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ELEVEN POSSIBLE CASES. 
 
Eleven 
 
 Possible Cases. 
 
 BY 
 
 FRANK R. STOCKTON, FRANKLIN FYLES, JOAQUIN 
 MILLER, MAURICE THOMPSON, INGERSOLL LOCK- 
 WOOD, EDGAR FAWCETT, BRAINARD GARDNER 
 SMITH, KIRKE MUNROE, NYM CRINKLE, ANNA 
 KATHERINE GREEN, and Q. 
 
 CASSELL & COMPANY, Limited 
 
 LONDON, PARIS d; MELBOURNE. 
 
 1891. 
 
 [all eights eeseeved.] 
 

 l-S"? 
 

 CONTENTS. 
 
 1. The Only Girl AT Over- 
 
 look, .... Franklin FyleSf . . 1 
 
 2. A Thing that Glis- 
 
 tened, . . . Frank B. Stockton, . 46 
 
 3. A Lion and a Lioness, Joaquin Miller, . . 58 
 
 4. The Cheated Juliet, Q., . . . . 83 
 
 5. The Mystic Krewe, . Maurice Thompson, . . 92 
 
 6. Strange Adventures op 
 
 a Million Dollars, Ingersoll Lockwood, 122 
 
 7. A Lost Day, . . Edgar Fawcett, . 135 
 
 8. A Tragedy of High Ex- 
 
 plosives, . . . Brainard Gardner Smith, 147 
 
 9. The Bushwhacker's 
 
 Gratitude, . . Kirke Munroe, . . 199 
 
 10. The End of All, . . Nym CrinMe, , 211 
 
 11. Shall He Marry Her ? Anna Katherine Oreen, 249 
 
 '(^33.^¥¥3 
 
THE ONLY GIRL AT 
 OVERLOOK. 
 
 BY FRA]S"KLIN FYLES. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 TWO names were used for the only girl 
 at Overlook. In addressing her, the 
 men of the place always said *'Miss Warri- 
 ner." In mentioning her, they often said 
 ''Mary Mite." The reason for this dis- 
 tinctive difference was revealed by the sight 
 of Miss Mary Warriner herself, as she sat 
 on a high stool behind a rude desk, under 
 a roughly-boarded shelter, and with rapid 
 fingers clicked the key of a telegraphic in- 
 strument. There was a perfect poise of 
 quiet self-possession which would have been 
 very impressive dignity in an older and big- 
 ger person, and which, although here limited 
 by eighteen years and one hundred pounds, 
 still made a demand for respectful treat- 
 ment. Therefore the men, when in her pres- 
 ence, never felt like calling her anything else 
 
2 THE ONLY GIRL AT OVERLOOK. 
 
 than *'Miss Warriner." If she had been 
 less like a stately damsel in miniature, and 
 more like such a child as she was in size 
 only; if her employment had been some- 
 thing not so near to science as that of teleg- 
 raphy, and not so far off from juvenile sim- 
 plicity ; if her brown hair had been loosely 
 curled, instead of closely coiled, and if her 
 skirts had stopped at her ankles instead of 
 reaching to her feet, then she might have 
 been nicknamed ^*Mary Mite" within her 
 own hearing, as she was beyond it, by those 
 who described her smallness in a sobriquet. 
 There may have been a variance of opinion 
 among those dwellers at Overlook who had 
 made any estimate of her composure, but if 
 there was one who believed that she merely 
 assumed a reserve of manner because she 
 was amoDg two hundred men, he had not 
 yet tried his chances of exceptional ac- 
 quaintance. 
 
 Overlook was crude and temporary. The 
 inhabitants were making a roadbed for a 
 new railway at a spot where the job was ex- 
 traordinary, requiring an uncommonly large 
 proportion of brain to brawn in the work. 
 Those who were mental laborers in the re- 
 markable feat of engineering, or were at 
 least bosses of the physical toil, were the 
 ones who had errands at the telegraphic 
 shed, and for whom Mary sent and received 
 
THE ONLY GIRL AT OVERLOOK. 3 
 
 messages over the wires. The isolated col- 
 ony of workers was one hundred miles deep 
 in a wilderness of mountain and forest, but 
 not as many seconds distant, measured by 
 the time necessary for electrical communica- 
 tion from the construction company's head- 
 quarters in a great city. 
 
 *'Must you wait for an answer?" Mary 
 said, as she clicked the last word of a mes- 
 sage. ' ' It' s an hour since your first telegram 
 went, and they seem in no hurry to reply." 
 
 Polite indifference, and nothing else, was 
 in her clear, gentle voice. There was neither 
 boldness nor shyness in the eyes that opened 
 wide and blue, as she lifted them from the 
 paper to the man whom she questioned. 
 There was no more of a smile than of a pout 
 on the mouth that worded the inquiry. She 
 did not indicate the faintest interest as to 
 whether he went or stayed, although she 
 did suggest that he might as well go. 
 
 *'rd rather lounge here, if you don't 
 mind," was Gerald Heath's answer. 
 
 Here the alertness of the placid girl was 
 faintly shown by a quick glance, but it was 
 so furtive that the subject of her wariness 
 did not know his face was being scrutinized ; 
 and she was quickly convinced that she was 
 not the cause of his remaining, for he said : 
 ^Tll tell you why I'm anxious about the 
 telegram, and in a hurry to get it." 
 
4 THE ONLY GIRL AT OVERLOOIL 
 
 Gerald Heatli had been lazily leaning 
 against the makeshift desk of the telegrapher, 
 as he waited, and for pastime had whittled 
 the smooth birch sapling that formed its 
 outer edge. He had chipped and shaved, 
 after the manner of those to whom a sharp 
 pocket knife and a piece of wood provide a 
 solace. There had been no conversation, 
 except a few words concerning the messages. 
 But now he heightened himself to six feet 
 by standing erect, and took on the outlines 
 of a magnificent physique. His proportions 
 had not been realized before by the girl at 
 the other side of the counter. She compre- 
 hended, too, that if his somewhat unkempt 
 condition were changed to one which in- 
 cluded a face cleaned of stubbed beard, a 
 suit of modish clothes to replace the half- 
 worn corduroys, and the shine of a silk hat and 
 polished boots at his now dusty extremities, 
 he would become a young gentleman whose 
 disregard might be an appreciable slight. 
 That was the conclusion which she reached 
 without any visible sign that her careless 
 eyes were conveying any sort of impression 
 to her mind. As it was, he looked an un- 
 usually burly specimen of the men to whom 
 isolation from city life had imparted an as- 
 pect of barbarians. Before he had uttered 
 another word she realized that he was wholly 
 engrossed in the matter of his telegrams, and 
 
THE ONLY OIBL AT OVERLOOK. 5 
 
 had no thouglit o( the individuality of the 
 listener. Not only was she not the thing 
 that made him wait, but she might as well 
 have been old, ugly, or a man, if only she 
 had ears to hear. 
 
 It was a summer afternoon, and the clear, 
 balmy weather was seasonable. The re- 
 moval of protective canvas had left the 
 structure an open shed, over the front of 
 which hung the boughs of the two trees 
 against w^hose massive trunks it leaned. 
 Gerald Heath reached up with both hands 
 and held the foliage aside. 
 
 '' Do you get an unobstructed view T' he 
 said. " Now, I've helped lay out railroads 
 through many a place, where it was a shame 
 to let trains go faster than a mile a day. 
 I've surveyed routes that ought to provide 
 special trains for passengers with eyes in 
 their heads — trains with speed graduated be- 
 tween sixty miles an hour and sixty hours a 
 mile. It is an outrage on nature and art 
 that travelers should ever be whisked past 
 Overlook without a good chance to see what 
 we're looking at. That's why I wrote to the 
 president of the company a month ago, tell- 
 ing him how a slight deviation from the sur- 
 veyed line would enable passengers to get 
 what's in our view now. He asked how 
 much the line would be lengthened by my 
 plan. ^ A hundred yards,' I answered. And 
 
6 THE ONLY GIRL AT OVEBLOOK. 
 
 I submitted a map, showiug how the tracks, 
 after coming out from the tunnel, might 
 make a small detour to this very spot, in- 
 stead of going behind a mass of rocks that 
 will completely hide this " and a com- 
 prehensive gesture of one arm followed his 
 sweep of vision. 
 
 Places that get their names on' impulse are 
 apt to have appropriate ones. Camps of 
 railway makers in a hitherto unbroken coun- 
 try are not often miscalled. An ensuing 
 town on the same site may be unmeaningly 
 named as a permanency, but the inspirations 
 that afford transient nomenclature are usu- 
 ally descriptive. It was so in the case of 
 Overlook. The railway tunneled through 
 the mountain, and emerged at a height of 
 1000 feet above a wide valley. Mary had 
 daily, and all day long, sat overlooking 
 the prospect. It had astonished and en- 
 chanted her at first, but familiarity had 
 blunted the keenness of her appreciation. 
 As shown to her anew, it was like a fresh 
 disclosure. Gerald Heath stood holding 
 aside the boughs, which otherwise obscured 
 a part of the landscape, and seemed like an 
 exhibitor of some wondrously big and beauti- 
 ful picture. Miles away were hills rising be- 
 hind one another, until they left only a little 
 of sky to be framed by the eave of the shed, 
 as seen by the telegrapher. The diversities 
 
THE ONLY OIRL AT OVERLOOK, 1 
 
 of a wilderness, distantly strong in rugged 
 forms, but indistinct in details, became 
 gradually definite and particular as they 
 came nearer, and were suggestive of con- 
 scious design, where they edged a broken, 
 tumultuous river. Overlook was shelved so 
 high on a precipitous mountain that, from 
 Mary's point of vision, the foreground almost 
 directly underneath passed out of her sight, 
 and it was as though the spectator stood on 
 a platform before a painted canvas, too spa- 
 cious for exhibition in an ordinary manner. 
 But in this work the shapes and the colors, 
 the grandeur and the beauty were incon- 
 ceivably beyond human copying. 
 
 Gerald Heath appeared to feel, however, 
 that if he was not the painter of this enor- 
 mous landscape, he at least had the proprie- 
 tary interest of a discoverer, and it was with 
 something of the air of an art collector, 
 proudly extolling his choicest possession, 
 that he turned his eyes from it to Mary 
 Warriner. The expression of admiration on 
 her face, although quiet and delicate, was 
 quite satisfactory — for a moment only ; and 
 then the denotement of delight passed out 
 of her visage, as though expelled by some 
 physical pang. It was the suddenness of 
 the change, for it was of itself very slight, 
 that made it perceptible. Gerald instinct- 
 ively turned to look for the cause. 
 
8 TUE ONLY GIRL AT OVERLOOK. 
 
 Into the picture had come a human figure. 
 A few yards in front of the hut stood a man. 
 In relation to the landscape far beyond he 
 was gigantic, and the shade of the trees 
 made him devilishly black by contrast with 
 the sunlight of heaven that illumined the 
 rest. He was thus for an instant in silhou- 
 ette, and it chanced that his sharp outlines 
 included a facial profile, with the points of a 
 mustache and beard giving satanic sugges- 
 tion to an accidental attitude of malicious 
 intrusion. The illusion was almost startling, 
 but it was momentary, and then the form be- 
 came the commonplace one of Tonio Ravelli, 
 who walked under the shelter. 
 
 "Do-a I eentrude?" he asked, with an 
 Italian accent and an Italian bearing. "I 
 suppose no, eh? Thece ees a placa bees- 
 ness." 
 
 Mary's small departure from a business- 
 like perfunctory manner ended at once. She 
 took the scrap of paper which Eavelli laid 
 on her desk, and without a word 'translated 
 its writing into telegraphic clicks. Ravelli 
 was a sub-contractor, and this was one of his 
 frequent communications with officials at 
 the company's city office. The response 
 was likely to be immediate, and he waited 
 for it. 
 
 ^'To get the full value of this view," 
 Gferald Heath resumed, and now lie ad- 
 
TEE ONLY GIRL AT OVERLOOK. 9 
 
 dressed himself to Mary directly, as though 
 .with almost a purpose of ignoring Ravelli, 
 to whose greeting he had barely responded, 
 "you need to come upon it suddenly — as I 
 once did. We had been for months blasting 
 and digging through the mountain. Every 
 day's duty in that hole was like a spell of 
 imprisonment in a dark, damp dungeon. 
 And your men, Eavelli, looked like a chain- 
 gang of convicts." 
 
