True to his Colours

Front matter

Teue to His Coloues;

OF,

THE LIFE THAT WEARS BEST.

Chapter II. The Bailway Bridge

HE Crossboiirne station was not in the town itself, but on the outskirts, about a quarter of a mile distant from the Town Hall. Nevertheless, the town was creeping up to it in the form of a suburb, which would ere long reach the station gates. Crossbourne, the present flourishing manufacturing town, occupied the hills on either side of the little stream, the greater part of it being to the north, in the direction of the parish church. The station itself was on high ground, and looked across over open country, the line in the London direction passing from it through the centre of the town over a noble viaduct of some

twenty arches In the opposite direction the line

made a gradual descent from the station, and at a mile's distance passed through a cutting, towards the farther end of which it inclined northwards in a sharp curve.

Just about the middle of this curve, and where the cutting was pretty deep, a massive wooden foot-

THE RAILWAY BRIDGE. 31

bridge was thrown across the line. This was at a place not much frequented, as the bridge formed only part of a short cut into a by-road which led to one or two farms on the hill-sides. Along the rails round this ascending curve the ordinary trains laboured with bated breath; and even the dashing express was compelled to slacken here a little in its speed.

It was on the 23rd of December, the same night in which Kate Foster received so mysteriously the little Bible which was dropped with the ring into her parlour, that four men were plodding along in the darkness over a field- way which led to the wooden bridge just mentioned. They were dressed in their ordinary mill or foundry working-clothes, and seemed, from

their stealthy walk and crouching manner, to be out

on no good or honest errand. Three of them slouched along with their hands deep in their pockets; the fourth carried a bag of some kind, which apparently was no burden to him, for it swung lightly backwards and forwards on two of his fingers. The men's faces were all muffled in scarves, and their caps pulled down over their eyes. As they walked along the field-path in single file they preserved a profound silence. At last they reached a stile which brought them out close to the end of the bridge which was nearest to the up line, along which the trains to London passed.

It was now nearly half -past ten. Everything around

32 THE RAIL WA Y BSJD 9K

was profoundly still, except the faint wailing of the wind among the telegraph wires. A drizzling rain had been falling at intervals, for the season was remarkably mild for the time of year, though the little air that blew was raw and chilly. It was very dark nevertheless the great wooden parapet of the bridge could be distinctly seen on either side, as the four men stood on the roadway of the bridge itself midway over the line.

" Ned," said one of the men in a hoarse whisper, "just cross right over, and see if there's any one about."

The man addressed crept cautiously over to the farther side of the line, and along the road either way for a hundred yards or more, and then returned to his companions

" It's all right/ 1 he whispered ; " there's not a soul stirring, as I can hear or see."

" Well, wait a bit," said the man whom he addressed ; "just let's listen."

All was perfectly quiet.

"Now, then," said the first speaker again, "the express won't be long afore it's here ; who'll do it ? "

" Why, Joe Wright, to be sure ; he's got the most spirit in him. I know he'll do it," said another voice.

" He's got most beer in him, at any rate," said the first speaker.

There was a gruff chuckle all round.

" Well, I'm your man," said Wright ; " I've carried the bag, and I may as well finish the job."

" Look alive, then," cried Ned, " or the train'll pass afore you're ready."

"You just shut up," growled Joe; "I knows what I'm about."

So saying, he began to climb over the parapet of the bridge, grasping in his left hand the bag, which

was apparently an ordinary travelling or carpet-bag,

rather below the average size. Having clambered over the top rail, he let himself down among the huge beams which sprung out from the great upright posts, and served to strengthen and consolidate the whole structure.

"Mind how you get down, Joe; take care you don't slip," said more than one voice anxiously from

above.

" All right," was the reply ; " I'm just ready."

u Stick fast, and mind where you drop it; she's coming ! " cried Ned half-out loud, in a voice of intense excitement.

