The Stourbridge Observer, Cradley Heath, Halesowen & District Chronicle.
Stourbridge, West Midlands, England, 1886-12-25 00:00:00

a letter from her lover, she said, telling her a piece
of wonderful news. He had made a fortune, or what
seemed one to them • he would come home with
upwards of three hundred pounds in his possession.
The particulars were not entered into; but it had
something to do with the wreck of a ship, and the
saving of someone's life. lhe letter was rather in-
coherent, but evidently written under great excite-
ment. He should be a little later than he expected
to be in returning, for he had changed his ship; his
captain had been transferred for some reason, and he
was going with him. He would write her again as
soon as they put in anywhere, so that he could catch
a mail. This was a month ago, and she was ex-
pecting to hear again every day, when suddenly she
began to dream--nothing in particular, only a night-
mareof horror, and her lover's voice calling her
through it all, and bidding her "Come." " Where ?"
she as constantly asked, and the answer had come
" Alderford."

She had never even heard of the place—did not
know there. was such a town in existence. It was an
out-of-the-way little nook, somewhat freqhented in
summer, but utterly forsaken and deserted in winter.
No ships put in there, and nothing but the tiniest of
fishing boats ever went out from it. Why it should
have mixed itself up in her dreams was a mystery.
Perhaps she was overworked, and I suggested as
much.
" No," she said; "I have had very little to do
lately. The children have net been very well,
and though I have been with them, of course there
has been no headwork.'
• • I thought there might have been considerable
worry, and I said so.
" No," she said again, "not much; they have not
been nearly so tiresome since they have been ill.
There was nothing to make me dream. I had to obey
the voice. It came night after night; and said ' Alder-
ford ' and Come;' and it was Fred's voice, and lam
going to him."
She spoke with a quiet certainly that there was no
gainsay lug, and I asked her if her employers were
willing for her to go on such an errand.
"1 have been turned away,'' she said, with a quiver
in her tone. "I shall never go back there any more,
and if I do not find Fred—"
'What then?' I asked.
"Then it is all over," she replied hopelessly;
"and it won't signify; I snail never go back any
more." -- -
Somehow I resolved that I would see the end of her
adventure, it was so curious. I think I must have got
a little confused with the motion of the train and my
own fatigue, for I had been walking about a good deal
before I started; for somehow I was mixing up with
her story the porter who would not let us into the
carriage and the oil stain that he said smelt, and the
whole of the station episode. There was the mark,
dirty and black, on the matting, and it appeared to
hs ')Pen on the edges of the cushion as well, for
they h i“ been scraped, apparently, as well as some of
the paint at the back ol the seats.
Why should the porter get into the girl's story?
There he was; the tone in which he had spoken, the
odd look on his face, all very present with me as we
whirled along through the darkness. The train was
slowing a little; we were crossing a wide river; I
could feel the chill dampness of the air over the
water even through the shut windows. We were so
close to the parapet that it seemed almost as if there
were none; and we seemed to look straight down into
the black water in an erie fashion that made inc feel
I should be glad to get across.
Suddenly my companion gave a sigh, and I felt her
start.
" Fred," she said, in a terriaed gasp; "Fred! Oh,
look! He is there."
I was not asleep, or going out of my mind; I was
broad awake, and in my sober senses. I followed the
, direction of her pointed finger through the windpw to
the reflection of the carriage outside. There we
were, she and I—every detail of our appearance re-
produced by the reflection. But we were not alone;
a young man in sailor costume sat on the seat oppo-
site to me, looking at us, as it seemed to me. He was
fair and slight, and wore a loose coat and a cap with
a pcak and some ladge on the front of it. I shivered
as I looked for the form of which what I saw was the
reflex. But the corner was vacant. As Macbeth says,
"There was no such thing."
"Is it Fred? "I asked, and the girl looked at me
with dilated eyes.
"Fred's coat," she gasped; "and his hat and the
scarf I gave him. But not Fred. Ah, no; not him!
his! Ah!"
She covered her face with a stifled • scream. The

' train had passed over the ditrk river, and we two were
alone again, with no intruding shadow looking in at
us from under the bright stars.
It was a fancy, of course; born, no doubt, of the
tale the girl had told me—or we had been passing
another train at the moment, and had not noticed
that the shadow had evolved itself from the array of
faces that were going by. Clarice was looking white
and terrified, and my own nerves were all in a twitter.
. .

I was tired, I think, and the sitting was getting
wearisome.