 "You woulda no dare say so mooch to 
 their-a fa-ces," Eavelli retorted, with an in- 
 solence that was unmistakably intentional. 
 
 " O, I didn't mean a reflection on them," 
 said Gerald, disregarding the other's quar- 
 relsome aggressiveness. "We all look ras- 
 cally in the mud, drip, and grime of tunnel 
 work. And your gang of swarthy Italians 
 are bound to have a demoniac aspect under- 
 ground." 
 
 It was more careless than intentional that 
 Gerald thus provoked Eavelli. There had 
 been dislike between them, growing out of 
 friction between their respective duties as a 
 civil engineer and a sub-contractor, for the 
 former was necessarily a critic of the latter' s 
 work. But they had never quarreled, and 
 Gerald saw nothing in this occasion, as Ea- 
 velli seemed to, for any outbreak of temper. 
 
 "Bettare be civ-vil with-a your tongue," 
 Eavelli sneered. 
 
10 THE ONLY GIRL AT OVERLOOK. 
 
 '' Well, I think so, too, as we are witli a 
 lady." 
 
 " Zat ees why-a I inseest you treat-a me as 
 one gentleman." 
 
 So it seemed that he was especially regard- 
 ful of how he figured in the presence of Mary 
 Warriner. 
 
 ''Like one gentleman? Oh, I will treat 
 you like two gentlemen — so politely ;" and 
 Gerald began to again nonchalantly whittle 
 the birchen pole. *' I was going to tell how, 
 when at last we broke through the rock at 
 this end of the tunnel, I happened to be 
 right there. A blast tore out an aper- 
 ture several feet wide. We saw daylight 
 through the smoke. We rushed pell-mell 
 over the broken stone, and struggled with 
 one another to get through first. It was — 
 why, it was you, Ravelli, wasn' t it ? — whom 
 I tussled with. Yes, we got into the breach 
 together. You tried to push me back. You 
 couldn't — of course, you couldn't ; " and the 
 narrator's reference to his own superior 
 strength was exasperatingly accompanied by 
 a glance not free from contempt. 
 
 "Eet was-a all een fun," Ravelli smilingly 
 explained to Mary, and then his eyes turned 
 darkly upon Gerald : " Eef eet had-a been 
 
 one ear-nest fight ," the different result 
 
 was vaguely indicated by a hard clinch of 
 fists and a vicious crunch of teeth. 
 
THE ONLY OIBL AT OVERLOOK. 11 
 
 It was beyond a doubt that Ravelli could 
 not bear to be belittled to Mary ; but she 
 and Gerald were alike inattentive to his 
 exhibition of wrath. 
 
 ''No prisoner was ever more exultant to 
 escape," Heath went on, '' than I was to get 
 out of that dark, noisome hole into clean 
 sunlight. I ran to this very spot, and — 
 well, the landscape Avas on view, just as it is 
 now. It was like getting from gloom out 
 into glory." 
 
 The young man's exuberant words were 
 not spoken with much enthusiasm, and yet 
 they had sufficient earnestness to prove their 
 sincerity. He had stopped whittling, and 
 his knife lay on the desk, as he turned his 
 back against the sapling and rested both 
 elbows on it. 
 
 *' So I've been writing to the president of 
 the company, urging him to deflect the route 
 a trifle, so that passengers might come out 
 of the tunnel to see a landscape worth a 
 thousand miles of special travel, and to be 
 had by going less than as many feet. This 
 is the very latest day for changing the sur- 
 vey. To-morrow will be too late. That is 
 why I'm telegraphing so urgently." 
 
 Click, click, click. Mary went to the 
 telegraphic instrument. She delivered the 
 message by word of mouth, instead of taking 
 it down in the usual manner with a pen. 
 UNIVERSITY Of CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
12 THE ONLY GIRL AT OVERLOOK 
 
 ^' Gerald Heath, Overlook," she translated 
 from the metallic language of the instrument. 
 * ' Your idea is foolish. We cannot entertain 
 it. Henry Deckerman, president." 
 
 Gerald looked like a man receiving a jury's 
 verdict involving great pecuniary loss, if not 
 one of personal condemnation, as he listened 
 to the telegram. 
 
 *' Zat ees v^hat-al theenk," remarked Ra- 
 velli, with insolent elation; *'you ar-r-e 
 one-a fool, as ze president he say." 
 
 Gerald was already angered by the dis- 
 patch. The taunting epithet was timed to 
 excite him to fury, which he impulsively 
 spent upon the more immediate provoker. 
 He seized Ravelli by the throat, but without 
 choking him, and almost instantly let him 
 go, as though ashamed of having assailed a 
 man of not much more than half his own 
 strength and nearly twice his age. With 
 Italian quickness Ravelli grabbed Gerald's 
 knife from the desk, against which he was 
 flung. He would have used it too, if self- 
 defense had been necessary, but he saw that 
 he was not to be further molested, and so he 
 concealed the weapon under his arm, while 
 Gerald strode away, unaware of his escajpe 
 from a stab. 
 
 ^'He is-a one beeg bully," said Ravelli, 
 with forced composure. *' Eef a lady had-a 
 not been here " 
 
THE ONLY GIRL AT OVERLOOK. 13 
 
 ''You tormented Mm," the girl inter- 
 rupted. " I once saw the best-natured mas- 
 tiff in the world lose his temj^er and turn on 
 
 a " She stopped before saying "cur," 
 
 and added instead : "If he was foolish, you 
 were not very wise to tease him." 
 
 " He is-a what to you, zat you take-a hees 
 part?" 
 
 She bit her lip in resentment, but made 
 no reply. 
 
 " Pare-haps he is one-a lover oof you ? " 
 
 Still she would not reply to his imperti- 
 nence. That angered him more than the 
 severest rejoinder would have done. 
 
 "Oh, I am sure-a zat he ees one suitor." 
 
 She gave way at length to his provocation, 
 and yet without any violent words, for she 
 simply said : ' ' You are insulting, while he 
 is at least reasonably polite — when he heeds 
 me at all, which isn't often." 
 
 "Not-a often ? But some-what closely he 
 heed-a you. See zat." 
 
 With an open palm he struck the place 
 on the sapling where Gerald had whittled. 
 The sj)ot was on the outer edge, where 
 Mary could not see it from her seat. She 
 went around to the front of the primitively 
 constructed desk, or high counter, to gratify 
 her curiosity. There she saw that Gerald 
 had carved a hand — her own hand, as she 
 instantly perceived. The small and shapely 
 
14 THE ONLY GIBL AT OVERLOOK. 
 
 member was reproduced in the fresli, pale 
 wood with rare fidelity. She had uncon- 
 sciously posed it, while working the key of 
 the telegraphic instrument under the jack- 
 knife sculptor's eyes, and there had been 
 ample time for him to whittle a fac-simile 
 into the birch. 
 
 ''He is almost as impertinent as you are," 
 she said, and turned to see how Ravelli took 
 the comment. 
 
 But Eavelli had disappeared. 
 
 Then, being alone, she laid a hand of her 
 own coquettishly alongside its wooden coun- 
 terpart, and critically admired the likeness. 
 
 **It was an unwarranted liberty," she 
 said to herself, '' but he did it very well." 
 
 The delicate fiber of the wood had favored 
 the carver's purpose. The imitation hand 
 bore a shade of flattery in the barely tinted 
 birchen white, and in the fine grained satin 
 smoothness that the keen blade had wrought, 
 but this was not too much for more than a 
 reasonable compliment. As to the modeling, 
 that was sincerely accurate, and the fingers 
 rested on the key precisely as Mary had seen 
 them during many hours of many days. It 
 is an excessively vain girl who admires her- 
 self as actually as she does a portrait, and 
 the telegrapher really saw more beauty in 
 the birchen hand than she had ever observed 
 in the live one. As she contemplated it, 
 
THE ONLY OIRL AT OVERLOOK. 15 
 
 Eavelli returned noiselessly behind her. 
 
 *'I a- wish to say something, Mees War- 
 riner." 
 
 The Italian accent of Ravelli grated with 
 unnatural harshness on Mary's ears, and if 
 he had been an intruder upon her privacy, 
 instead of a man in a really public place, she 
 would not have been surprised into a deep 
 flush. She snatched her hand away from its 
 wooden counterpart, and clasped it with its 
 mate behind her, as she leaned her sht>ulder 
 against the carving to hide it. 
 
 "If you have a message to send," she 
 said, ''I can't get it on the wire too soon. 
 It's within five minutes of time to shut off." 
 
 She started to go behind the desk. He 
 stopped her with a touch upon her shoulder, 
 and she shrank away reprovingly, although 
 it was solely the man's earnestness that had 
 made him do it. 
 
 *'!N"o, no; it ees not words for-a ze wire 
 zat I have-a for you," he said. *'I wish-a 
 to tell to yourself something. Will you 
 lees-ten?" 
 
 *' Yes, if it is something that I ought to 
 hear." 
 
 " Thees eez it. I am a-more than I seem 
 here — deef-e-rent — so deef-e-rent you would 
 hardly know-a me. In zis place I am on-ly 
 a contractor for ze laborer. I am- a as com- 
 mon as my gang in-a clothes — in-a manner, 
 
16 THE ONLY GIRL AT OVERLOOK. 
 
 too, ell ? But een one hour — een one 
 minute — I could-a con-veence you zat I am-a 
 something finer.'" 
 
 Mary did not show in her perfectly re- 
 gained composure that she was so much as 
 puzzled by the man's enigmatic talk. She 
 said: '^I don't see how it could be worth 
 while, Mr. Eavelli." 
 
 " O, yes— I beg-a par-don for ze contradic- 
 tion — yes, it ees worth-a while. Away from- 
 a here, Mary, I would-a be so deef-e-renfc 
 zat you a-love me." 
 
 *'Stop, Mr. Ravelli— stop." 
 
 The command was positive, but it was not 
 obeyed. 
 
 *'I love-a you." 
 
 He caught her by one wrist as he began. 
 She was utterly unresistant. If she had 
 struggled or cried out, he would have gone 
 on with his voluble, excited declaration ; 
 but her placidity was incomprehensible to 
 him. 
 
 ''Mr. Ravelli," she began after a moment, 
 '■' you understand English ? " 
 
 ** Perfectly, Mees Warriner." 
 
 *' Well, here is plain English for you. I 
 would use Italian if I could, so that you 
 mightn't mistake me. You are to let go of 
 my hand." 
 
 He did it. 
 
 '' You are to go away instantly, and never 
 
 ^ \ 
 
THE ONLY GIRL AT OVERLOOK. 1*7 
 
 come here again except on business. Go at 
 once." 
 
 That he did not do. 
 
 *' For what-a did you come here, into one 
 camp oof men eef " 
 
 '' If I didn' t expect to be unsafe ? I'll tell 
 you. It was a mistake. Operator No. 9 
 was ordered to this post. No. 9 had been a 
 man, who had within a week been discharged, 
 and his number given to me. By an over- 
 sight, no alteration was made in the record to 
 show the sex of the new No. 9. I couldn't 
 afford to lose the work. Besides " 
 
 ''Well-a, besides " 
 
 ''Besides, I reasoned that every man at 
 Overlook would protect me against all the 
 other men — if " 
 
 ''Yes, eef " 
 
 "Yes, if I cared absolutely nothing for 
 any single one of them. Therefore, I am not 
 afraid. But you must not annoy me." 
 
 Fury flashed into the man's eyes, into his 
 reddened face, into the sudden tension of 
 his gripped hands. The girl' s contemptuous 
 indifference maddened him. She saw this, 
 and was at once alarmed, for she realized 
 that here was a reckless lover — one who 
 heated dangerously where another would 
 have chilled under disdain ; but she main- 
 tained an unshaken voice, as she said : 
 "You may as well know, however, that I 
 
 t 
 
18 THE ONLY GIRL AT OVERLOOK. 
 
 am amply protected. The night watchman 
 is ordered to include this combined office 
 and residence of mine in every round he 
 makes. So I sleep quite unconcernedly. In 
 the daytime, too, I shall have defense, if 
 it becomes necessary." 
 