Joe Wright was now half standing, half hanging

over the lip-rail a 7 a few feet only above where the

roofs of the carriages would pass. The low, labouring sound of the coming train had been heard for some moments past ; then it swelled into a dull roar as the light wind carried it forward, then became fainter again as the wind lulled ; and then burst into a rushing, panting whirlwind as the engine turned the bend

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34 THE RAIL WA Y BRIDGE.

of the curve. Forward dashed the train, as though it were coming with a will to batter down the bridge at a blow ; light flashing from its lamps, fiery smoke throbbing out from the funnel in giant puffs, and a red-hot glare glowing from beneath the furnace.

* Now then ! " shouted the men from above. " All right!" Joe shouted back in answer. " Shra-a-a-auk!" roared the train, as with diminished speed it passed beneath them. At that moment Wright, leaning down, dropped the bag. It fell plump on a hollow place into a tarpaulin which covered some luggage on the roof of one of the first class carriages, and was whisked far away in another second, not to be disturbed from its snug retreat till it reached the great metropolis.

" I've done it," cried Wright from below.

"Now then," cried Ned in return, "get back as fast as you can, and be careful."

No reply. Joe was making his way back as best he could ; but it was no easy task, for his hands had become very cold, and the great oaken supports of the bridge were slippery with the moisture which

had gathered thickly on them.

" Well done," said one of his companions, stooping over to watch his progress ; " a little more to the left, Joe."

The climber struggled upward. And now his right hand was nearly on a level with the floor of the bridge, and he was stretching out his left hand to grasp one

THE RAILWAY BRiDGB. 36

of the rails, when his foot suddenly slipping on a sloping rafter, he lost his hold altogether, and, to the horror of his companions, fell with a heavy thud on to the rails beneath him !

" Joe, Joe — speak, man ! are you hurt ? " cried Ned.

No answer.

" Lord help us," he continued, "the drunken train'll be up directly. Get up, man, get up , you'll be killed if you lie there."

Not a word from the unfortunate man.

They all leant over the parapet, straining their eyes to see if Joe really lay there or had crawled away. They could just make out a dark heap lying apparently right across the rails : it did not stir ; not a moment was to be lost.

" Here, Ned," cried the man who had seemed to act as a sort of leader of the party, "just get down the bank somehow, and drag him off the rails. I'll see if I can drop down from the bridge."

Alas ! this was easier said than done. The whistle of the last stopping train — sarcastically but too appropriately known among the men as " the drunken train," from the ordinary condition of a considerable number of its occupants was already being sounded ; but conveyed no warning to the poor stunned wretch who lay helpless in the engine's path. Frantically had Ned rushed down the bank of the cutting, while his companion, at the risk of his own life, sliding,

36 THE RAILWA Y BRIDGE.

slipping, tumbling among the rafters of the bridge, had dropped close to the" prostrate body, and then sprung to his feet. It was too late ; the instrument of death was upon them. A moment more, and the train had passed over their miserable companion. In a few minutes the horror-stricken group were

gathered round the poor, bleeding, mangled mass of humanity. The sight was too terrible to describe. One thing there could be no doubt about their unhappy comrade was entirely past their help; the work of destruction had been complete; and what was now to be done ? Silently all crept back again to the little stile. A hasty consultation was held.

" Mates," said the chief speaker, " it's a bad job, but it's plain enough we can't do him no good ; it's past that. It's no fault of ours. Poor Joe ! "

" Shall we go down and drag him off the rails on to the bank ? " asked Ned.

" Where's the use, man ? " replied the other ; " we shall only be getting ourselves into trouble: it'll seem then as if some one else had been having a hand in it, and we shall be getting his blood on our clothes. It's all over with him — that's certain ; and now we must take care of ourselves : what's done can't be undone. Pity we ever meddled with that bag. But that's all past now. Not a word about this to living soul, mates. I'm sure we all see as that's our line ; and a blessed thing it'll be if we manage to keep

THE RA1LWA Y BRIDGE, 37

clear of another scrape. This one's been bad enough, I'm sure."

