The Stourbridge Observer, Cradley Heath, Halesowen & District Chronicle.
Stourbridge, West Midlands, England, 1887-12-24 00:00:00

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auty bravely, striving with all her faithful heart to
own that I was right. But it is no use; she loves
you, my boy, and the love is killing her I'
Oh, how my heart leapt at his words. What a
sudden transformation came about in the dull murky
surroundings as he uttered the words. The cloudy
evening seemed to brighten into loveliness, and the
street to grow bright with a glow it never had before.
Would Igo P What would I not do for my Mary.
She should not die if my presence could save her.
But perhaps Mr. Featherstone had taken my position
in the world to be better than it was. I must un-
deceive him.
'I am no better off than I was when you sent me
away,' I said; 'at least very little. I have a place
in the world, it is true, but my means are as limited
as ever.'

_ • ___
I have come to think money is not all, Lawrence,'
he said, quietly. 'Come to us to-morrow. Let
Christmas Day see the beginning of happiness and hope
for my girl. She has never complained ; never said
one word of reproach to me. She would have gone
down to the grave in silence; but I have seen it, and
cannot bear it any longer. Come down to Elm Lodge
to-morrow to dinner, and we will begin afresh from
Christmas Day.'
I don't know what I said, or what I did. I think
I must have shaken the old man's hands nearly off
in my delight that could find no words. Go? Of
course I would go. I would have gone there and
then, but that he told me that Mary was in such a
delicate state of health that he dared not risk a
sudden shock. I would be at Elm Lodge at four o'clock
the next day, and then—ah, what would come after
was something too happy and delightful for my mind
to grasp—Mary all my own, and never to be parted
from n.e any more. I don't know how I wished Mr.
Featherstone good bye, but we parted somehow, and
I was going upstairs three at a time when I met the
housekeeper who had charge of the offices;
I was singing, I fancy, for she stared at me as if she
thought I was a little mad. She was dressed all in
her best, and her best was a fearful thing to behold,
for her notions of colour and arrangement were
curious. She had a little boy with her and a porten-
tous bundle; they were evidently !going out for a
holiday.
Good evening Mrs. Griggs,' I said. Off for the
..olidays oh?' _ _

' I e's sir, me and Tommy's going to my mother's
down the country a bit. I made sure you were gone
sir; I knocked at your door just now and there
was no one there.'

I have been out, but not for long. And so you
are going to take holiday. A merry Christmas to
you both.'
The same to you, sir, and many of them, and thank
you kindly I am sure,' she added, as I put a gratuity
into Tommy's hand that made even that avaricious
urchin open his eyes to the widest compass, Suppose
you won't be wanting anything till afterßoxing Day?'
No ; I am going into the country.'
Ah, then, me and Tommy can stay till Tuesday
evening. I have laid all the fires and done all the
rooms except yours, which I couldn't get in; and the
gentlemen have all their keys, so

So you can enjoy yourself with a clear conscience,
Mrs. Griggs,' I replied. I shan't want you to do
anything for me. I dare say I shall not be back much
before you. Good bye! and don't let Tommy kill
himself with plum pudding.'
I heard them laughing as they went down stairs,
perhaps at the idea of Tommy being killed with any-
thing that the universe could produce to eat. And
singing still—l have a way of crooning to myself
when I am pleased a 3 a cat purrs—l went into my
room, the heavy door in the corridor closing behind me
with a clang that echoed through the building from
top to bottom.
Dull! What nonsense it was of Charley to call my
room dull! Why, it wan the most comfortable place
in the world. What did any man want more than
the two chairs and the table, where he could it and
work and dream of the happy future? What plans
I could make for Mary and myself sitting here in the
time to come. What stories I could write now that
I had the inspiration of her dear presence ever with
me in spirit as I sat at my table, which, in truth, was
an ancient piece of office furniture, all ink-stained
and scratched.

