Pittsburg dispatch. [volume] (Pittsburg [Pa.]) 1880-1923, 1890-05-11

We
strange fancy to look her best. Also, hel
hair had been done like this on the afternoon
when Geoffrey first met her. Next she once
more put on the gray dress which she had
worn on her journey to London, and taking
the silver Roman ring that GeoffreY had
given her from the string by which she wore
it about her neck, placed il on the third
finger Of her left hand.
All this being done Beatrice visited the
kitchen and ordered the supper. She went
further in her innocent cunning. Betty
asked her what she would like for breakfast
and she told her to cook some bacon, and to
be careful how she cut it, as she did not
like thick bacon. Then, after one long,
last look at the Vicsrsge, she started for the
lodging Of the head teacher of the school,
and having found her, inquired as to the
days work.
Further, Beatrice told her assistant that
she had determined to alter the course OF
certain lessons in the school. The Wednes-
nay arithmetic class had hitherto been taken
before the grammar class. On the morrow
she had determined to change this; she
would take the grammar class at 10 and the
arithmetic class at II, and gave her reasons
for 30 doing. The teacher assented, and
Beatrice shook hands with her ana bade her
good night. She would have wished to say
how much she felt indebted TO her for her
help in the school; but did not like to do so,
fearing lest, in the light of pending events,
the remark might be viewed with suspicion.
Poor Beatrice; these were the only lies
she ever told!
She left the teachers lodgings, and was
about to 70 down to the beach and sit there
till il was time, when she was met by the
father of the poor crazed child, Jane Lie
wellyn.
"Oh, Miss Beatrice" he said, ~ have
been looking for you everywhere. We are
in sad trouble, miss. Poor Jane is in 9 raw
ing fit, and talking about hell and that, and
the doctor SAYS she's dying Can you come,
miss, and see if you can do anything to quiet
herr It's matter of life and death, the
doctor says, miss.
Beatrice smiled sadly; matters of life and
death were in the air. 81 will come" she
said, 'fbut I shall not be able to stay long"
How could she better spend her last
hour?
She accompanied the man to his cottage.
The poor child, dressed only in q night
shirt, was raving furiouslv, and evidently
in the last stages of exhaustion, nor could
the doctor or her mother do anything to
quiet her.
Don't you see," she screamed, pointing
to the wall, there's the devil waiting for
mel And, oh, there's the mouth of hell,
where the minister said should gol Oh,
hold me, hold me, hold mel'
Beatrice walked up to her, took the thin
little hand in hers, and looked her f1edly
In the eyes.
"Jane, +" she said, "Jane. don't you know
meP"
"Yes, Miss Granger" she said, 81 know
the lesson; I'll say it presently"
Beatrice took her in her arms and sat
down on the bed. Quieter and quieter grew
the child, till suddenly an awful change
passed over her face.
"She is dying" Whispered the doctor.
"Hold me close, hold me close II said the
child, whose senses returned before the last
eclipse. ''Oh, Miss Granger, I shan't 60 to
hell, shall /? am afraid OF hell"
No, love, no; you will 60 to heaven"
Jane lay still awhile. Then, seeing the
pale lips move, Beatrice put her ear to the
child's mouth.
will you come with me?" she mur-
INJURED. ct am afraid to 90 alone"
And Beatrice, her great eyes fixed steadily
on the closing eyes beneath, whispered back
SO that no other soul could hear except the
dying child:
eyes, will come presently" But Jane
heard and understood.
Promise" said the child.
"Yes," PROMISE" answered Beatrice in
the same inaudible whisper. ''Sleep, dear.
sleep; and will join you very SOON"
And the child looked up, shivered, smiled
and slept.
Beatrice gave it back to the weeping pa
rents and went her way. "W hat a splendid
creature, said the doctor to himself, as he
looked after her. ''She has eyes like Fate
and the face of Motherhood Incarnate. A
great woman, if ever 1 saw one, but differ
ent from other women"
Meanwhile Beatrice made her way to old
Edwards boatshed. As she expected. there
was nobody there and nobody on the beach.
Old Edward and his son were at tea with the
rest of Bryngelly. They would come back
after dark and lock up the boathouse
She looked at the sea. There were no
waves, but the breeze freshened every min
ute, and there was a long, slow swell upon
the water. The rollers would be running be-
yond the shelter of Rumball Point, five
miles awaY.
The tide was high; it mounted to within |
ten yards of the end of the boathouse. She |
opened the door and dragged out her canoe.
closing the door again after her. The craft |
was light, and she was strong for a woman. |
Close TO the boathouse, one of the timber |
breakwaters, which are common at seaside |
places, ran down into the water. She |
dragged the canoe to its side, and then |
pushed it down the beach till its bow was
ahoat. Next, mounting on the breakwater
she caught hold Of the little chain in the
bow, and walking along the timber baulks,
pulled with all her force till the canoe was
quite afoat. On she went, dragging it alter
her, till the waves washing over the break
water wetted her shoes.
Then she brought the canoe quite close,
and, watching her opportunity, stepped into
II, nearly falling into the water as she did
80. But she recovered her balance and sat
down. In another minute she was padding
out to sea with all her strength.
For 20 minutes or more she padded un-
ceasingly. Then she rested awhile only /
keeping the canoe head on to the sea, which, |
without being rough, was running more and |
more freshly. There, some miles away, was
the dark mass of Rumball Point She must
be of it before the night closed in. There
would be sea enough there; no such craft as
hers could live in it for five minutes, and
the tide was on the turn. Anything sinking
in those waters would be carried far away
and never come back to the shore of Wales |
She turned her head and looked at Bryn-
gelly and the long, familiar stretch of cliff
How fair it seemed, bathed in the quiet light
Of summer afternoon. Oil was there any
afternoon where the child had gone, and
where she was following fast?-or was it all
night, black, eternal night, unbroken by the
dream of dear, remembered things?
There were the Dog Docks, where she had
stood on that misty autumn day and seen
The vision of her cofined mothers face.
Surely it was presage of her fate. There
beyond was the Bell Rock, where in that
same hour Geoffrey and she had met, and
there behind was the Amphitheater, where