So all slunk quietly back to their own homes* And next day all Crossbourne was horrified to hear that Joe Wright had been found on the line cut to pieces by some train that had run over him.

An inquest, of course, was held ; but as it was well known that poor Joe was sadly addicted to drink, and was often away from his home for nights together on drunken sprees, it was thought, in the absence of any evidence to the contrary, that he had wandered on to the line in a state of intoxication, and had been overtaken and killed by the express or stopping train. A verdict of " accidental death " was given accordingly.

But poor Wright's sad end made no difference in

the drunkenness of Crossbourne; indeed, Ned and his two companions in that awful night's adventure dared not leave their old haunts and ways, even had they wished to do so, lest any change in their habits should arouse suspicion against them. So Alcohol still maintained his sway over a vast body of loyal subjects in the busy town, and gathered in the spoils of desolate homes, broken hearts, and shattered constitutions

Chapter III

HE express train which passed through Crossbourne station between ten and eleven o'clock on the night when Joe Wright met with his sad end, arrived in London about three A.m. the following morning. It was heavily laden, for it conveyed a large number of persons from the north, who were coming up to the metropolis to spend Christmas with their friends.

From a first-class carriage about the middle of the train there emerged a heap of coats and wraps, surmounted by a fur cap, the whole enclosing a gentleman of middle age and middle height, with black beard and mustache, and gold-rimmed spectacles.

" Cab, sir 1 " asked the porter who Opened the door.

" If you please."

" Any luggage, sir ? "

" Yes ; it was put on the roof of my carriage." " All right, sir ; I'll see to it if youll get into the cab."

So the gentleman, who was John Prosser, Ph.D., got into the cab which was waiting for him ; and having seen that his luggage was all brought to the

conveyance, threw himself into a corner and closed his eyes, having given his direction to the driver as he was stepping into the vehicle.

" Stop a moment, Jim," said the porter to the cabman, as the latter was just jerking his reins for a start. " Here, catch hold of this bag ; it was on the top of this gent's carriage : no one else owns to it, so it must be his'n. The gent's forgotten it, I dessay."

So saying, he threw a light, shabby -looking carpet-bag up to the driver, who deposited it by his side, and drove off.

After sleeping for a few hours at a hotel where he was well known, and having urgent business in the city next morning, the doctor deposited his luggage, which he had left with sundry rugs and shawls in charge of the hotel night porter, at his own door on his way to keep his business appointment, leaving word that he should be at home in the afternoon. With the other luggage there was handed in the shabby-looking carpet bag which had come with it.

" What's this ? " asked the boy-in-buttons, in a tone of disgust, of the housemaid, as he touched the bag with his outstretched foot.

" I don't know, I'm sure," was the reply. " It ain't anything as master took with him, and I'm quite

sure it don't belong to mistress." " I'll tell you what it is," said the boy abruptly,

40 DOCTOR JOHN PROSSJSR.

and in a solemn voice, " it's something as has to do with science. There's something soft inside it, I can feel. P'raps there's something alive in it — I shouldn't wonder. Oh! p'raps there's gun-cotton in it. I'd take care how I carried it if I was you, Mary, or p'raps it'll go off and blow you to bits ! "

" Oh goodness!" exclaimed the housemaid, " I won't touch it. Just you take it yourself and put it into master's study ; it'll *be safest there."

So the boy, with a grin of extreme satisfaction at the success of his assault on the housemaid's nerves, helped her to carry £he rest of the luggage upstairs, and then deposited the mysterious bag in a corner of the doctor's own special sanctum. Now this study was a room worth describing, tod yet not very easy

to describe.