How easily I arranged all my papers, and they had
seemed in a state of inextricable confusion, when
Charley dropped in to try and beguile me into having
a drink with him. Now some fairy seemed to be at
work, all that was disorderly set itself to rights in no
time, and I turned from my table, with my black bag
in my hand, ready to start for my lodgings.
I left the door of my room open, that I might see to
unlock the big passage door, and pat ray key in the
lock, carolling merrily about 'The roast beef of Old
England,' but thinking of Mary. Only till to-morrow!
In less than twelve hours I should be with her, looking
into her sweet eyes, and drinking in the tones of her
gentle voice. Nothing could part us now. No,
nothing. What was the matter with the door? I
could not turn my key. I must have put it in upside
down. No, it was all right, but it would not move.
The lock was hampered somehow, and I was a
prisoner behind that heavy door,
It was a ridiculously awkward situation. But of
coarse I should find a way out of it. The lock would
jield in time if I tried long enough. I must get a
light. The passage was dark, and I should be able to
manage it when I could see. I had no gas in my
room. Charley had often proposed to put it in for
me; but I would not put him to the expense. I had
a good lamp, whioh served every purpose; and except
in the very depth of winter I hardly wanted a light.
I found my matches—only two in the box—and lit
ray lamp. It burned dimly, and I recollected there
was no oil in the can I kept far the purpose. I had
intended to mention it to Mrs. Griggs, and bad for-
gotten it. Ah, well, it was of no consequence: there
would be light enough for my purpose. I should soon
see what was the matter, and get away.
Not so soon. I put the lamp on the floor, and tried
in vain. Whatever was wrong with the lock; it resisted
all my efforts. All my endeavours only wedged the
key further in the lock, and I could not move) it
either one way or the other.
_ _ _ _

It was very awkward, but perhaps I could get into
Charley's rooms, and then I could call to the first
passer-by and get some one to liberate me. Alas! I
was no better off when I tried to effect an entrance
there. Charley had been at the trouble of having
wonderful patent locks with marvellous keys that
would open nothing else, put on his doors, and I was
as far off getting out as ever.
While I was thinking what to do, my lamp
spluttered, gave a final gleam, and went out, leaving
me in total darkness. I groped my way back to my
room, and sat down for a moment. The situation was
unpleasant. I might have to pass the night there, and
it would be cold and cheerless to a degree. I began
to think of Charley's luxurious rooms with envy. I
could have been comfortable there, even if I could
have made no one hear. Charley was a sybarite, and
had all sorts of good things besides fuel and light in
those well-furnished rooms of his.

I opened the window and looked out, thinking that
I might see a light in one of the rooms that looked
into the same square space as mine did. But all was
dark and silent. Everyone was away, and a dis-
agreeable feeling began to creep over me as I thought
that it might be some time before anyone came back
again. I could not hear a sound. The street noises
never reached me in my den, and in the whole
building there were no signs of life. No one lived
there except the housekeeper, and I knew she was
away.

It- was so dark by this time that I could hardly
distinguish the windows of the offices near me, and
bitterly cold; snow was beginning to fall in great
heavy flakes, and I shut the window, remembering
with a shudder that there was no fire,and my coalbox
was empty. I was the most careless of men about small
matters, and the housekeeper had always taken good
care of my room. There was nothing for it but to
keep close to the outer door and listen for a footstep.
Someone would surely come up the staircase for
something, and I should soon be released.
I crept close to it and listened, for what seemed an
hour, and was probably a matter of minutes only, and
listened; then I shouted—shouted tilt I was hoarse,
and only woke the echoes in appalling shrieks that
seemed to come back again and again, till the whole
place was full of noise. Then I rememberedEnddenly
that the big door at the bottom, which gave such a
medimval look to the whole building, was most
probably shut, and that my shouts would only serve to
make myself hoarse, and exhaust my strength. There
was nothing for it now but to go back to my room
and wear out the night as beet I could; the morning
would surely bring release in some way.
So inwardly cursing my folly in letting that con-
founded door slam as I had done, I went back and
spent the night miserably enough. I did not appre-
ciate my two chairs and a table now in ths least. I
was bitterly cold, and ferociously hungry, and in the
next room there was food and drink, light and fire, if
I could only have got at them. I was obliged to walk
about a great deal to keep myself from getting quite
numb; for my den was horribly draughty when there
was no fire, and had an ill-conditioned chimney, down
which the wind came swooping when the wind was in
a certain direction, and it was very much in that di-
rection this particular night.
With the first gleam of daylight I began
again to try and attract attention. But there was
no one to hear or see me. All the windows were
hermetically sealed, as it seemed to me— shut
and darkened; blinds down, and bolts drawn.
Chilled to the bone, faint for want of food, I
began to realise the grim horror of my situation.
Christmas Day! A faint sound of bells came floating
to where I sat, and in all probability no one would
come near the place till Boxing-day was over. It was
Friday night when I shut myself in, and this was
Saturday morning. Saturday, Sunday, and Monday
would have to pass before I could get out, and
perhaps Tuesday too, for was it not holiday time
when people took an extra day, and were careless
about coming back to their work? What should I
do? I realised by this time that shouting was no use,
and that I must rely on myself for means of escape.
I worked at the outer door till my fingers bled and
I fainted from exhaustion and over excitement. I
opened the window and yelled till I was hoarse, and
could not utter another sound; I looked at my carpet
and calculated how far it would reach if I tore it into
ravellings and made a rope with it so as to drop my-
self down. It was a mercy I did not carry that
ache into operations them was nothing hel°w,
but some leads and the basement windows of the
building looking into a atoretl949e, and Always locked
and barred.

