The Middlebury register. [volume] (Middlebury, Vt.) 1850-1882, 1881-09-09


drop heavily to her side, theie lay at
her feet and mine a little dead baby, a
tiny creature evidently not many weeks
old.
Then the woman throw mp her veil,
and, withdrawing her eyes for the first
time from mine, clasped her hands be-
fore her, her figure thrown slightly
back and looked down upoi it. A
pretty picture-the poor young mother,
with her pale child's face and deep
mourning dress; tho wee baby, gleam-
ing so white in its death and baby-robe
against the heavy Grape skirt on which
it lay, pretty picture certainly for q
railway carriage, and lighted by its dim
midnight lamp.
dead p was my involuntary excla-
nation.
She stretched her clasped hands down
toward it with despairing gesture,
speaking with low, wild, rapid utter
ance.
at was not his look that killed it,
but my love. He hated tiny baby,
my first-born; for all the love 1 gave
him, ho hated it; and that his look
might not kill it, 1 held it in.my arms,
so close, so close, till it was dead. Oh,
my baby, my baby"
The outstretched hands had reached
it now. and raised it from the floor to
the seat, folding it around until the in-
closing arms and the down-bont face
hid it once more out of sight.
Was ever luckless passenger more
awkwardly placed the dead child I; the
PROSTATE woman; the scene, public
railway carriage; the hour, midnight.
] am Of blunt nature. Mrs. Merton
often scolds me for my blunt, straight
forward speeches but then she has
such pretty way of beating about the
bush, which it would be as absurd for
me to initiate as it was for the ass to
mimic the tricks of his masters lap-dog.
l must go straight to the point as soon
as ever / see it. did so now.
How come you to be travelling alone,
and with 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 heartbroken cry:
"Don't betray me, don't give me up
to him His look would have killed
my 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 liome-no home |"
was in n perfect maze of doubt.
Gould the pretty soft young creature at
my feet he indeed II murdcrcss and
could it be her husband of whom she
seemed in such aljcct terror? My blood
boiled; [ frl' ready to defend her
against dozen husbands. But how?
1t was midnight now VIC could not
be far from London; the guard might
be popping his head in at any moment.
l jumped to a sudden conclusion.
Were you going to any friend in
London p
know nobody in London"
"The poor little thing is either mad
or her husband is BRUTE" was the
mental exclamation.
"Then you must como home with me
to my wife; she will see after you."
An upward glance of wild, agonized
supplication:
"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 look of amazement that made
me SMILE but that found no expression
in words. When, taking her aside,
told her all I knew, she wrung hel
hands in sheer sy,npathizing pity.
"MEfdered her own baby--her first
born | Oh, how sad, how dreadful r.
And involuntarily she glanced toward
the door that hid from us our own lit
tie ones, safely Graded and asleep
Then she went back to our strange
guest, who sat huddled mp in my own
big easy-chair, the dead baby still at her
bosom.
81 must get her to bed," raid Mary,
with quick, determined nod; and she
really did contrive to do so by soft, ten
der, cooing words, and solemn assur.
ances of safety for herself and baby,
whom she Kissed and cried over, and
considered ~ she might some living
obj, ct of solicitude, much to the little
moi hers comfort,
And yon won't betray me; and he
won't ccluc and take her from me, OF
hurt ns with his angry look ? Oh, dear,
how nice it is to lie down am so
tired, and baby is so cold; but 1 think
can sleep now little aId-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 our.
selves once more alone; and 1 glanced
at an envelope 1 had taken from the
strangers pocket:
"Mrs. TREMAYNE, Granite Lodge
Grantley.
Mary stared at me aghast.
"Her husband, who hates her, and
would have killed her baby Oh, John
you would not be so cruel She seems
SO frightened of him, poor thing You
may be sure he is some horrid, wicked
tyrant. And il she really killed hei
baby-oh, dear, how sad it is. What
ever will become of her"
"But, my dear. if she has husband
or friends, we must restore her to them.
Why, she is little more than a child
It's very strange, very, and sad; but the
mystery must be cleared and the baby
buried
Mary still pronounced me cruel an'
unfeeling beyond anything she coul'
have conceived.
"Of course her husband is mad
man who will murder her as soon as h
gets her into his hands. You know
John, that husbands are always murder
ing their wives"
Middle-aged wives, dear, or elderly
whose lives are heavily insured. sbal
telegraph at once"
"Then her death will be at your dool
sir-mind that |" And too indignant t