The doctor's house itself was one of those not very attractive-looking dwellings which are to be found by streetfuls running from square to square in the west end of London. It had stood patiently there for many a long year, as was evident from the antiquated moulding over the doorway, and from a great iron extinguisher, in which the link-bearers of old used to quench their torches, which formed part of the sombre coloured ironwork that skirted the area. The gloomy monotony of the street was slightly relieved by a baker's shop at one corner and a chemist's at the other. But for these, the genera] aspect would have been one of unbroken dinginess.

Nor did the interior of the doctor's house present a much livelier appearance.

'The entrance-hall, which was dark and narrow, had rather a sepulchral smell about it, which was not otherwise than in keeping with some shelves of books at the farther end — the overflow apparently of the doctor's library; the tall, dark volumes therein looking like so many tombs of the dead languages.

To the left, as you entered the hall, was a dining-room massively furnished, adorned with a few family portraits, and as many vigorous engravings. But there lacked that indescribable air of comfort which often characterizes those rooms devoted to the innocent and social refreshment of the body at meal-times. The chairs, though in themselves all that dining-room chairs ought to be, did not look as if on a habitual good understanding with one another; some were against the wall, and others stood near the table, and at irregular distances, as though they never enjoyed that cozy fraternity so desirable in well-conditioned seats. Books, too, lay about in little zigzag heaps ; while a bunch of keys, a pair of lady's gloves, and a skein of coloured wool lay huddled together on the centre of the sideboard. The whole arrangement, or rather disarrangement, of the room bespoke, on the part of the presiding female management, an indifference to those minor details of order and comfort a due attention to which makes home (a genuine English home) the happiest spot in the world.

Opposite to this room, on the other side of the hall, was another of similar size, us ed apparently as a sort of reception-room. Huge bookshelves occupied two of the walls, an orrery stood against a third, while dusty curiosities filled up the corners. There was something peculiarly depressing about the general appearance and tone of this apartment, — nothing bright, nothing to suggest cheerful and happy thoughts, plenty of food for the mind, but presented in such an indigestible form as was calculated to inflict on the consumer intellectual nightmare. This room was known as the library.

But we pass on to the doctor's own special room the study. This was beyond and behind the dining-room. Bookshelves towered on all sides, filled with volumes of all sizes, and in nearly all languages,

some in exquisitely neat white vellum binding, with Tome I., Tome II., &c, in shining gold on their backs -the products of an age when a conscientiousness could be traced in the perfect finish of all the details of a work external or internal ; some in the form of stately folios, suggestive at once both of the solidity and depth of learning possessed by the writers and expected in the readers; while a multitude of lesser volumes were crowded together, some erect, others lying flat, or leaning against one another for support. Greek and Latin classic authors, and in all languages poets, historians, and specially writers on science were largely represented — even French and German

DOCTOR JOHN PR0S8ER. 43

octavoes standing at ease in long regiments side by side, suggestive of no Franco-Prussian war, but only of an intellectual contest, arising out of amicable differences of opinion. On one side of the principal bookcase was an electrical machine, and on the other an air-pump ; while a rusty sword and a pair of ancient gauntlets served as links to connect the warlike past with the pacific present. In the centre of the room was a large leather-covered writing-table, on which lay a perfect chaos of printed matter and manuscript ; while bottles of ink, red, black, and blue, might be seen emerging from the confusion like diminutive forts set there to guard the papers from unlearned and intrusive ringers. Order was clearly not the doctor's "first law;" and certainly it must have required no common powers of memory to enable him, when seated in front of the confusion he himself had made, to lay his hand upon any particular book or manuscript which might claim his immediate attention. On either side of a small fire-place at the - rear of the table, and above it, hung charts, historical, geological, and meteorological ; while a very dim portrait of some friend of the doc tor, or perhaps of some literary celebrity, looked down from over the doorway through a haze of venerable dust on the scientific labours which it could neither share nor lighten.

