The daily morning journal and courier., 1895-10-18

beth, and there seemed every prospec that the poor girl would sink into al early grave unless something was don, promptly, Several times during week | ly services Miss Howe saw her com, gliding in the great door of the ole | Spanish cathedral, and once she saw her sitting beneath the banana hedst puzzling out sentences from a bible She was trying to make her peace witt heaven, The observer understood the matter better when she noticed how the haggard cheeks and hollow eyes were reflected in the anxious face of the coachman, tall handsome maroon and she happened one day to surprise glance of deadly hatred cast by Sara, the cook, upon Elizabeth, who was gag ing mournfully up at Inaco as he lean- ed down from the drivers seat with inquiries to which she only shook her head in hopeless silence.
 Miss Howe was thinking of all these things this day as she wandered about from group to group, trying to make something of the unlntelligible jargon. After nightfall the people camp out, and twinSlins lights then appear on, all sides. The tropical moonlight poured flood of glory through which one could just discern the stars of the Southern Cross. Here was a group of coolies lisping softly in Hindustanee. There a West Indian maroon chattered his patois. A. native band twanged a weird sort of tune on instruments of their own manufacture, bamboo flutes, a lute formed from a calabash, and a drum made of goatskin, stretched across a barrel head. Two girls turned and writhed as they danced the ehey-chey, singing at the same time, words handed down through no one knows how many generations of savage ancestors.
 But the largest crowd had collected about the courthouse where a Salva- tioni Army lass preached, while a boy with babcon face held above her head a torch. The glare threw into strong relief her face against the background of the building as she stood, her arms held wide apart, and sent long wailing cries across the plain. The quick emo- tional natures of her hearers were stir red by her words, and in the pauses they struck In with singing, that sweet pathetic, African singing that thrills us through their plaintive voices. Rest for the weary" they sighed over and over again. "The weary, rest for the weary" It seemed like the cry of the oppressed, saddened earth going up to beg for mercy and pity, and on the out skirts of the crowd Miss Howe caught sight of Elizabeth and Inaco,
 Side by side, hand in hand, they stood, their heads turned to the preacher, and oh! such hopeless, helpless despairing glances on each upturned countenance. Miss Howe thought of Francesca and Paolo in the Inferno. Not all unhappy being undivided" she murmured; then then she went up behind and touched Elizabeth. The girl turned and her face was drawn and white.
 "Oh" she moaned, me gwine fer die God, him cyant help, nuttin' cyant help. 'Lizabeth gwine fer dead fer true"
 Now, look here" said the hospital nurse, her professional instincts fully reused. this thing has got to stop. It's perfect nonsense, every bit of it, There is nothing in the world the matter with you but through your imagination. You fancy you are i'll, but it's all fancy. Just stop thinking About it and you will be perfectly well.'
 She stopped baffled. What was the use of combating with mere words in the flores of being? How could she exercise this demon of fear that for ages had found a dwelling in the race? Then, her woman pity still she asked:
 'Is there no way to help? Is there nothing to cure you?"
 Yes, mistis, dere is one way" said Inaco. There was faint gleam of hope in his voice, but Elizabeth shook her head scornfully.
 Where you t'ink me get money? Where you t'ink me get six pounds? No, 'Lizabeth go dead. Him catch luppy all 'Lizabeth go dead Den Sara satisfy, den Sara go fe' marry wid you" A glow of jealousy lighted for a mo nent the depths of her hopeless eyes. But what is it." demanded Miss Howe What can you do for six pounds? How will that cure you?'