 ^'0, have-a no alarm, Mees Warriner," 
 and the man's facial expression softened 
 singularly as he gazed wistfully at the girl. 
 *'I haf said I love-a you." Then, with a 
 startlingly quick transition, he glared menac- 
 ingly off in the direction that Gerald Heath 
 had gone. It seemed curious to Mary, too, 
 that in his rage his English was clearer than 
 usual, as he growled: '^It is your lover 
 that should be afraid of me." He flung out 
 one fist in a fierce menace, and added in Ital- 
 ian : *'!Nel vindicarvi bisogna ch'egli mi 
 rende la sua vita." 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 The full moon looked for Mary Warri- 
 ner's little house that night as soon as 
 a clearance of the sky permitted, and then 
 beamed down on her abode effulgently. 
 But it was eleven o'clock before the gusty 
 wind blew the thick clouds aside and let the 
 orb illumine Overlook. Back of the shed in 
 which the telegrapher worked by day was a 
 structure in which she slept at night. It was 
 
THE ONLY OIRL AT OVERLOOK. 19 
 
 built of slabs, with big growing trees to 
 form its irregular corners, and their lowest 
 limbs contributed the rafters, while stripped 
 bark and evergreen boughs made the roof. 
 The foliage swayed above in the fitful wind, 
 and covered the cabin and the grass around 
 it with commingling, separating, cai^ering 
 shadows of leaves, as though a multitude of 
 little black demons were trying to get to the 
 slumberer within. Their antics looked spite- 
 ful and angry at first : but as the wind les- 
 sened to a breeze, and as the moon seemed to 
 mollify them, they became frolicsome with- 
 out malice ; and at length, when the merest 
 zephyrs impelled their motions, they gam- 
 bolled lazily, good-humoredly above and 
 around the couch of Mary Mite. 
 
 It was midnight when a man shot into the 
 open space around the cabin like a missile. 
 He ran first to the front of the structure, 
 where a tarpaulin curtained the shed for the 
 night, and gazed for a moment blankly at 
 this indication that the hour was not one of 
 business. Tremendous haste was denoted in 
 his every step and gesture. lie plucked 
 twice at the canvas, as though to pull it 
 down. Then he skurried around to the sin- 
 gle window of Mary's apartment, whose 
 only door opened into the shed, and 
 pounded with his knuckles on the ill-fitted 
 sash, making it clatter loudly. Silence 
 
 # 
 
20 THE ONLY GIRL AT OVERLOOK. 
 
 within followed this noise without. ' ' Hello ! 
 Wake up!" he cried. "Don't fool for a 
 minute. Wake up 1 " 
 
 There was no response, and he skipped to 
 and fro in his impatience. He was an ordi- 
 nary shoveler and pounder, with nothing to 
 distinguish him from the mass of manual 
 laborers at Overlook, but, unlike the usual 
 man with an errand at the telegraphic sta- 
 tion, flourished a scrap of paper. 
 
 "I want to telegraph," he shouted, and 
 struck the window again. '' Get up quick ! 
 It's life and death!" 
 
 Mary Warriner was convinced that her 
 services were urgently and properly required. 
 She peeped warily out to inspect the man, 
 estimated him to be merely a messenger, and 
 then opened wide the sash, which swung 
 laterally on hinges. Her delicate face bore 
 the same sort of calm that characterized it in 
 business hours, but the moon shone on it 
 now, the hair had got loose from the bond- 
 age of knot and pin, and for an outer gar- 
 ment she was carelessly enwrapped in a 
 white, fleecy blanket. The man did not give 
 her time to inquire what was wanted. 
 
 *' You're the telegraph girl, ain't you?" 
 he exclaimed. "Well, here's something to 
 telegraph. It's in a hurry, hurry, hurry. 
 Don't lose a minute." 
 
 "I couldn't send it to-night," Mary said. 
 
THE ONLY GIRL AT OVERLOOK. 21 
 
 " You must." 
 
 ''It isn't possible. There is nobody at 
 the other end of the line to receive it. The 
 wire is private — belongs to the railroad com- 
 pany — isn't operated except in the daytime. 
 You'll have to wait until to-morrow." 
 
 "To-morrow I'll be a hundred years old, 
 or else dead," the man almost wailed in de- 
 spair. 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " I was only ten years old yesterday. To- 
 night I'm sixty. To-morrow' 11 be too late. 
 Here— here— send it to-night. Miss. Please 
 send it to-night." 
 
 The mystified girl mechanically took the 
 piece of paper which he thrust into her 
 hands, but her eyes did not drop before they 
 discovered the insanity in his face, and when 
 they did rest on the paper they saw a scrawl 
 of hieroglyphics. It was plain that this 
 midnight visitor was a maniac. She screamed 
 for help. 
 
 A watchman responded almost instantly 
 to her call. Upon seeing the cause of the 
 girl's fright, he treated the incident as a 
 matter of course. The lunatic wobbled like 
 a drunken man about to collapse, as he 
 mumbled his request over and over again. 
 
 "Here, now, Eph," the watchman said, 
 with as much of cajolery as command, 
 ' ' you mustn' t bother the young lady. Ain' t 
 
22 THE ONLY GIRL AT OVERLOOK. 
 
 you ashamed to scare lier this way ? Get 
 right out of this.'* 
 
 The watchman took the other by the arm, 
 and, as they started off — one insisting and 
 one objecting — the official looked back to 
 say: "He won't hurt nobody, Miss War- 
 riner — he's Just a little cranky, that's all." 
 
 Mary watched them out of sight, and while 
 she was doing so, Gerald Heath approached 
 from the contrary direction. He had heard 
 the girl's scream. Why he was within ear- 
 shot he might not have been able to explain 
 satisfactorily, for it was not his habit to 
 take midnight walks, even when the air was 
 so brightly moonlit and so temporarily fine ; 
 but if cross-questioned, he would doubtless 
 have maintained that he had sought only to 
 escape from the darkness and closeness of 
 his shanty quarters. Besides, where would 
 he so likely wander, in quest of good sight 
 and breath, as to the spot whence he could 
 view the scenery which he in vain asked the 
 railway company to exhibit to their passen- 
 gers. As he turned the corner of the cabin 
 he saw Eph and the watchman departing, 
 and comprehended the disturbance. 
 
 ''Eph has been frightening you. Miss 
 Warriner," he said. 
 
 Mary screamed again, but this time it was 
 a low, musical little outcry of modesty. 
 She had not observed Gerald's approach. 
 
THE ONLt GIRL AT OVERLOOK. 23 
 
 She clutclied the blanket closely around her 
 white throat, which had been almost as much 
 exposed as by an ordinary cut of frock, and 
 drew under cover the gleaming wrists which 
 had all day been bared to a greater extent 
 by sleeves of handy working length. Then 
 she reached out one taper arm, and swung 
 the sash around on its hinges, so its inner 
 covering of muslin made a screen between 
 her and the visitor. He did not apologize 
 for his intrusion, and she pouted a little on 
 her safe side of the sash, at his failure to do so. 
 
 "I see it was Eph that alarmed you," he 
 said. ^' What did he do?" 
 
 She told him, and then asked : ' ' Who is 
 he, and what ails him 'i " 
 
 ''He is a common laborer with an uncom- 
 mon affliction," was the reply. ''One day 
 an excavation caved in, and for an hour he 
 was buried. Some timbers made a little 
 space around his head, but the rest of him 
 was packed in earth. He had breathed the 
 inclosed air two or three times over, and was 
 almost suffocated when we got him out. He 
 was insensible. He never came back to his 
 senses. He believes he is living at the rate 
 of more than a year every hour. Tiiis is 
 why he was in such a hurry with his imagin- 
 ary message." 
 
 "Poor fellow," came from the obverse 
 side of the sash. 
 
24 THE ONLY GIRL AT OVERLOOK. 
 
 " Yes, poor fellow," tlie narrator assented. 
 *' I understood his hallucination at once. 
 When a man is suddenly placed in mortal 
 peril, his past life dashes before him. Half 
 drowned men afterward tell of reviewing in 
 a minute the events of years. It is a curi- 
 ous mental phenomenon. Well, this poor 
 chap had that familiar experience, but with 
 a singular sequence. The impression that 
 all his lifetime before the accident happened 
 in a brief time has remained in his disordered 
 mind. He believes that his whole earthly 
 existence is condensed — that future years, as 
 well as his past ones, are compressed into 
 days, and his days into minutes. Nothing 
 can disabuse him of this idea. Everything 
 is to him ephemeral. That's why I nick- 
 named him Eph— short for Ephemeral, you 
 see. He doesn't remember his real name, 
 and on the roll he had only a number. He 
 has done his work well enough until within 
 a few days, but now his malady seems to 
 have turned to the worst. He has talked 
 wildly of getting some physicians to check 
 the speed of time with him, and it may have 
 been that he wished to telegraph to this 
 fancied expert." 
 
 *'It is singular," Mary said, '^and very 
 sad." 
 
 The midnight incident seemed to have 
 come to a conclusion. It was a proper time 
 
THE ONLY GIRL AT OVERLOOK. 25 
 
 for Gerald to say good-night and go away. 
 He still stood on the opposite side of the 
 half-open sash, around the edge of which 
 appeared a small set of finger tips, which 
 pulled the screen a little closer, showing 
 that the girl was minded to shut herself 
 in. But a hand twice as big opposed 
 hers, gently yet strongly, and in doing so it 
 touched hers ; upon which she let go, and 
 the window flew open. 
 
 ''Oh, you mustn't see me," Mary ex- 
 claimed, as Gerald got a vanishing glimpse 
 of the white-drajDed figure. ''Good-night." 
 
 " You will be afraid if left alone," Gerald 
 protested; "you can't go to sleep, nervous 
 as you must be." 
 
 "I surely can't go to sleep talking," was 
 her rejoinder, with the first touch of coquetry 
 she had indulged in at Overlook. 
 
 "I won't talk, then. I'll only keep guard 
 out here until daylight. Eph may return." 
 
 *'But there's the watchman. It is his 
 duty." 
 
 '' It would be my delight." 
 
 That silenced the invisible inmate of the 
 cabin. The moon shone into the square 
 opening, but Mary was ensconced some- 
 where in the darkness that bordered the in- 
 come of light. 
 
 "Should I apologize?" Gerald at length 
 
26 THE ONLY GIRL AT OVEBLOOK. 
 
 began again. "It is like this, Miss Warri- 
 ner. I used to know how to behave politely 
 to a lady. But for six years I've lived in 
 wildernesses — in railroad camps — from Can- 
 ada to Mexico. We've had no ladies in 
 these rough places — no women, except once 
 in a while some mannish washerwoman or 
 cook. That's what makes you so rare— so 
 unexpected — that is why it would be a de- 
 light to be a patrolman outside your quar- 
 ters — that is why I don't wish to go 
 away." 
 
 " Oh ! — oh ! I am interesting because I am 
 the only specimen of my sex at Overlook. 
 That isn't a doubtful compliment; it is no 
 compliment at all. Good-night." 
 
 "You misconstrue me altogether. I 
 
 "lam sure you do not mean," and now 
 the tone was pleadingly serious, " to remain 
 here at my window after I request you to go 
 away. I am, as you have said, the only girl 
 at Overlook." 
 
 "If there were a thousand girls at Over- 
 look " 
 
 "JSTot one of them, I trust, would prolong 
 a dialogue with a young gentleman at night 
 through the open window of her bedroom." 
 
 Half in respectful deference to Mary's un- 
 assailable statement of the rule of propriety 
 
THE ONLY QIRL AT OVERLOOK. 27 
 
 applicable to the situation, and half in in- 
 considerate petulance at being dismissed, 
 Gerald let go of the sash with an impulse 
 that almost closed it. This time two minia- 
 ture hands came out under the swinging 
 frame. Would more than one hand have 
 been naturally used ? Was it not an awk- 
 ward method of shutting a window ? And 
 Mary Warriner was not a clumsy creature. 
 But there were the hands, and Gerald 
 grasped them. They fluttered for freedom, 
 like birds held captive in broad palms by 
 completely caging fingers. Then he un- 
 covered them, but for an instant kept them 
 prisoners by encircling the wrists long 
 enough to impetuously kiss them. Another 
 second and they were gone, the window was 
 closed, and they were alone. 
 