In. tlae corner of the room farthest from the door was a little closet, seldom opened, secured by a patent

lock, whose contents no one was acquainted with save

44 DOCTOR JOHN P&OSSEH.

the doctor himself. The housemaid, whose duties in this room were confined to an occasional wary sweeping and dusting, and fire-lighting in the winter season, would keep at a respectful distance from this closet, or pass it with a creeping dread ; for the boy-in-buttons had thrown out dark suggestions that it probably contained the skulls of murderers, or, at the least, snakes and scorpions preserved in spirits, or even possibly alive, and ready to attack any daring intruder on their privacy.

Such were Dr. John Prosser's home and study.

It was just four o'clock in the afternoon of the 24th of December when the doctor returned to his house from the city.

" Is your mistress at home ?" he asked of the boy.

" No, sir ; she told me to tell you that she was gone to a meeting of the school board."

The doctor's countenance fell. He was evidently disappointed ; and no wonder, for he had been away from his home for the last ten days, and felt keenly the absence of his wife, and of a loving greeting on his return.

"Any letters for me, William?" he asked.

" Yes, sir, they're on your table ; and, please, sir, I've put the little carpet-bag into your study."

" Carpet-bag ! What carpet-bag ? " asked his master.

" Why, sir, the little bag as came with your luggage. We didn't take it upstairs, because it's nothing as you took with you when you left home, and Mary says it don't belong to mistress ; so I thought it would be better to put it into your study till you came home, as it might be something particular. It's in the corner by the fire-place, sir."

"Well, well, never mind," was the reply; "let me know when your mistress comes in," and the doctor

retired to his sanctum.

Drawing up his chair to the table, he was soon deep in his letters ; but turning round to poke the fire, his eye fell on the little bag. " How can I have come by this, I wonder ? and what can it be?" he said to himself, as he took it up and turned it round and round. It was fastened by an ordinary padlock, which easily opened on the application of one of the doctors keys. " Nothing but waste paper," he said, as he turned out a portion of the contents, which appeared to consist merely of pieces of newspaper and brown paper crumpled up. "Pshaw! some foolish hoax or practical joke intended lor me, or somebody else, perhaps!" he exclaimed. "Well, it seems scarcely worth making any trouble about ; but if it has come here by mistake, and is of sufficient value, there will be inquiries or an advertisement about it." So saying, he replaced the crumpled papers, locked the bag again, and opening his closet, placed it on one of the upper shelves, where it must rest for a while and gather dust.

When Dr. Prosser had finished reading his letters, and had answered such as needed an immediate reply, he betook himself to the drawing-room. This was a large apartment, occupying upstairs the same area as the library, hall, and dining-room. It was handsomely furnished, bearing marks in every direction of a highly cultivated taste and of woman's handiwork. Yet there was wanting that peculiar air of comfort which gives a heart - cheering glow alike to the humblest cottage parlour and the elegant saloon of the man of wealth and refinement. Indeed, it might truly be said that the room abounded in everything

that could be devised, but comfort. Like a picture full of brilliant colouring, the various hues of which

need blending and toning down, so the articles of

*

luxury and beauty lavishly scattered about Dr. Prosser's drawing-room, though tastefully selected, seemed calculated rather to call forth the passing admiration of friends and strangers than to give abiding pleasure to their possessors.

At present there was certainly something very discouraging about the whole appearance of things in the eyes of the doctor, as he entered the costly furnished apartment. A fire, it is true, twinkled between the bars of the grate ; but its few feeble sparks, in contrast with the prevailing surroundings of black coal and cinders, were suggestive to the feelings rather of the chilliness they were meant to counteract ssthan of the warmth which they were designed to impart. Near the fire was a dwarf, round, threelegged table, on which lay a manuscript in a female hand. The doctor took it up, and laid it down with a sigh. It was a portion of a long-since-begun and

