A Wandering Bride

Gisborne Times, Volume XXX, Issue 3489, 1 April 1912, Page 3

A Wandering Bride

BY MARION WARD.

Author of “Love’s Thorny Path,” “His Fair Lady,” etc.

(Published by Special Arrangement: All Rights Reserved.) CHAPTER XII. “LUCY,. I HAVE COME TO YOU.” A large crowd had assembled, consising not only of inquirers about passengers known actually to have been in the wrecked train, but a host of others, whose friends were returning from the North that- afternoon and might have travelled by it. Ronald Vernon insisted on leaving bis aunt on a- seat while lie literally fought his way to the barrier through which the arriving passengers were to walk, this barrier being necessary for two reasons, to break the press of the crowd, and to enable the officials who stood within it to ask and note down the names and addresses of the. travellers. These last were not so numerous as Ronald had expected, seventy people perhaps, all told- He stood close to the official who was taking down the names, and thus hoard all the information given him, but he knew before the passengers spoke that their answer would not interest him, for in all the motley group there was not a single creature who could possibly be Mrs Vernon's niece.

Men were most numerous in the brief procession. Indeed, there were scarcely twenty women, while of these ten were old and grey-haired, and the remainder looked over forty. Resides, noen were alone, all leant ou the arm cf husband or brother, or else led some toddling child. No, in all the company there was no trace of Lucy Marsh.

"How many passengers were left behind?” Ronald Vernon demanded of an official. “And where are they?” “The accident took place just outside Northbourne Station, sir,” was the answer, “and all too much injured to be brought to London are in the Northbourne Cottage Hospial, two miles from the scene of the accident.”

“And is there a young lady among them, a girl of eighteen, who was travelling alone?” The guard of the. wrecked train had come up with the survivors. He was passing then, and heard Ronald's question. “There were two young ladies 'eft. behind at Northbourne, sir,” ho sail civilly. “Both were travelling alo.u* One of them was killed on the spot and wag so terribly injured that not even her own mother could recognise her; the other was stunned by the shock (the carriage she was in was capsized, and she was thrown to the floor), bu£ the doctor thinks she will pull through. Very gently did Ronald Vernon break the news to his aunt. “Northbourne Station is two miles this side of the accident, so that the line to it is open, and trains can get there without making a detour. One is making the trip in ten minutes. Shall we go on by it, or don’t you feel equal to the journey?” “I would much rather go to Northbourne, but Ronald, you have your office work to think of to-morrow. Won’t the journey wear you out, and can you possibly get back in time in the morning?” “I can stand any amount of travelling, and I know that Northbourne has an excellent- service of trains ; but even if I can’t get to the Temple by ten o’clock to-morrow, a wire to the chief explaining my absence will make things all right.” He took two first class tickets to Northbourne, and found that the .York.express was to be stopped at the little station expressly for the convenience of the friends of the injured passengers. With a little effort Ronald secured a carriage to themselves, for he felt that it would be torture to poor Mrs Vernon to hear the accident discussed again and again by strangers. “Do lean back in your corner and Try to rest,” lie urged ’kindly; “you will be ill for a certainty if you don’t, with all this worry and anxiety.” • Mrs Vernon shook her head, o “I am very strong, Ronald, and I shall not be ill. X would much rather sit up and talk, for if I try to close my eyes I only see dreadful pictures. Don’t think me pretending or

making a fuss. I daresay you think I. cant’ care much about the fate of a girl I have never seen, but Lucy is all that is left to me of my sister? and her motherland I lover each other dearly. When I dreamed of coming home, \ always thought how glad Chrissie would be, and she'used to write to me by every mail and tell me all about herself and Lucy. When I hoard my. sister was dead, T told my husband I did not mind if I never saw England again. It was bis great wish that I should come over and settle in my native land, but, Ronald, if you can believe me,' it was tho thought of Chrissie’s child, of trying to bring a little sunshine and happiness into her life that really nerved me to come home without John.” “Aunt Lucy, don’t you think you

may be going out:-,of your way to anticipate trouble? Wo liavo been told there are, two girls at Northbourne, one asleep in death, the other with a fair chance of recovery. Why should not Miss Marsh be the latter?” Mrs Vernon shivered. “I don’t know—T can’t tell, only sometimes lives are taken Hist when things seem to he brightening for them.”