"What an odd fancy," I said, trying with all my
might to speak brightly. "It must have been a re-
flection from another train; these windows make quite
; clever ghost effects sometimes."
"No train passed," she said with a shiver; "there
was nothing but the black water on this side as well
as that; it was not my Fred, but it had something to
do with him. What could it mean ?"
I could not reason her out of it; and, indeed, I
had seen the face too plainly myself to believe that it
I could be all imagination—a fair, rather good-looking
face, with a scar on the cheek—a red scar, that stood

out against the white; for, whoever it was, it was very
pale. I noticed the dress, too, and the hair—almost
golden hair, neglected-looking, as if the man had
either no time, or was in some way too preoccupied to
think of his toilet.
The clothes were certainly sailor's clothes, and the
peaked cap had a badge on it; but it was worn well
on the top of the head, like a landsman, and not tilted
back, as sailors generally carry their headgear. It
was the cap and coat of Frederic Halliday. Clarice
said she was sure of that. And the scarf that was
wrapped round the throat—also in no sea-going
fashion—was one she had made herself for her lover,
who had laughed at her, she said, for the rather
bizarre arrangement of colours—yellow and red,
mixed with black—of which it was made.
She bad had the wool given her, she said, and
there was plenty of it, and she had made an ample
scarf, which Fred had written to say was soft and
delightfully useful, and kept him in constant remem-
brance of her, for it was seldom off his neck when he
was on duty. It was strange, but I could offer no
explanation, except that we must have both fancied
it; and that was curious, to say the least of it."
--
"My Fred is dark," the girl said, after a spell of
dreamy looking out of the window into the dark-
ness; "almost a gipsy in complexion. His hair is as
near black as a man's hair ever is. I never saw that
face before.'
"Nor I," I said, and then our conversation was
stopped, for other passengers got into the carriage,
and we could not well continue it in their hearing.
" Aklerford, Alderforcl."
The name shouted on a lighted platform roused
me from a half doze into which I had fallen, and
Clarice Belton started too with a scared face. She
was bewildered and all at sea now that she had come
to her journey's end, and I asked her what she was
going to do.
‘. I don't know," she saidwearily ; " nothing, I think,
to-night. I feel knocked up. I suppose there is an
hotel in the place. I shall feel like someone cast
adrift on the wide ocean. when I have said good-bye
to you."
"Don't say it yet," I said cheerily; " come with
me. I can get you a cup of tea at any rate, and make
enquiries where a young lady can p t. up."
"You are very kind," she said. he tears springing
to her eyes. "I am all alone, and I will not say no
to such an offer, if I shall not be intruding on you
for an hour."
"I am sure you will not be intruding where I am
going.' I said, and indeed I kirs.w that Mr. Arbuth-
tiot's good-natured housekeeper would welcome any-
one I took with me as she welcomed me. We bad
no luggage; and we walked up the dark street of the
dreary little town, with our bags in our hanC,s.
"I have not come alone, Mrs. Davis," I said, as
the housekeeper met me with kindly words of welcome,
and a curious look at my companion. "I have
brought a young lady for whom I want to beg a cup
of tea and a rest while I think where she can go for
the night. Perhaps you can me."
" Perhaps I can," the good woman answered.
"The young lady's kindly welcome, I ain sure.
Walk in, miss, please. Master's much better to-
night, Mrs. Catherwood. He was asking, just now, if
you had come."
"I hops I shan't fatigue him too much by seeing
him," I said; and she laughed merrily.
"Oh, no you won't fatigue him," she replied.
" YOu sheuld see the piles of books and letters he has
scattered about, and people in and out all day long.
There's just as much business going on now as there
is always. There's nothing serious the matter, thank
Heaven. He must keep himself Quiet, that's all. It
might have been a very bad fall, the doctor says."
She was so genial and kind to poor Clarice Belton
that over our tea, which we took before I attempted
to see her roaster, she had heard the whole history,
as I did, of the trouble that had brought the lonely
girl to Alderford. She looked very grave and asked
a question or two.
t. It isn't the fashion to believe in dreams nowadays,"
she said, "and I don't know whe'her there's ansthing
in then ms self; but if 'warned of God in a dream
held good in the Bkble days, why not now? You
drink your tea, my dear, and warm yourself, and I'll
try and find somewhere for you to go to when you
are quite rested. Mrs. Catherwood, I'll speak to you
a minute before you go into the master's, room, ma'am,
if you please." -101 i 1301
I had fiohed my t, lind followed her to the room
where Mr.' Arbuthnot generally tranincted his busi-
ness, and she carefully shut the door, so that no sound
our voices should reach the room vLhe.re we had
,left we young girl sitting. -ars, '
." It's like. a miracle,". she .said in an ad voice;
P-but thatimer young,thing-has,beon seat here, as
sure as I artrstandingherel!. Ai • •
? "oct, ."1".+4. 4
"Yes." Awit.40,14,„04.1001100018ft.
"What do you mean?"
"By that dream, or whatever it is. The man is
here."
0 Here in Alclerford?"