Widnes Examiner. — 1905-07-29 (Widnes, Cheshire, England)

THE COST OF VACCINATION. wiell his elbows on his knees and his gaunt Mir. Woodward reported that for the past six months fa els between his hands. His eyes glittered the cost of vaccination bad increased by £lO. The reported strangely, and his head, thrust out 'of the amount spent in that direction was .£126 16s 4d. shadow ,ff the cavern, and illuminated by the,' e House Committeev ANC I v E 8: The that the industrial red light, seemed like that of some lost soul trainer and Nurse flitchmouell had left without I e emerging from the outer darkness into tho and recommended that other-persons be engaged to le fires of hell. their places. And there in the red glow of the logs he saw Mr. Woodward : Is thereany reason why they should the record of his own life. First, the bright not go for a holiday. The Master explained that they had been granteli flames of youth and ambition, then the roar- leave of absence but left before the date specified. ing furnace of love, and shame, and degrada- The minutes of the committee were approved. tion, then the steady heat of undying revenge, lit with a white hot flame, and now the flickering of fires that had been nearly burnt out, and the red hot ashes that would soon be cold and grey. The whole history of his life passed before his eyes, and in the darkness of his subterranean refuge he could not find any distraction from the memories of the past. During the last few months the danger and excitement of existence had allowed him but little time to think. His mind, unhinged by suffering and resentment of the wrongs he had endured; had found relief in wild excess and the pursuit of an inexorable revenge. His revenge was nearly complete. He had found Marie de la Mothe, and he had found Arthur Sterious, the man who had killed his son. The latter was suffering the agonies of a living death, within a few yards of him. The former was always within his reach dragging out a horrible existence, with the fear of him ever at her heart, only waiting for him to strike the final blow. Lord Overcliffe was dead, and even Lady Agnes Clitie had not escaped him. He had resolved that she, too, should die, and that Lord Heatherstone should be the last victim. His scheme of revenge had included both the innocent and the guilty. He had decided that the whole of the cursed house that had allied themselves to Marie de la Mothe should share in her destruction,  Two lives in  -. Yet on this night, as he watched the red hot wood and listened to the tiny cracks and clicks that came from it, his mind seemed to have sunk into a deep gloom, and the fury that had given strength of purpose to his life had ebbed, and left his thoughts on a darkened shore haunted with gnosts of bye-gone years. His struggles as an ambitious young bank clerk, the days of his courtship and his marriage, the prattling voice of his son, the temptation and tile downfall, his dead wife, the hell nf convict prison, tile busy days in France, when he reconstructed a fortune from nothing, the search for the woman who had wronged him, and the son whom he loved, the loss of his money, the resolve to obtain more at any cost, the first robbery, ending in murder, the news of his son's death, a felon slain by a fellow criminal, the discovery of the man who had killed him, the discovery of Marie de la Mothe —the whole long record rolled out year after year before him, the various figures flittered past and mocked him, the voices of the dead whispered in his ears. He was presented With a complete biography of his life, written, not in words, but in scenes and pictures,. scarcely 'less real than the incidents themselves.