 He walked slowly away, accusing himself 
 of folly and ungentlemanliness, and he felt 
 better upon getting out of the clear, search- 
 ing moonshine into the dim, obscuring shade 
 of rocks and trees, among which the path 
 wound crookedly. There rapid footsteps 
 startled him, as though he was a skulking 
 evildoer, and the swift approach of a man 
 along an intersecting pathway, made him 
 feel like taking to cowardly flight. But he 
 recognized the monomaniac, Eph, who was 
 in a breathless tremor. 
 
28 THE ONLY GIRL AT OVERLOOK. 
 
 *'Mr. Heath," could a man walk to Dim- 
 mersville before the telegraph station there 
 opens in the morning?" Eph asked, with 
 several catches of breath and a reeling move- 
 ment of physical weakness. 
 
 "You go to bed, Eph," was the reply, 
 meant to be soothing, and I'll see that your 
 telegram goes from here the earliest thiug in 
 the morning. That won' t be more than six 
 or seven hours from now." 
 
 " Six or seven hours," the poor fellow de- 
 ploringly moaned; "I'll be a good many 
 years older by that time. Oh, it's awful to 
 have your life go whizzing away like mine 
 does," and he clutched at Gerald with his 
 fidgety hands, with a vague idea of slowing 
 himself by holding to a normal human 
 being. 
 
 Then he darted away, swaying from side 
 to side with faintness, and disappeared in 
 the foliage which lined the path he was fol- 
 lowing. 
 
 Gerald watched him out of sight, and was 
 about to resume his own different way when 
 the voice of Tonio Ravelli was heard, with 
 its Italian extra a to the short words and a 
 heavy emphasis on the final syllable of the 
 long ones. 
 
 " Mistair Heath," he said, " I saw-a your 
 affectionate par-ting weez Mees Warriner." 
 
THE ONLY OIRL AT OVERLOOK 29 
 
 Gerald had just then the mind of a culprit, 
 and he began to explain apologetically : "It 
 was cowardly in me to insult a defenseless 
 girl. She didn' t invite it. I am ashamed of 
 myself." 
 
 He hardly realized to whom he was speak- 
 ing. The two men were now walking 
 rapidly, Ravelli taking two strides to one of 
 the bigger Gerald, in order to keep along- 
 side. 
 
 " You-a should be ashamed — you-a scoun- 
 drel." 
 
 As much of jealous fury and venomous 
 malice as could be vocalized in six words 
 was in Eavelli's sudden outbreak. Gerald 
 was astounded. He turned upon his com- 
 panion, caught him by both lapels of the 
 coat, and shook him so violently that his 
 boot-soles pounded the ground. Ravelli 
 staggered back upon being loosed, and threw 
 one arm around a tree to steady him- 
 self. 
 
 " I didn't mean to hurt you," said Gerald, 
 "but you shouldn't be reckless with your 
 language. Perhaps you don't know what 
 scoundrel means in English." 
 
 " I saw you-a kiss her hands." 
 
 "Did you ? Well, do you know what I'd 
 do to you, Eavelli, if I saw you kiss her 
 hands— as I did — without her consent ? I'd 
 
30 THE ONLY OIRL AT OVERLOOK. 
 
 wring your miserable neck. Now, what are 
 you going to do to me ? " 
 
 *' I am-a going to keel you ! " 
 
 The blade of a knife flashed in Ravelli's 
 right hand, as he made a furious onslaught ; 
 but the stronger and quicker man gripped 
 both of his assailant's wrists, threw him 
 violently to the ground, and tortured him 
 with wrenches and doublings until he had to 
 drop the weapon. In the encounter the 
 clothes of both men were torn, and when 
 Eavelli regained his feet blood was drip- 
 ping from his hand. The blade had cut 
 it. 
 
 '*You meant to kill me," Gerald ex- 
 claimed. 
 
 *'I said-a so," was the sullen, menacing 
 response. 
 
 " And with my own knife ! " and Gerald, 
 picking up the knife, recognized it. 
 
 *' Your own knife — ze one zat you carve-a 
 Mary's hand with so lovingly." 
 
 Ravelli had retained it since the previous 
 afternoon, when he had picked [it up from 
 Mary Warriner's desk. Its blade was now 
 red with blood, as Gerald shut and pock- 
 eted it. 
 
 " You cowardly murderer ! " 
 
 "Murderer ? Not-a yet. But I meant to 
 be." 
 
TEE ONLY OIRL AT OVERLOOK. 31 
 
 Eavelli turned off by the cross-path, and 
 Gerald passed on. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 The first man to go to work at Overlook 
 in the morning was Jim Wilson, be- 
 cause he had to rouse the fire under a boiler 
 early enough to provide steam for a score of 
 rock drills. The night watchman awakened 
 him at daybreak, according to custom, and 
 then got into a bunk as the other got out of 
 one. 
 
 '' Everything all right ? " Jim asked. 
 
 '' I guess so," the other replied. " But I 
 hain't seen your boiler sence before midnight. 
 Eph was disturbin' Mary Mite, and so I 
 hung 'round her cabin pretty much the last 
 half of the night." 
 
 Jim went to his post at the boiler, and at 
 an unaccustomed pace, from the point where 
 he first saw and heard steam hissing upward 
 from the safety valve. On quitting the night 
 previous, he had banked the fire as usual, 
 and this morning he should have found it 
 burning so slowly that an hour of raking, 
 replenishing, and open draughts would no 
 more than start the machinery at seven 
 o'clock. Going nearer he found that open 
 dampers and a fresh supply of coal had set 
 the furnace raging. 
 
32 THE ONLY OIJRL AT OVERLOOK. 
 
 What was that which protruded from the 
 open door, and so nearly filled the aperture 
 that the draught was not impaired ? 
 
 A glance gave the answer. It was the legs 
 and half the body of a man, whose head and 
 shoulders were thoroughly charred, as Jim 
 was horrified to see when he pulled the re- 
 mains out upon the ground. 
 
 Jim ran to tell the superintendent, and 
 within a few minutes a knot of excited men 
 surrounded the body. The gathering grew 
 in numbers rapidly. By means of the cloth- 
 ing the dead and partially burned man was 
 identified at once as Tonio Ravelli. That he 
 had been murdered was an equally easy 
 conclusion. The murderer had apparently 
 sought to cremate the corpse. Whether he 
 had found it physically impossible, or had 
 been frightened away, could only be con- 
 jectured. 
 
 '' Who can have done it ? " was the ques- 
 tion asked by Superintendent Brainerd, the 
 autocrat of Overlook. 
 
 There was a minute of silence, with all 
 staring intently at the body, as though half 
 expecting it to somehow disclose the truth. 
 The night watchman was first to speak. 
 
 ''Eph might have done it," he said. 
 
 Then he told of the monomaniac's visit to 
 the telegraph station, and of the acute stage 
 which his malady had reached. Nobody 
 
THE ONLY OillL AT OVERLOOK. 33 
 
 else present had seen liim since the previous 
 evening. Superintendent Brainerd ordered 
 a search of the lodgings. Ten minutes v^ere 
 sufficient for a round of the different quarters. 
 Eph was in none of them. The searchers 
 returned to tlie furnace, and with them came 
 Gerald Heath. 
 
 '' I met Eph yonder where the paths cross, 
 not a hundred yards from here, a little past 
 midnight," Gerald said. ''He was terribly 
 excited. That was after he had tried in 
 vain to telegraph a crazy message. Evi- 
 dently his delusion, that his whole life was 
 condensed into a brief space, had driven him 
 to a frenzy. He spoke of walking to I)im- 
 mersville, but I tried to quiet him, and he 
 disappeared." 
 
 Dimmersville was a town about ten miles 
 distant, in a direction opposite to that from 
 which the railroad had worked its way 
 through the mountains. No wire connected 
 it with Overlook, and there was no public 
 road for the nearest third of the way, al- 
 though a faint trail showed the course that 
 a few persons had taken on foot or horseback. 
 
 "Very likely Eph has gone toward Dim- 
 mersville," Brainerd argued, "and we must 
 try to catch him." 
 
 Before the order could be specifically 
 given a horse and a rider arose over the edge 
 of the level ground and came into the midst 
 
34 THE ONLY GIRL AT OVERLOOK. 
 
 of the assemblage. The man in the saddle 
 had a professional aspect, imparted chiefly 
 by his smoothly shaven face. In this era of 
 mustaches a hairless visage is apt to be as- 
 signed to a clergyman, who shaves thus from 
 a motive of j^ropriety ; an actor, who does it 
 from necessity ; or somebody who aims at 
 facial distinction without the features suit- 
 able to that i)urx30se. A countenance of 
 which it can only be said that it has one 
 nose, one mouth, and two eyes, all placed in 
 expressive nonentity, and which is dominated 
 utterly by hair on and around it, may be 
 less lost to individuality if entirely shaven. 
 Of such seemed the visage of the dark man, 
 who calmly rode into the excitement at 
 Overlook. 
 
 *' Which way have you come?" Brainerd 
 asked. 
 
 '' From Dimmersville," was the replj^ 
 " Did you see anybody on the way ? " 
 '' I started very early. Folks were not out 
 of their beds in the houses— as long as there 
 were any houses — and that is only for five or 
 six miles, you know. After that — yes — I 
 did see one man. A curiously excited chap. 
 He looked tired out. He asked the distance 
 to Dimmersville, and whether the telegraph 
 office would be open by the time he got 
 there. Then he skurried on before I'd half 
 answered him." 
 
THE ONLY GIRL AT OVERLOOK. 35 
 
 All that was known of tlie murder was 
 told to tlie stranger by lialf a dozen glib 
 tongues, and it was explained to liim that he 
 had encountered the maniacal fugitive. 
 
 " I knew there was something wrong about 
 him," said the stranger. '' It is my business 
 to be observant." 
 
 He dismounted and hitched his horse to a 
 tree. The dead body was shown to him. 
 He examined it very thoroughly. All the 
 particulars were related to him over and 
 over. Then he drew Superintendent Brain- 
 erd aside. 
 
 *'My name is Terence 0' Reagan," he 
 said, and in his voice was faintly distinguish- 
 able the brogue of the land whence the 
 O'Reagans came. " I am a government de- 
 tective. I have been sent to work up evi- 
 dence in the case of some Italian counter- 
 feiters. We had a clew pointing to a sub- 
 contractor here — the very man who lies there 
 dead. Oar information was that he used 
 some of -the bogus bills in paying off his 
 gang. Now, it isn't going outside my mis- 
 sion to investigate his death — if you don't 
 object." 
 
 " I would be glad to have you take hold 
 of it," Brainerd replied. "We can't bring 
 the authorities here before noon, at the ear- 
 liest, and in the mean time you can perhaps 
 clear it all uj)." 
 
36 THE ONLY GIRL AT OVERLOOK. 
 
 The eagerly carious men had crowded 
 close to this brief dialogue, and had heard 
 the latter part of it. 0' Reagan became in- 
 stantly an important personage, upon whose 
 smallest word or movement they hung ex- 
 pectantly, and nobody showed a keener in- 
 terest than Gerald Heath. The detective 
 first examined the body. The pockets of 
 Ravelli's clothes contained a wallet, with its 
 money untouched, beside a gold watch. 
 
 "So robbery was not the object," said 
 O' Reagan to Brainerd. *• The motive is the 
 first thing to look for in a case of murder." 
 
 Next, he found blood on the waistcoat, a 
 great deal of it, but dried by the fire that had 
 burned the shoulders and head ; and in the 
 baked cloth were three cuts, under which he 
 exposed three stab wounds. Strokes of a 
 knife had, it seemed, killed the victim be- 
 fore he was thrust partially into the furnace. 
 