I don't know how Christmas Day passed. I think
I must have got a little delirious with excitement and
inanition, for I sang and shouted and did all sorts of
wild things in the solitude of that wretched room and
the passage beyond. Night came on again, and with
it only only one sense now—the sense of extreme cold.
Surely some one would come on Boxing Day. It was
not every one who could afford to keep holiday, and
I should get help; I had only to be patieat a few
brief hours more and I should be free. But no one
came; those barred windows gave no sign, and no
tread echoed along the corridors outside; not a
creature had entered the building; I should have
heard them if they had.
I didn't think I was hungry after the first night; I
don't remember that I thought much about food. But
with the darkness of Boxing Day came a new sensa-
tion—fear. I am not a nervous man; I have no belief
in the supernatural, and yet at the first deepening of
the evening shadows of that memorable Boxing Day.
I was as afraid of the dark as ever was a timid little
child.

I was mad, I must have been, for I saw in that
winter night of horror such sights as language could
never describe. The air was tilled with flying things,
and the floor alive with crawling monsters that left
me no corner to hide, no way to escape them. And
with them came other horrors, the woman who was
so horribly murdered only last week was there all
blood dripping; and the man who was hanged, whose
execution was so horribly bungled, was close to me,
with his distorted face and shaking hands, coming
nearer to clasp me and tell me all about it. Ah, he
must not touch me, I must get away. The window!
The snow had fallen thick and would receive me if I
sprang out, and the hangman's victim could not
reach me there.

I threw it up, I cut my hand and broke a pane of
glass in doing it. I saw the blood streaming down,
but the dead man was close upon me, and I must not
delay. There was a dreadful crash, and the whole
horrid vision faded into darkness and oblivion.

Gently, very gently, Miss Mary. That's better.
us head just a trifle higher, and he will sleep more
comfortably. Indeed, you may hope now. I would
not Fay so if it were not true, my dear.'
Someone spoke the words, and very close to me,
too; but I could not open my eyes to see who it was.
All I was conscious of was a blissful feeling of rest
and ease, and no wish to know or care anything about
what was going on around me. Presently I heard
another voice—hours afterwards, as I learned after-
wards—and it said in a familiar tone,

All right now, old boy, eh?'
It was Charley Talbot's yoke, and it brought ma
back to the world again.
What's the matter?' I asked; and where am I?'

'I hope there's nothing the matter now,' he replied;
and you are at Mr. Featherstone's place, Elm budge.
He asked you to dinner you know.'
They told Charley afterwards that it was a risky
think for him to say. But it did no harm. They
did not tell me anything at first; but they brought
Mary to me, and the eight of her sweet face did more
to cure me than all the doctor's prescriptions. I was
a scarecrow of a lover, for I had passed through a
sharp attack of brain fever, and had no hair on my
head and very little flesh on my bones. It was
Charley who told me all about my rescue.
It was just this,' he said. 'I met old Featherstone
in a deuce of a state about you in the street. He had
asked you to dinner, and you hadn't come, and he
had been to your lodgings, and found your landlady
in a state about you too. She hadn't thought much
about Chriktmas Day, because she thought you had
gone somewhere unexpectedly, perhaps. But when
Boxing Day went by she began to be alarmed.'
They had been banging at the bottom door of the
chambers, it seemed, but no one answered; and Mr.
Featherstone was going to the police, to see if they
could help him, when he met me. We !went back to
the office, and there we came !across Mrs. Griggs.
Even then we should not have got at you when we
did but for some fellow who could see into your room
from his window coming and saying he was sure there
was something wrong—your window was wide open,
and he thought you were lying there.'
But I jumped out, Charley.'
No you didn't. You might have meant it, porhape;
but the event didn't come off. We found you lying
under the window—dead, as we thought; but we
managed to bring you here, and here you are, alive,
and as nearly well as can be expected under the
circumstances.
It was a long time before I was really well; and
even now my nerves are not what they were before
that particularly msrry Christmas in my den at the
office. But Mary is my wife, and lam the happiest
man in the three kilgdome. The fancy doors at the
chambers have hal all their locks seen to, and I
have a nervous dread of a door slamming behind me
that I cannot get rid, of, and the people who don't
know me wonder at not a little. _ _

My children laugh at me sometimes for being so
fidgetty about locks and bolts, and my eldest boy
declares I am as had as Louis XVI. in my fuss about
locks and bolts. They cannot understand, and I hope
they never will, what their father suffered many a
year ago through a hampered lock.