Northern Weekly Gazette. — 1908-09-19 (Stockton-on-Tees, Cleveland, England)

THE HAND.  BY JOHN FOSTER FRASER, Author of "A Woman of Fire," "When Mary and I Were Wed," "The Profeesor's Idea," Etc.  The rain forced the woman to the side of the street, and she kept her shoulder close to the houses and nursed the shelter. They were lowbuilt two-storey houses, with the ea.vcsgutter broken in places so that, every now and then, the woman had to move into the middle of the pavement to escape the spluttering plash. But whenever she could, she kept in to the wall. It was a dreary, grey day, and the air was sodden. The woman did riot heed.  _ She was in black. It was not a mourning dross, but .one evidently worn not to attract attention. There was a thick spotted veil hiding her features. This was unnecessary, for she kept her head down. Over the way was a high, stone-faced sullen wall. It was well built, in groat oblong blocks. But there was never a window nor a doorway—nothing but a long stretch of horrible soul-shivering bare wall. It was the wall of the prison. When the woman had passed the houses she came to a piece of waste land. Formerly it was swampy, but these last twenty years it had been the tilting ground of all the rubbish in the town. It was, railed in, and at the far end of the waste was a chalky-faced and stone-battered board warning that "trespassers will be prosecuted." No one took any notice of it. As long as anybody in that shifting populace could remenTher, the youngsters of the neighbourhood had made that waste their playground. She never looked round, but splashed through the mud to the far corner where, on a g-rassless knoll, was the gnarled trunk of a tree that never shed any leaves. It was the favourite spot for the little ones to play "King of the castle."  She had not been here for a week. It was in autumn, foggy, and chill, and she had .had a restless seven days in her lodgings, ill and feeble, but detemined to gain strength to again make her daily pilgrimage. Exhausted with her walk, she sat on the humped root of the tree that sprung from the hard-beaten wet. ground. Her limbs ached and shook. She could not help it. Rain fell with a soft insistence as if it had always rained, and would always continue. The prison rose black and forbidding. From her position she could see the higher buildings. There was a tower with a bare flagstaff. She looked at the flagstaff and shivered. It was there the black flag was hoisted when a murderer paid the penalty. pre-two-three-four-five-six-seven! Yes, it-was the ninth window from the end.  There wars time yet for the signal. She came early in ease of accident. She knew from the little six inch ventilator window a hand would be pushed at four o'clock. It would only be there a few seconds. But, oh, it would be like a mesf_%.age from heaven to her. It would be the hand of her husband, the hand of tho man in whose lot she had been sorely tried, the hand she had never kissed and fondled for three long months. And there remained other three lone months before he would be_released.  Sometimes she thought it was a dream, and that she would wake up and laugh at all her terror and put out her arms and hold her husband to her breast.  Less than a year ago she was a bride, as happy as any woman in the land. And be married Jim-her king. She didn't know anything about business. She only knew her husband had to do vnth shipping and insurance and money- =atter%