never -likely -to -be -finished essay on comparative anatomy. A heap of unanswered letters lay on a taller table close by, having displaced a work-basket, whose appearance of superlative neatness showed how seldom the fingers of its gentle owner explored or made use of its homely stores. A grand piano stood near the richly curtained windows. It was open. A vocal duet occupied the music-rest, and various other pieces for voice and instrument were strewed along the highly polished top. Near the piano was a harp, while a manuscript book of German and Italian songs was placed upon an elegant stand near it, and other pieces filled a gaping portfolio at the foot. On a beautifully inlaid table in the centre of the room was an unfinished water-colour drawing, propped up by a pile of richly gilded and ornamented books. The drawing, with its support, had been pushed back towards the middle of the table, to make way for a sheet or two of note-paper containing portions of a projected poem. And the presiding and inspiring genius of all this beautiful confusion was Agnes Prosser.

And did she make her husband happy ? Well, it was taken for granted by friends and acquaintance that she did — or, at any rate, that it must be htm fault if she did not ; and so the poor doctor thought himself. He was proud of hi 3 wife, and considered that he ought to be thoroughly happy with her ; but. somehow or other, he was not so. She was, in the common acceptation of the words, highly accomplished, of an amiable and loving disposition, graceful and winning in person and manner, able to take the head of his table to the entire satisfaction of himself and his friends, and capable of conversing well on every subject with all who were invited to her house, or whom she met in society elsewhere.

What could her husband want more? He did want something more — his heart asked and yearned for something more. What was it ? He could hardly distinctly tell. Nevertheless he felt himself on this afternoon — he had been gradually approaching the feeling for some time past — a disappointed man. Perhaps it was his own fault, he thought ; yet so it

was.

He was now just forty years of age, and had been married three years. His wife was some ten years younger than himself. He had looked well round him before making choice of one with whom he was to share the joys and sorrows of a domestic life. He was a man who thoroughly respected religion, and could well discriminate between the genuine servant of Christ and the mere sounding professor, while at the same time scientific studies had rather tended to make him undervalue clear dogmatic teaching as set forth in the revealed Word of God. Yet he was too profound a thinker to adopt that popular scepticism which is either the refuge of those who, consciously or unconsciously, use it as a screen, though it proves but a semi-transparent one at the best, to shut out the light of a coming judgment, or the halting-place of thinkers who stop short of the only source of true and infallible wisdom — the revealed mind of God. His wife, too, had been taught religiously, and cordially assented to the truths of the gospel, though the constraining love of Christ was yet wanting ; and both she and her husband were intimate friends of one whose path had ever been since they had known it, " the path ofV the just, like the shining light, that shineth more and more unto the perfect day : " and that one was Ernest Maltby, now vicar of Crossbourne.

So Dr. Prosser had chosen his wife well. And yet

he was disappointed in her ; and why ? Just because he had made the mistake — and how common a mistake it is in these days — of supposing that accomplishments acquired and a highly cultivated mind make the model woman, wife, and mother. Surely the mistake is a sad and fatal one — fatal to woman's highest happiness and truest usefulness ; fatal to her due fulfilment of the part which her loving Creator designed her to fulfil in this world !

There are two concentric circles in which we all move, an inner or domestic circle, an outer or social circle. We are too often educating our women merely for the outer circle. We crowd the mind and memory

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50 DOCTOR JOffK PROSSER.

with knowledge of all sorts, that they may shine in society : we forget to teach them first and foremost how to make home happy. It was so with Mrs, Prosser. She had overstrained her mind with the burden of a multitude of acquirements and accomplishments, which had not, after all, made her truly accomplished. One or two things for which she had real taste and ability thoroughly mastered would have been a far greater source of delight to her husband, and of satisfaction to herself, than the mere handful of unripe fruit which she had gathered from a dozen different branches of the tree of knowledge, and in the collecting of which she had, in a measure, impaired the elasticity of her mind and her bodily strength, and found no time for making herself mistress of a thousand little undemonstrative acquirements which tend to keep a steady light of joy and peace burning daily and hourly in the home.