 A storm w^as coming to Overlook unper- 
 ceived, for the men were too much engrossed 
 in what lay there on the ground, ghastly and 
 horrible, to pay any attention to the cloud- 
 ing sky. Gloom was so fit for the scene, too, 
 that nobody gave a thought from whence it 
 came. To Gerald Heath the going out of 
 sunlight, and the settling down of dusky 
 shadows seemed a mental experience of his 
 own. He stood bewildered, transfixed, 
 vaguely conscious of peril, and yet too numb 
 
THE ONLY GIRL AT OVERLOOK, 37 
 
 to sj)eak or stir. Detective O' Reagan, 
 straightening up from over tlie body, looked 
 piercingly at Gerald, and then glanced around 
 at the rest. 
 
 *'Is there anybody here who saw Tonio 
 Ravelli last night ? " he asked. 
 
 *'Idid," Gerald replied. 
 
 ' ' Where and when ? " 
 
 *' At the same place where I met Eph, and 
 immediately afterward." 
 
 "Ah ! now we are locating Eph and Ra- 
 velli together. That looks like the lunatic 
 being undoubtedly the stabber." 
 
 "And we must catch him," Brainerd in- 
 terposed. "I'll send riders toward Dim- 
 mersville immediately." 
 
 "No great hurry about that," the detec- 
 tive remarked ; "he is too crazy to have had 
 any clear motive or any idea of escape. It 
 will be easy enough to capture him." Then 
 he turned to Gerald, and c^uestioned with the 
 air of a cross -examiner : " Did the two men 
 have any words together?" 
 
 "No," was the ready answer; "I don't 
 know that they even saw each other at that 
 time. Eph went away an instant before Ra- 
 velli came." 
 
 " Did you talk with Ravelli « " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "About what?" 
 
 "Not about Eph at all." 
 
38 THE ONLY OIRL AT OVERLOOK. 
 
 *' About what, then?" 
 
 Now the reply came reluctantly : ''A per- 
 sonal matter — something that had occurred 
 between us — an incident at the telegraph 
 station." 
 
 *' The station where Eph had awakened 
 the girl operator ? Was it a quarrel about 
 her?" 
 
 *'That is no concern of yours. You are 
 impertinent." 
 
 *'Well, sir, the question is pertinent— as 
 the lawyers say — and the answer concerns 
 you, whether it does me or not. You and 
 Ravelli quarreled about the girl ? " 
 
 '' The young lady shall not be dragged in- 
 to this. She wasn't responsible for what 
 happened between Ravelli and me." 
 
 *' What did happen between you and Ra- 
 velli?" 
 
 The two men stood close to and facing 
 each other. The eyes of the detective glared 
 gloatingly at an upward angle into the pale 
 but still firm face of the taller Gerald, and 
 then dropped slowly, until they became 
 fixed on a red stain on the sleeve of the 
 other's coat. Did he possess the animal 
 scent of a bloodhound ? 
 
 " What is that ? " he sharply asked. He 
 seized the arm and smelled of the spotted 
 fabric. ''It is blood! Let me see your 
 knife." 
 
THE ONLY GIRL AT OVERLOOIC 30 
 
 Quite mechanically Gerald tlirusfc one hand 
 into his trousers pocket and brought out the 
 knife which he had taken back from Ravelli, 
 whose blood was on it yet. 
 
 The storm was overhead. A first peal of 
 thunder broke loudly. It came at the in- 
 stant of the assemblage's tensest interest — 
 at the instant when Gerald Heath was aghast 
 with the revelation of his awful jeopardy — 
 at the instant of his exposure as a murderer. 
 It impressed them and him with a shock of 
 something supernatural. The reverberation 
 rumbled into silence, which was broken by 
 O' Reagan : 
 
 "There'll be no need to catch Eph," he 
 said, in a tone of professional glee. " This 
 man is the murderer." 
 
 Again thunder rolled and rumbled angrilj- 
 above Overlook, and the party, stood aghast 
 in the presence of the man dead and the man 
 condemned. 
 
 "Bring him to the telegraph station," 
 O' Reagan commanded. 
 
 Nobody disputed the detective's methods 
 now— not even Gerald ; and a prisoner as 
 completely as though manacled, although 
 not touched by any one, he went with the 
 rest. 
 
 Mary Warriner had taken down the tar- 
 paulin front of her shed when the men ap 
 proached. In the ordinary course of hei 
 
40 TUE ONLY GIRL AT OVERLOOK. 
 
 early morning doings slie would wait an 
 hour to dispatch and receive the first tele- 
 grams of the day, and then go to breakfast 
 alone at the table where the engineers and 
 overseers would by that time have had their 
 meal. She was astonished to see nearly the 
 whole population of Overlook crowd around 
 her quarters, while a few entered. But she 
 went quickly behind the desk, and took her 
 place on the stool. The soberness of the 
 faces imx)ressed her, but nothing indicated 
 that Gerald was in custody, and her quick 
 thought was that some disaster made it 
 necessary to use the wire importantly. 
 
 '*I wish to send a message," said O' Rea- 
 gan, stepping forward. 
 
 The eyes of the girl rested on him inquir- 
 ingly, and he palpably flinched, but as obvi- 
 ously nerved himself to proceed, and when 
 he spoke again the Irish accent became more 
 I)ronounced to hear, although not sufficiently 
 to be shown in the printed words: ''I will 
 dictate it slowly, so that you can transmit it 
 as I speak. Are you ready ? " 
 
 Mary's fingers were on the key, and her 
 bright, alert face was an answer to the query. 
 
 ''To Henry Deckerman, president," the 
 detective slowly said, waiting for the clicks 
 of the instrument to put his language on the 
 wire ; " Tonio Ravelli, a sub-contractor here, 
 was murdered last night." 
 
THE ONLY OIRL AT OVhliLOOK. 41 
 
 Mary's hand slid away from the key after 
 sending that, and the always faint tint in 
 her cheeks faded out, and her eyes flickered 
 up in a scared way to the stern faces in front 
 of her. The shock of the news that a man 
 had been slain, and that he was a man who, 
 only the previous day, had profi'ered his 
 love to her, was for a moment disabling. 
 But the habit of her employment controlled 
 her, and she awaited the further dicta- 
 tion. 
 
 " His body was found this morning in the 
 furnace of the steam boiler." O' Reagan 
 resumed deliberately, "where it had evi- 
 dently been placed in a vain attempt to 
 destroy it." 
 
 A shudder went through Mary, and she 
 convulsively wrung her small hands together, 
 as though to limber them from a cramp. 
 But her Angers went back to the key. 
 
 "The murderer has been discovered," the 
 detective slowly continued, and the operator 
 kept along with his utterance word by word. 
 " He killed Ravelli for revenge. It was a 
 love affair." Here the girl grew whiter still, 
 and the clicks became very slow, but they 
 did not cease. O'Eeagan's voice was cold 
 and ruthless : " The motive of the murderer 
 was revenge. His name is Gerald Heath." 
 
 All but the name flashed oif on the wire. 
 Mary Warriner's power to stir the key 
 
42 THE ONLY OIRL AT OVERLOOK, 
 
 stopped at that. She did not faint. She 
 did not make any outcry. For a moment 
 she looked as though tlie soul had gone out 
 of lior body, leaving a corpse sitting there. 
 A grievous wail of wind came through the 
 trees, and a streak of lightning zig-zagged 
 down the blue-clouded sky. 
 
 ^'Go on," said O'Reagan. 
 
 '* I will not," was the determined response. 
 
 ^' Why not?" 
 
 *' Because it is not so. Gerald Heath 
 never murdered Ravelli." 
 
 Gerald had stood motionless and silent. 
 Now he gave way to an impulse as remark- 
 able as his previous composure had been 
 singular. If there had been stagnation in 
 his mind, it was now displaced by turbulence. 
 He grasped Mary' s hands in a fervid grip ; 
 then dropped them and faced the others. 
 
 "I did not kill the Italian," he said. 
 ''He attacked me with my knife which he 
 had stolen. In the struggle his hand was 
 cut, but I took the wea^oon away from him. 
 He quitted me alive and unhurt. I never 
 saw him again. You don' t believe it ? Mary 
 does, and that is more than all else." 
 
 ''The circumstances don't favor you," the 
 detective retorted, " they convict you. You 
 killed Ravelli because you and he were both 
 in love with this young lady." 
 
 " Isn't it the rejected suitor who kills the 
 
TEE ONLY GIRL AT OVERLOOK. 43 
 
 Other one for spite?" This was in Mary 
 Warriner's voice, weak, but still steady. 
 *' Ravelli loved me, I knew, and I drove 
 him away. Mr. Heath loved me, I believed, 
 and I had not repulsed him. If I were the 
 cause of a murder between them, it should 
 be Kavelli who killed Gerald." 
 
 ''You detested Eavelli?" O'Reagan 
 asked, with a strange bitterness. 
 
 ''Yes." 
 
 " And you love Heath ? " 
 
 The answer was no more hesitant than be- 
 fore ; "Yes." 
 
 " Send the rest of my message," and the 
 detective was boisterous. " Send the name. 
 Gerald Heath is the murderer." 
 
 He roughly seized her hand and clapped it 
 on the key. She drew it away, leaving his 
 there. A blinding flash of lightning illu- 
 mined the place, and what looked like a 
 missile of fire flew down the wire to the in- 
 strument, where it exploded. O'Reagan fell 
 insensible from the powerful electrical shock. 
 The rest did not altogether escape, and for a 
 minute all were dazed. The first thing that 
 they fully comprehended was that O'Reagan 
 was getting unsteadily to his feet. He was 
 bewildered. Staggering and reeling, he be- 
 gan to talk. 
 
 Mary was first to perceive the import of 
 his utterance. He was merely going on with 
 
44 THE ONLY GIRL AT OVERLOOK. 
 
 what lie had been saying, but the manner, 
 not the matter, was astounding. 
 
 He spoke with an Italian accent, and made 
 Italian gestures. 
 
 ''You-a send ze mes-sage," he said; 
 *' Heath ees ze murder-are. Send-a ze mes- 
 sage, I say." 
 
 Tonio Ravelli had unwittingly resumed his 
 Italian style of English. 
 
 His plenitude of hair and whiskers was 
 gone; and in the face, thereby uncovered, 
 nobody could have recognized him in De- 
 tective 0' Reagan but for his lapse into the 
 foreign accent ; and he said so much before 
 discovering his blunder that his identifica- 
 tion, as indeed Ravelli, was complete. 
 
 Who, then, was the dead man ? Why, he 
 was Eph. 
 
 Nothing but the fear of being himself con- 
 demned as a murderer of the maniac, as a 
 part of the scheme of revenge against Gerald, 
 induced Ravelli to explain. He had found 
 Eph lying dead in the path, after both had 
 parted from Gerald. The plot to exchange 
 clothes with the corpse, drag it to the fur- 
 nace, burn away all possibility of recogni- 
 tion, and thus make it seem to be his mur- 
 dered self, w^as carried out with all the hot 
 haste of a jealous vengeance. Ravelli was not 
 an Italian, although very familiar with the 
 language of Italy, and able, by a natural gift 
 
THE ONLY GIRL AT OVERLOOK. 45 
 
 of mimicry, to hide himself from pursuit for 
 a previous crime. Overlook had been a ref- 
 uge until his passion for Mary Warriner led 
 him to abandon his disguise. Thereupon, 
 he had turned himself into Terence O' Rea- 
 gan, a detective, whose malicious work 
 wrought happiness for Gerald Heath and 
 Mary Warriner,. 
 
A THING 
 THAT GLISl'ENED. 
 
 BY FRANK II. STOCKTON. 
 
 IN the fall of 1888 the steamshix) Sunda, 
 from Southampton, was running along 
 the southern coast of Long Island, not many- 
 hours from i^ort, when she was passed by- 
 one of the great British liners, outward 
 bound. The tide was high, and the course 
 of both vessels was nearer the coast than is 
 usual — that of the Sunda being inside of the 
 other. 
 
 As the two steamers passed each other 
 there was a great waving of hats and hand- 
 kerchiefs. Suddenly- there was a scream 
 from the Sunda. It came from Signora 
 Rochita, the prima donna of an opera troupe, 
 which was coming to America in that ship, 
 
 ''I have lost my bracelet," she cried 
 in Italian, and then, turning to the passen- 
 gers, she repeated the cry in very good 
 English. 
 