It was half-past ten when the train stopped at Northbourne, and Ronald, getting out himself quickly, helped his aunt to alight. “I see two or three flies here,” lie said quietly. “We had better take one and drive to the Cottage Hospital at once.”

“Yes,” she said quietly, then with that kindly care for others which was part of her nature, “but we will stop at the hotel as we pass, Ronald, and engage a room for you. I dont’ want you to go bedless through your care of mo.”

Mr. Vernon engaged two rooms, for it seemed to him that his companion would need to sleep at the hotel in any case. If the patient at the Cottage Hospital was Lucy Marsh, her aunt would not he allowed by the authorities to remain and nurse her; if Mrs Vernon’s niece proved to Ire the dead girl, she would sorely need a quiet place in which to rest and think over her sorrow.

The fly stopped before a long, low, one-storeyed building. Ronald bad had-- the fore-thought to wire to the matron of the hospital that “a lady who believed her niece to he among the injured passengers was on her way to Northbourne, and would drive straight to the Cottage Hospital,” and the matron, a grave-eyed woman

of forty, dressed in nurse’s uniform, came forward into the hall to receive her visitors. Mrs Vernon’s eyes seemed to ask the question her lips could not speak. “We have one girl here,” said the matron gently. “She looks about eighteen or nineteen. There are no marks on her clothes, but in the waterproof which had been rolled up to make her a pillow we found a letter addressed to Miss Lucy Marsh.”

“Thank God!” breathed Mrs Vernon. “Then my niece is safe.”

The matron never mentioned that the dead girl had been found in the same compartment as Miss Marsh. Her face lighted with a kindly sympathy, and she said gently:

“You will like to come with me to see Miss Marsh. She is unconscious still, but tlie doctors are quite hopeful about her.”

Ronald Vernon did not know in the least whether he was intended to go with his aunt or stay behind, but lie ended by following Mrs Vernon and the matron. After all, lie argued. if (in suite of the letter found in the waterproof pocket) this was not Lucy Marsh, Airs 'Vernon would sorely need his help and protection in her hitter disappointment.

Their guide led them to a small ward at the extreme end of a long corridor, one which was generally reserved for dangerous cases needing extreme quiet and special care, but wa' now and again used for such well-to-do patients as were able and willing to pay something for the benefits they received. The walls were whitewashed, the narrow bed was covered with a white counterpane, a chair stood beside it, and the ton of a dwarf cupboard built into a recess served as a sort of table, but there was no other attempt at furniture. Very clean, scrupulously tidy, the place had yet a hare, cold look, which went to Ronald Vernon’s heart.

He. stood by the door, just within the little ward, which indeed was barely twelve feet- square, but his aunt passed on to the bed and stood with one hand resting on its foot-rail while she looked long and tenderly at the sleeper.

At that moment the girl’s face stirred suddenly. Slowly she opened a pair of dark, lustrous blue eyes, and looked from one to- the other of those standing near. All three were strangers, the matron, Mrs A ernon, and Ronald.

. .“Lucy,” said Mrs Vernon tenderly. “My poor little girl,:: you could not come to me, and so I have come to you.” How much did the girl realise of what went on around her? How much did she understand ? Was her mind clear enough to gunge the awful temptation which lay before her? She had only to speak one word; nav, she had only to keep silence, and poor, outcast fugitive though she was, she would have a home with a woman of fortune, who was ready to love her, and only wanted to make her happy! And all tins could be purchased just by stealing from a dead girl the name for which she had no longer any use! (To be Continued.)