Smyrna times., 1881-10-26

feet and mine little dead baby, tiny
creature evidently not many weeks old.
Then the woman threw up her veil, and
withdrawing her eyes for the first time
from mine, clasped her hands before her,
her figure thrown slightly back, and look
ed down upon it. A pretty picture: the
poor young mother, with her pale childs
face and deep mourning dress; the wee
! baby, cleaning so white in its death and
baby-rObe against the heavy Grape skirt
on which it lay-a pretty picture certainly
for railway carriage, and lighted by its
dim midnight lamp.
"Deadm was my involuntary exclama-
ton.
She stretched her clasped hands down
ward toward it with u despairing gesture,
speaking with low, wild, rapid utterance.
1t was not his look that killed it, bu;
my love. He hated it, my baby, my first
born; for all the love l gave him, he
hated it, and that his look might not kill
it, held it i'll my arms, 50 close, so close,
till it was dead. Oh, my baby, my baby y
The outstretched hands had reached it
now, and raised it from the floor to the
seat, folding it around until the enclosing
arms and the down-bent face hid it once
more out of sight.
Was ever luckless traveller more awk-
Wardly placed ?-the dead child the pros
trate woman; the scene, public railway
carriage; the hour, midnight. am of a
blunt nature. Mrs. Merton often scolds
me for my blunt, straightforward speeches;
but then She has such pretty way of
beating about the bush, which it would be
absurd for me to initiate as it was for the
ass TO mimic the trick Of his masters lap
dog. | must go straight to the point as
soon as ever | saw it. / did so now.
Glow come you to be travelling alone,
and with a dead child? Are you going
hOme?"
The question seemed to rouse her once
more to perfect frenzy of fear. She
turned to me as before clinging to my
hand with small hot fingers, and the old
heart-broken cry;
Don't betray me; don't give me up to
him His look would have killed NV
baby; it would kill me if ] had to meet it.
She is safe, for | killed her, and she is
dead; and he hates me, and have no
home-no homer
was in perfect maze of doubt. Could
the pretty soft young creature at my feet
be indeed a murderess? and could it be
her husband of whom she seemed in such
abject terror? My blood boiled l felt
ready to defend her against dozen hus-
bands but how?
1t was midnight ROW; we could not be
far from London; the guard might be
popping his head in at any moment.
jumped to a sudden conclusion.
Were you going to any friend in Lon
don p
Il know nobody in London"
The poor little thing is either mad or
her husband is a BRUTE" was nv mental
exclamation.
/ SOu Aibob NOAAiC HOlllC WIFI lie
to my wife she will sec after you.n
An upward glace of wild agonized sup
plication:
She won't betray me, or-take baby
from me?' And once more the wee dead
thing was lifted up into the arms that
seemed almost too frail to hold it. and
hidden away beneath the long mourning
cape.
took her home. Mary received her
with broad look of amaze that made me
smile, but that found no expression in
words. When, taking her aside, l told
her all l knew, she wrung her hands in
sheer sympathizing pity.
Murdered her own baby-her first
born Oh how sad, how Dreadful And
invOluntarily she glanced toward the door
that hid from us our own little ones.
safely cradled and asleep. Then she
went back to our strange guest, who sat
huddled up in my own big easy-chair, the
dead baby still at her bosom.
l must get her to bed" said Mary.
with quick determined nod; and she
really did cOntrive to do so by soft, tender.
cooling words, and solemn assurances of
safety for herself and baby, whom she
kissed and cried oyer, and considered as
she might some living object of soIicitude,
much to the little mothers comfort.
"And you won't betray me; and he
won't come and take her from me, or hurt
us with his angry look? Oh, dear, how
nice it is to lie down! am so tired. and
baby is so cold; but think can sleep
now little and-forget."
She was half asleep already; the heavy
lids had dropped together, the small pale
face had dropped downward upon the
little downy head that lay against her
bosom,
Her husband must be sent for, said
resolutely when we found ourselves once
more alone; and glanced at an evelope
| had taken from the strangers pocket
Mrs. TREMAYNE,
Grantly Lodge,
Graatly.
Mary stared at me aghast
Her husband, who hates her. and
would have killed her baby! o John. YOU
would not be so cruell She seems Sc
frightened of him, poor little thing! You