A THINO THAT GLISTENED. 47 
 
 The situation was instantly comprehended 
 by every one. It was late in the afternoon ; 
 the captain had given a grand dinner to the 
 passengers, at which the prima donna had 
 appeared in all her glories of ornamentation, 
 and the greatest of these glories, a magnifi- 
 cent diamond bracelet, was gone from the 
 arm with whicli she had been enthusias- 
 tically waving her lace handkerchief. 
 
 The second officer, who was standing near, 
 dashed into the captain's office and quickly 
 reappeared with chart and instruments, and 
 made rapid calculation of the position of the 
 vessel at the time of the accident, making an 
 allowance for the few minutes that had passed 
 since the first cry of the signora. After con- 
 sultation with the captain and recalculations 
 of the distance from land and some other 
 points, he announced to the weeping signora 
 that her bracelet lay under a little black sjDot 
 he had made on the chart, and that if she 
 chose to send a diver for it she might get it, 
 for the depth of water at that place was not 
 great. 
 
 By profession T am a diver, and the next 
 day I was engaged to search for the diamond 
 bracelet of Signora Rochita. I had a copy 
 of the chart, and, having hired a small 
 schooner with several men who had been my 
 assistants before, and taking with me all the 
 necessary accouterments and appliances, I 
 
48 A THING THAT GLISTENED. 
 
 set out for tlie spot indicated, and by after- 
 noon we were anchored, we believed, at or 
 very near it. I lost no time in descending. 
 I wore, of course, the usual diver's suit, but 
 I took with me no tools nor any of the im- 
 plements used by divers when examining 
 wrecks, but carried in my right hand a bril- 
 liant electric lamp connected with a powerful 
 battery on the schooner. I held this by an 
 insulated handle, in which there were two 
 little knobs, by which I could light or extin- 
 guish it. 
 
 The bottom was hard and smooth, and 
 lighting my lamp I began to look about me. 
 If I approached the bracelet I ought to be 
 able to see it sparkle, but after wandering 
 over considerable space, I saw no sparkles 
 nor anything like a bracelet. Suddenly, 
 however, I saw something which greatly in- 
 terested me. It was a hole in the bottom of 
 the ocean, almost circular, and at least ten 
 feet in diameter. I was surprised that I had 
 not noticed it before, for it lay not far from 
 the stern of our vessel. 
 
 Standing near the rocky edge of the aper- 
 ture, I held out my lamp and looked down. 
 Not far below I saw the glimmer of what 
 seemed to be the bottom of this subterranean 
 well. I was seized with a desire to explore 
 this great hole running down under the 
 ordinary bottom of the sea. I signaled to 
 
A THING THAT GLISTENED. 49 
 
 be lowered, and although my comrades were 
 much surprised at such an order, they 
 obeyed, and down I went to the well. The 
 sides of this seemed rocky and almost per- 
 pendicular, but after descending about fifteen 
 feet they receded on every side, and I found 
 myself going down into a wide cavern, the 
 floor of which I touched in a very short time. 
 
 Holding np my lamp, and looking about 
 me, I found myself in a sea cave, some thirty 
 feet in diameter, with a dome-like roof, in 
 which, a little to one side of the center, was 
 the lower opening of the well. I became 
 very much excited ; this was just the sort of 
 place into which a bracelet or anything else 
 of value might be expected to have the bad 
 luck to drop. I walked about and gazed 
 everywhere, but I found nothing but rocks 
 and water. 
 
 I was about to signal to be drawn up, when 
 above me I saw what appeared to be a flash 
 of darkness coming down through the well. 
 With a rush and a swirl it entered the 
 cavern, and in a moment I recognized the 
 fact that a great fish was swoox)ing around 
 and about me. Its movements were so rapid 
 and irregular, now circling along the outer 
 edge of the floor of the cavern, then mount- 
 ing above me, until its back seemed to scrape 
 the roof, that I could not form a correct idea 
 of the size of the creature. It seemed to me 
 
fiO A THING THAT GLISTENED. 
 
 to be at least twenty feet along. I stood 
 almost stupefied, keeping my eyes, as far as 
 possible, fixed upon the swiftly moving mon- 
 ster. 
 
 Sometimes he came quite near me, when I 
 shuddered in every fiber, and then he shot 
 away, but ever gliding with powerful undu- 
 lations of his body and tail, around, about, 
 and above me. I did not dare to signal to be 
 drawn up, for fear that the terrible creature 
 would enter the well hole vrith me. Then he 
 vrould probably touch me, perhaps crush me 
 against the wall, but my mind was capable 
 of forming no plans. I only hoped the fish 
 would ascend and disappear by the way he 
 came. 
 
 My mind was not in its strongest condition, 
 being much upset by a great trouble, and I 
 was so frightened that I really did not know 
 what I ought to do, but I had sense enough 
 left to feel sure that the fish had been at- 
 tracted into the cavern by my lam^). Obvi- 
 ously, the right thing to do was to extinguish 
 it, but the very thought of this nearly drove 
 me into a frenzy. I could not endure to be 
 left alone with the shark in darkness and 
 water. It was an insane idea, but I felt that, 
 whatever happened, I must keej) my eyes 
 upon him. 
 
 Now the great fish began to swoop nearer 
 and nearer to me, and then, suddenly chang- 
 
.1 THING TEAT GLISTENED. 51 
 
 ing its tactics, it receded to the most distant 
 wall of the cavern, where, with its head to- 
 ward me, it remained, for the first time, 
 motionless. But this did not continue long. 
 Gently turning over on its side, it opened its 
 great mouth, and in an instant, with a rush, 
 it came directly at me. My light shone full 
 into its vast mouth, glistening with teeth, 
 and there was a violent jerk which nearly 
 threw me from my feet, and all was black- 
 ness. The shark had swallowed my lamp ! 
 By rare good fortune, he did not take my 
 hand also. 
 
 Now I frantically tugged at my signal 
 rope. Without my lamp I had no thought 
 but a desire to be pulled out of the water, 
 no matter what happened. In a few minutes 
 I sat, divested of my diving suit, and almost 
 insensible, upon the deck of the schooner. 
 As soon as I was able to talk I told my aston- 
 ished comrades what had happened, and 
 while we were discussing this strange occur- 
 rence, one of them, looking over the side, 
 saw slowly rising to the surface the body of 
 a dead shark. 
 
 '*By George," he cried, ^'here is the 
 beast. He has been killed by the current 
 from the battery." 
 
 AYe all crowded to the rail and looked 
 down upon the monster. He was about ten 
 feet long, and it was plain that he had died 
 
52 A THING THAT GLISTENED. 
 
 for making himself the connection between 
 the poles of the battery. 
 
 '' Well," said the captain pleasantly. " I 
 suppose you are not going down again?" 
 
 "Not I," I replied. " I give uj) this job." 
 
 Then suddenly I cried : 
 
 ** Come boys, all of you. Make fast to 
 that shark, and get him on board. I want 
 him." 
 
 Some of the men laughed, but my manner 
 was so earnest that in a moment they all set 
 about to help me. A small boat was low- 
 ered, lines were made fast to the dead lish 
 with block and tackle, and we hauled him 
 on deck. I then got a butcher's knife from 
 the cabin and began to cut him open. 
 
 " Look here, Tom ! " exclaimed the cap- 
 tain, ''that's nonsense. Your lamp's all 
 smashed to pieces, and if you get it out, it 
 will never be any good to you." 
 
 "I don't care for the lamp," I answered, 
 working away energetically, ''but an idea 
 has struck me. It's plain that this creature 
 had a fancy for shining things. If he swal- 
 lowed a lamp, there is no reason why he 
 should not have swallowed anything else 
 that glittered." 
 
 "Oho!" cried the captain, "you think 
 he swallowed the bracelet, do you ? " 
 
 And instantly everybody crowded more 
 closely about me. 
 
A THING THAT GLTSTENED. 53 
 
 I got out the lamp. Its wires were sev- 
 ered as smoothly as if they had been cut 
 by shears. Then I worked on. Suddenly 
 there was a cry from every man. Something 
 glimmered in the dark interior of the fish. 
 I grasped it and drew it out. It was not a 
 bracelet, but a pint bottle which glimmered 
 like a glow-worm. With the bottle in my 
 hand, I sat upon the deck and gazed at it. 
 I shook it. It shone brighter. A bit of oiled 
 silk was tied tightly over the cork, and it 
 was plain to see that it was partly filled with 
 a light colored oil, into which a bit of phos- 
 phorous had been dropped, which, on being 
 agitated, filled the bottle with a dim light. 
 
 But there was something more in the 
 bottle than phosphorus and oil. I could see 
 a tin tube, corked at each end, and the ex- 
 posed parts of the 'corks spreading enough 
 to prevent the tin from striking the glass. 
 We all knew that this was one of those 
 bottles containing a communication of some 
 sort, which are often thrown into the sea, 
 and float about until they are picked up. 
 The addition of the oil and phosphorus was 
 intended to make it visible by night as well 
 as by day, and this was plainly the reason 
 why it had been swallowed by a light-loving 
 shark. 
 
 I poured out the oil and extracted the 
 tube. Wiping it carefully, I drew out the 
 
64 A THING THAT GLISTENED. 
 
 corks, and then, from the little tin cylinder, 
 I pulled a half sheet of note paper, rolled up 
 tightly. I unrolled it, and read these 
 words : 
 
 Before I jump overboard, I want to let people 
 know that I killed John Polhemus. So I have fixed 
 up this bottle. I hope it may be picked up in time to 
 keep Jim Barker from being hung. I did think of 
 leaving it on the steamer, but I might change my 
 mind about jumping overboard, and I guess this is the 
 best way. The clothes I wore and the liatchet I did 
 it with are under the woodshed, back of Polhemus's 
 
 ^'^^^®- Henry Ramsey. 
 
 I sprang to my feet with a yell. Jim Bar- 
 ker was my brother, now lying in prison 
 under sentence of death for the murder of 
 Polhemus; all the circumstantial evidence, 
 and there was no other, had been against 
 him. The note was dated eight months 
 back. Oh ! cruel fool of a murderer. 
 
 The shark was thrown overboard,. and we 
 made best speed to port, and before the end 
 of the afternoon I had put Ramsey's note 
 into the hands of the lawyer who had charge 
 of my brother's case. 
 
 Fortunately he was able to identify the 
 handwriting and signature of Ramsey, a man 
 who had been suspected of the crime, but 
 against whom no evidence could be found. 
 The lawyer was almost as excited as I was 
 by the contents* of this note, and early the 
 
A THING THAT GLISTENED. 55 
 
 next morning we started together for the 
 house of the Polhemus family. There, under 
 the woodshed, we found carefully buried a 
 bloodstained shirt and vest, and the hatchet. 
 
 My impulse was to fly to my brother, but 
 this my lawyer forbade. He would take 
 charge of the affair, and no false hopes must 
 be excited, but he confidently assured me 
 that my brother was as good as free. 
 
 Returning to the city, I thought I might 
 as well make my report to Signora E-ochita. 
 The lady was at home and saw me. She 
 showed the most intense interest in what I 
 told her, and insisted upon every detail of 
 my experiences. As I spoke of the shark, 
 and the subterranean cave, she nearly fainted 
 from excitement, and her maid had to bring 
 her smelling salts. When I had finished, 
 she looked at me steadily for a moment, and 
 then said : 
 
 *' I have something to tell yon, but I hardly 
 know how to say it. I never lost my brace- 
 let. I intended to wear it at the captain's 
 dinner, but when I went to put it on I found 
 the clasp was broken, and, as I was late, I 
 hurried to the table without the bracelet, 
 and thought of it no more until, when we 
 were all waving and cheering, I glanced at 
 my wrist and found it was not there. Then, 
 utterly forgetting that I had not put it on, 
 I thought it had gone into the sea. It was 
 
56 A THING THAT GLISTENED. 
 
 only this morning that, opening what I sup- 
 posed was the empty box, I saw it. Here 
 it is." 
 
 I never saw such gorgeous jewels. 
 
 * ' Madame,' ' said I, " I am glad you thought 
 you lost it, for I have gained something 
 better than all these." 
 
 ''You are a good man," said she, and 
 then she paid me liberally for my services. 
 When this business had been finished, she 
 asked : 
 
 ''Are you married?" I answered that I 
 was not. 
 
 " Is there any one you intend to marry ? " 
 
 "Yes," said I. 
 
