll
never feel the cold no more."

Ah ! such a piteous sight as it was.
Not so great a novelty, indeed, to those who
live upon the surface of 41 Father Thames, where
—if a corpse drifting quietly on towards the ever
flowing sea is not quite as ordinary an occurrence as
may be viewed any day from the banks of the far
Ganges, it is still a matter scarcely surprising, as a
glance at the numerous placards headed "Found
Drowned" that are pasted outside the doors of every
London police station abundantly testifies.
And even such a sight it was that Bill Humphries
called his wife to witness on that cold, raw morning,
for there, caught by the chain that moored the
barge, was the body of a woman, face downwards,
her long hair swaying to and fro upon the surface of
the water.
Some assistance was obtained from the wharf close
by, and the corpse was lifted from its slimy resting
place and removed to a public house near at hand,
one which had often received such ghastly visitors,
there to await the inevitable coroner's inquest. and
the as certain verdict of "Found Drowned."
(To be continued.) ,
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