 *' What is her name ? " she asked. 
 
 "Sarah Jane McElroy." 
 
 " Wait a minute," said she, and she retired 
 into another room. Presently she returned 
 and handed me a little box. 
 
 "Give this to your ladylove," said she ; 
 " when she looks at it, she will never forget 
 that you are a brave man." 
 
 When Sarah Jane opened the box, there 
 was a little pin with a diamond head, and 
 she gave a scream of delight. But I saw no 
 reason for jumping or crying out, for after 
 having seen the Signora's bracelet, this stone 
 seemed like a pea in a bushel of pota- 
 toes. 
 
 "I don't need anything," she said, "to 
 
A THING THAT GLISTENED. 57 
 
 remind me that you are a brave man. I am 
 going to buy furniture with it." 
 
 I laughed, and remarked that '* every lit- 
 tle helps." 
 
 When I sit, with my wife by my side, be- 
 fore the fire in our comfortable home, and 
 consider that the parlor carpet, and the fur- 
 niture and the pictures, and the hall and 
 stair carpet, and all the dining-room furni- 
 ture, with the china and the glass and the 
 linen, and all the kitchen utensils, and two 
 bedroom suits on the second story, both hard- 
 wood, and all the furniture and fittings of a 
 very pleasant room for a single man, the 
 third story front, were bought with the pin 
 that the signora gave to Sarah Jane, I am 
 filled with profound respect for things that 
 glitter. And when I look on the other side 
 of the fire and see Jim smoking his pipe just 
 as happy as anybody, then I say to myself 
 that, if there are people who think that this 
 story is too much out of the common, I wish 
 they would step in here and talk to Jim 
 about it. There is a fire in his eyes when he 
 tells you how glad he is that it was the 
 shark instead of him, that is very convincing. 
 
A LION AND A LIONESS 
 
 BY JOAQUIN MILLER. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 I DOUBT if you will find either profit or 
 pleasure in reading this incident of my 
 third voyage up the Nile. It is really 
 not worth reading. I have written it down 
 merely for a few friends who know some- 
 thing of the facts ; and also to escape the 
 annoyance of having to tell it over as one of 
 the features of my four years' travel in the 
 Orient. But to begin. Wearying of the 
 Levant, I was resting a time in Rome, when 
 I was formally invited, as well as specially 
 urged, to witness the marriage ceremony be- 
 tween the Grand Duchess Alexandria and 
 the Duke of Edinburgh. Let us pass over 
 these wasteful follies, the waste of time, the 
 waste of sense, of soul ! I have only men- 
 tioned the reason for my presence in St. 
 Petersburg ; have only mentioned the fact of 
 
 58 
 
A LION AND A LIONESS. 59 
 
 my being there, because I saw a face in that 
 gathering of people that could not be for- 
 gotten. It was the face of a tall, dark, and 
 serenely silent Dolores ; a young woman 
 who had surely met and made the acquaint- 
 ance of sorrow early in the morning of life. 
 I sometimes wonder if I could ever have 
 known or cared to know any one who had not 
 sorrowed deeply. And yet I now know very 
 well that, in whatever guise that woman could 
 have come, there could have been no two 
 roads for us from the day of her coming to the 
 day of her going. 
 
 Let me be a little confidential right here. 
 I knew, I had always known, I should meet 
 this woman. I had waited for her ; worked 
 hard, built up the battlements and the for- 
 tress of my soul so that I might receive her 
 into it ; and defend her Avell against my 
 baser self when she should come. And now 
 tell me — have you never had a thought, a 
 conviction like this ? A certainty in your own 
 heart that your other and better self would 
 come to you complete and entire some 
 day, soon or late, so soon as you might have 
 the fortress ready ? The doctors said she 
 was dying. She had been trying to stand 
 between the Czar and the Jews. She may 
 not have been of that ''peculiar people," 
 but I think she had the money of Hoths- 
 childs and Sir Moses Montefinre behind her. 
 
60 A LION AND A LIONESS. 
 
 There had been attempts at assassination, 
 followed by executions. Some of the con- 
 demned were women. It was as if this 
 woman herself had been condemned to 
 death. I think she suffered more than all the 
 others put together ; she was so very, very 
 sensitive to the pain and sorrow of others. 
 
 There are souls like that. But there is a 
 good God. The soul that suffers keenly 
 can and shall enjoy keenly. You can, if you 
 care to persist in it, make yourself, as the 
 centuries wheel past, more than an entire 
 nation in this. 
 
 We had common ground to work on in the 
 cause of the condemned people. It was on 
 this ground that we first met ; as two swift 
 streams that flow in the same direction and 
 so finally unite forever. All that could be 
 done was done speedily ; for " the law's 
 delay," whatever else must be laid to the 
 door of Russia, is not one of her sins. 
 
 As summer took flight we went south with 
 the birds. For she surely felt that she was 
 dying. Besides, she had been impressed 
 with the idea of restoring Jerusalem and 
 having this homeless race re-established in 
 the holy city. Her religion ? I think it was 
 all religions. I saw her kneel in the Kremlin 
 at Moscow, cross herself in St. Peter's at 
 Rome, and bend low at prayer in the Syna- 
 gogue at Alexandria. I think she would 
 
A LION AND A LIONESS. 61 
 
 have done the same in a mosque. As stated 
 before, I had, previous to meeting her, been 
 all over Syria. And so, whenever she re- 
 ferred to her cherished idea, as she so often 
 did, of forming Jewish settlements in and 
 about Jerusalem and restoring Israel, I took 
 occasion to explain how impossible and im- 
 practical it all was. 
 
 I remember telling her how that in a whole 
 day's ride from Babylon toward Jerusalem I 
 had seen no living thing save a single grass- 
 hopper ! I explained to her that the path of 
 civilization had been in the track of the set- 
 ting sun ever since the dawn of history, and 
 that it was not in the power of man to reverse 
 this course. I attempted to show that the 
 tide of population would pour upon the salu- 
 brious and fertile shores of the farthest west 
 till the heart of civilization would beat right 
 there. I explained to her that wherever 
 the great strong heart of commerce beat 
 strongest, there would be found the strong- 
 est and best of these people whom she hoped 
 to help ; while the weak and helpless of that 
 race would remain stranded by the waters of 
 the Levant, as in Russia now. 
 
 '^Why not, then, let ns anticipate this 
 and build the city of refuge by your great 
 sea in the path of this civilization which you 
 say will so surely come ? " ' 
 
 Like the golden doors of dawn was the 
 
62 A LION Ali'D A LIONESS. 
 
 great earnest idea to me as she spoke. But 
 of course I know, as I said before, that the 
 ^'peculiar people" could not be induced to 
 brave the desert. They do not seek rest, 
 but action— em2:)loyment in the marts. They 
 would rest but a single night even by the 
 sweet waters of Jacob's well. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 As winter came on and Egypt began to be 
 oppressively full of tourists, it was decided 
 that we should make our escape up the Nile 
 and haunt the ruin of Kamak and other 
 places until the outgoing tide set in. Once 
 fairly on our way, it did not take long to 
 persuade me that she was not only gaining 
 strength each day in body but in soul. We 
 had been more than a month on the Nile ; a 
 tattered j)alm tree here tossing in the wind 
 and sand ; a gaunt, clay-colored camel yon- 
 der, all legs and hair ; beggars, disease, de- 
 spair all around us ; a land to fly from, fit 
 place for tombs, jackals, and famishing 
 lions ! 
 
 But she was stronger, there were roses in 
 her face. Her glorious black hair had not 
 the dampness of death in it now, but was 
 luxuriously sensate with renewed life and 
 health and xiossible happiness. 
 
A LION AND A LIONESS. 63 
 
 One warm sunset, as the boat lay with its 
 prow in the yellow sand that seemed to 
 stretch away Into infinity, she proposed that 
 she and I should ascend to the top of the 
 tall ruins on a hill a little distance back from 
 the river, and there wait and watch and listen 
 for the coming day. 
 
 It was a dreadful place. I had already 
 walked a little way out, but on seeing a 
 shriveled black hand stretching up from the 
 sand, I had turned back ; only to stumble 
 over the head of a mummy which I had 
 afterward seen one of our servants gather up 
 and take to his Arab camp for firewood. 
 Still, we had been pent up in the boat much ; 
 and then would not she be with me ? 
 
 Two Arabs were taken with us to carry a 
 bottle of water and the rugs and robes. The 
 hill was steeper than it at first seemed ; and 
 the ascent through the sand heavy. I was 
 having an opportunity to test her strength 
 and endurance. I might also have an occa- 
 sion to test her courage before the break of 
 morning, for as we entered between two 
 towering columns of red granite, one of t^^e 
 Arabs dropped on a knee and spread his 
 hand as wide as he could in the sand. But 
 wide as he spread it, he could not more than 
 half cover the fresh foot-print of a huge lion. 
 
 The clamber to the top was steep and hard. 
 Yet it was not nearly so steep and hard as I 
 
64 A LION AND A LIONESS. 
 
 could have wished it, when I reflected that 
 very likely before midnight a lion might pass 
 that way. 
 
 We found that these wonderful columns 
 of granite were coped with great slabs of 
 granite. These granite slabs were of aston- 
 ishing breadth and thickness. This temple, 
 as it is called, had probably been a tomb. I 
 took good care to see that there was no 
 other means of ascent to the place where we 
 had chosen to spend the night than the one 
 by which we had ascended. And I remem- 
 ber how eagerly I wished for a crowbar in 
 order that I might break down a little of 
 the debris, so that the ascent might be less 
 easy for prowling beasts. 
 
 But as there was nothing of the sort at 
 *hand, I dismissed the two Arabs and re- 
 solved to be as brave, if possible, as the sin- 
 gularly brave and beautiful woman who had 
 come here to hear the voices of desolation. 
 
 The sky was rimmed with yellow ; yellow 
 to the east, yellow to the west ; a world of 
 soft and restful yellow that melted away by 
 gradations as the eye ascended from the des- 
 ert. It was like melody in its serene har- 
 monies and awful glory. 
 
 And she at my side partook of it all ; she 
 breathed it, absorbed it, literally became a 
 part of it. I saw her grow and glow. Soul 
 and body I saw her dilate and expand till she 
 
A LION AND A LIONESS. 66 
 
 was in absolute harmony witli the awe and 
 splendor that encompassed ns. I felt that 
 she had been in the midst of, even a part of, 
 this tawny desolation ages and ages before. 
 Perhaps her sonl had been born here, born 
 before the pyramids. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 With my own hands I spread her couch 
 of skins and rugs in the remotest corner of 
 a great stone slab that still lifted its un- 
 broken front, in defiance of time, high above 
 the tawny sands of the desert. The night 
 was very sultry, even here on this high and 
 roomy summit. The broad, deep slab of 
 granite was still warm with sunshine gone 
 away, and gave out heat like a dying fur- 
 nace. The steep and arduous ascent had 
 taxed her strength, and unloosing her robe 
 as I turned to examine more minutely our 
 strange quarters on the top of this lofty 
 tomb, or temple, she sank to rest, half re- 
 clining on her arm, her chin in her upturned 
 palm, her face lifted away toward the rising 
 moon. 
 
 Half a dozen paces to the right I saw two 
 tall and ponderous columns of granite stand- 
 ing in line with those that supported the 
 great slab on which she rested. Evidently 
 
66. A LION AND A LIONESS. 
 
 these grand and solitary columns had also 
 once been topped by granite slabs. But these 
 had fallen to the ground under the leveling 
 feet of many centuries, and now lay almost 
 swallowed up in the sea of yellow sands 
 below. I put out my foot carefully, trying 
 to reach the broad top of the nearest column 
 of granite, but it was beyond me. Stepping 
 back a couple of paces and quietly removing 
 my boots, I gathered up my strength and 
 made a leap, landing almost in the center of 
 the column's top. A half step backward, 
 another leap — who could resist the challenge 
 of that lone and kingly column that re- 
 mained? I landed securely as before, then 
 turned about. Her face had not lifted an 
 instant from the awful majesty of the Orient. 
 Slowly, wearily, the immense moon came 
 shouldering up through the seas of yellow 
 sand. These billows of sand seemed to 
 breathe and move. The expiring heat of the 
 departed sun made them scintillate and 
 shimmer in a soft and undulating light. 
 And yet it was not light ; only the lone 
 and solemn ghost of a departed day. Yel- 
 low and huge and startling stood the moon 
 at last, full grown and fearful in its near- 
 ness and immensity on the topmost lift of 
 yellow sands in the yellow seas before us. 
 Distance seemed to be annihilated. The 
 moon seemed to have forgotten her place 
 
A LION AND A LIONESS. 67 
 
 and all proportion. Looking down into the 
 sullen Nile, it seemed a black and bottom- 
 less cliasm. And it seemed so far away ! 
 And the moon so very near. 
 
 Black as blackest Egypt rolled the somber 
 Nile down and on and on through this world 
 of yellow light ; this light that was not light. 
 Silence, desolation, death lay on all things 
 below, about, above. The west was molten 
 yellow gold, faint and fading, it is true : 
 but where the yellow sands left off and the 
 yellow skies began no man could say or 
 guess, save by the yellow stars that studded 
 the west with 'an intense yellow. 
 
 Yellow to the right and yellow to the left, 
 yellow overhead and yellow underfoot ; with 
 only this endless chasm of Erebus cleaving 
 the yellow earth in halves with its bottom- 
 less pit of endless and indissoluble black- 
 ness. 
 
 After a time — and all the world still one 
 sea of softened yellow, torn in two by Cha- 
 ron's chasm of black waters — I silently 
 leaped back, replaced my boots on my feet 
 and then held my breath. For I had seen, 
 or perhaps felt, an object move on the lifted 
 levels of sand between us and the moon. 
 
 Cautiously I sank down on my breast and 
 peered low and long up the horizon. I saw, 
 heard nothing. Glancing around to where 
 my companion lay, I saw that she still had 
 
68 A LION AND A LIONESS. 
 
 not stirred from the half reclining position 
 she had first taken, with half lifted face in 
 her upturned palm. 
 
 Then she had seen nothing, heard nothing. 
 This, however, did not argue much. Her 
 life had not been of the desert. She had 
 spent her years in the study of men and 
 women. I had spent mine with wild beasts. 
 I could trust her to detect motives in men, 
 give the warning note of danger from dan- 
 gerous men ; but the wild beasts and wilder 
 men of the border were mine to watch and 
 battle with, not hers. 
 
 She had seen nothing ; evidently she feared 
 nothing, and so was resting, resting in mind 
 as in body. And as I glanced again over my 
 shoulder and saw how entirely content she 
 seemed, I was glad. Surely she depended 
 entirely on me ; on my watchfulness and my 
 courage. And this made me more watchful 
 and more resolute and stout of heart. A 
 man likes to be trusted. A true man likes 
 a true woman' s trust, much indeed. A strong 
 man likes to be leaned upon. It makes him 
 stronger, braver, better. Let women never 
 forget this. Admit that she, too, has her 
 days of strength and endurance ; and admit 
 that she, too, has her peculiar fortress of 
 strength and courage, and these also man 
 respects and regards with piteous tenderness. 
 But man, incapable of her finer and loftier 
 
A LION AND A LIONESS. 69 
 
 courage and endurance, resents her invasion 
 of his prerogative. 
 
 It is only a womanly man who can really 
 love a manly woman. But to continue : 
 Looking up a third time to this woman at 
 my side, I saw that she had let her head 
 sink low on her leaning arm. She was surely 
 sleeping. How I liked her trust and her 
 faith in me ? And how I liked her courage, 
 too, and her high quality of endurance. It 
 was her courage that had brought me up 
 here this night to the contemplation of awful 
 and all-glorious Africa. Silently and with- 
 out lifting a finger, she had shown me a 
 world of burnished gold. I had surely seen 
 God through her. We stood nearer together 
 now than ever before. This single hour of 
 indescribable glory should forever stand as 
 an altar in the desert. Our souls had melted 
 and flown and tided on, intermingled like 
 molten gold in the golden atmosphere and 
 the yellow scene that wrapped us round 
 about, and no word had been said. When 
 God speaks so audibly let man be silent. 
 
 I must have looked longer on the sleeping 
 and trustful woman at my side than I ought 
 to have looked, for on turning my eyes again 
 to the horizon, there distinctly on the yellow 
 sand and under the yellow moon moved, 
 stealthily as a cat, yet graceful and grand, 
 the most kingly beast I ever beheld. He did 
 
70 A LION AND A LIONESS. 
 
 not look right nor left, but moved along with 
 huge head in the air, slow and stately, and 
 triumphant in his fearful symmetry and 
 strength. 
 
 CHAPTER ly. 
 
 I HALF arose and felt for a trusty six- 
 shooter. This pistol was not one that had 
 been purchased for this or any other occa- 
 sion, as the worthless pistols of the time are 
 usually purchased, but it had been my com- 
 panion from boyhood. 
 
 As I half arose the lion suddenly halted. 
 He lifted his proud head higher still in the 
 air, and to my consternation half turned 
 about and looked straight in my direction. 
 Then a sidewise and circuitous step or two 
 with his long reach of hinder leg, his wide 
 and deep and flexible flank ; slow and king- 
 ly ; splendid to see ! 
 
 I sank down again, quite willing to let 
 him interview the land of Arabs in the black 
 chasm below. They had spears and guns 
 and everything down there, everything but 
 courage to face a lion with ; and I was not 
 going to interfere with a fight which at the 
 first had promised to be entirely their own. 
 
 But this new movement of mine only ac- 
 centuated his graceful motion. The head 
 
A LION AND A LIONESS. 71 
 
 now turned in the air, like the head of a 
 man. I had time to note, and I record it 
 with certainty, that the massive head and 
 the tumbled mane towered straight above 
 the shoulder. In fact, the lower parts of 
 the long mane looked most like the long 
 shaggy beard of a man falling down upon 
 his broad breast. This I noted as he still 
 kept on in his sidewise circuit above us and 
 around us on the yellow sand and under the 
 yellow moon. At times he was almost in- 
 distinct. But the carriage of that head! 
 There was a fine fascination in the lift and 
 the movement and the turn of that stately 
 head that must ever be remembered, but 
 can never be described. 
 
 As he came nearer — for his sidewise walk 
 was mainly in our direction — I saw that he, 
 too, was yellow, as if born of this yellow 
 world in this yellow night ; but his was a 
 more ponderous yellow ; the yellow of red 
 and rusty old gold. At times he seemed al- 
 most black ; and all the time terrible. 
 
 In half a minute more he would be too 
 close for comfort, and I decided to arouse 
 my companion. She wakened fully awake, 
 if I may be allowed to express a fact so 
 awkwardly. You may know that there are 
 people like that. 
 
 ''What is it?" 
 
 **A lion." 
 
72 A LION AND A LIONESS. 
 
 "Are you sure?" 
 
 "Certain." 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 "Right before your eyes." 
 
 "Why, I see nothing." 
 
 She had looked and was still looking far 
 out against the yellow horizon where her 
 eyes had rested when she fell asleep. And 
 as she looked, or rather before I ventured 
 to point her to the spot almost under the 
 tomb where the lion strode, he passed on 
 and was by this time perhaps almost quite 
 under the great slab of granite where we 
 rested. 
 
 I was about to whisper the fact in her ear 
 when I fancied I felt the whole tomb trem- 
 ble! Then it seemed to shake, or rather 
 rumble again. Then again it rumbled. 
 Then again ! Then there was a roar that 
 literally shook the sand. I heard the sand 
 sift and rattle down like drops of rain from 
 where it lay in the crevices as I listened to 
 find whether or not he was moving forward 
 toward the place by which we had ascended. 
 He was surely moving forward. I felt rather 
 than heard him move. I assert — and I must 
 content myself for the present with merely 
 asserting— that you can feel the movements 
 of an animal under such circumstances. 
 And I assert further that an animal, espe- 
 cially a wild beast, G2in.feel your movements 
 
A LION AND A LIONESS. IS 
 
 nnder almost any circumstances. The unde- 
 veloped senses deserve a book by them- 
 selves. But just now, with the largest lion 
 I ever saw coming straight upon me, is 
 hardly the time or place to write such a 
 treatise. 
 
 Pistol in hand I sprang to the steep and 
 rugged passage. And not a second too soon. 
 His mighty head was almost on a level with 
 the granite slab. And he was half crouch- 
 ing for a bound and a spring upward, which 
 would perhaps land him in our faces. I 
 could see — or did I feel — that his huge 
 hinder feet were spread wide out and sunken 
 in the sand with preparation to bend all 
 their force toward bearing him upward in 
 one mighty bound. 
 
 I fired ! fired right into his big red mouth, 
 between two hideous pickets of ugly yellow 
 teeth. He fell back, and then, gathering his 
 ferocious strength, he bounded up and for- 
 ward again ; this time striking his left 
 shoulder heavily against a projecting cor- 
 ner of the granite slab. Fortunately the as- 
 cent was slightly curving, so that the dis- 
 tance could not be made at a single bound 
 without collision, else had we both surely 
 been destroyed. 
 
 Again the supple and comely beast, dis- 
 daining to creep or crawl, made a mighty 
 leap upward. But only to strike the round- 
 
74 A LION- AND A LIONESS. 
 
 ing corner of the great granite slab and fall 
 back as before. 
 
 But I knew he would reach us in time ! 
 And if ever man did wish for fitting arms to 
 fight with and defend woman it was I at that 
 time. True, I had five shots left ; but what 
 were they in the face of this furious king of 
 beasts ? I began to fear that they would 
 only serve to enrage him. 
 
 Still, he should have all I had to give. 
 Death is, has been, and will be. The best 
 we can make of it all is to try and see that 
 we shall not die ingloriously. 
 
 The w^oman had been by my side all this 
 time. And now, as the lion paused as if to 
 gather up the broken thunderbolts of his 
 strength, she laid a hand on my arm, never 
 so gently, and said : '' Let me go down and 
 meet him face to face. I think he will not 
 harm me." . 
 
 "Madam," 1 exclaimed impetuously, 
 "you will meet him up here, and face to 
 face, soon enough, I think." 
 
 "No, that will not do. You must trust 
 the lion ; as Daniel did." 
 
 I pushed her back, as she tried to pass 
 down, almost violently. 
 
 " There ! " I cried as I wheeled about and 
 forced her before me for an instant, " if you 
 have real courage leap to the head of yonder 
 
A LION AND A LIONESS. 75 
 
 column, then on to the next ! Quick ! be 
 brave enough to save yourself and " 
 
 "1^0 ! I will not run away and leave you 
 to die." 
 
 '' For God's sake you will run away and 
 save me." 
 
 *'Why? How?" 
 
 **I will join you there, go ! Quick, or it 
 will be too late ! " 
 
 Another leap of the lion ! Bang ! Bang ! 
 
 This time he did not fall back, but held on 
 by sheer force of his powerful arms ; his 
 terrible claws tearing at the granite slab as 
 they hung and hooked over its outer edge. 
 
 Bang! Bang! Bang! The last shot. I 
 hurled my revolver in his face, for he had 
 not flinched or given back a single grain. 
 His breath and my breath were mingled there 
 in the smoke of my pistol. I heard — or did 
 I feel — his great hinder feet fastening in the 
 steep earth under him for his final struggle 
 to the top ? 
 
 I turned, saw that she had reached the 
 farther column ; and with three leai)s and a 
 bound I had crossed the granite slabs and 
 stood erect on the nearer one ! Not a mo- 
 ment had I left. The lion, with great noise 
 of claws on the granite, came tearing to the 
 surface. I crouched down out of breath on 
 the outer edge of my column, so as to be 
 surely out of reach of his ponderous paws. 
 
76 A LION AND A LIONESS. 
 
 I expected him to decide the matter at once, 
 to reach us or give it up instantly. But he 
 seemed in no haste now. He scarcely 
 advanced at all, for what seemed to me to 
 be a long time. Finally, jerking his tail 
 like the swift movement of a serpent, he 
 strode along the farthest edge of the granite 
 slab and seemed to take no notice of us 
 whatever. Blood was dripping from his 
 mouth, but he did not seem to heed it. 
 
 Once more he strode with his old majesty, 
 and seemed ashamed that he should have 
 descended to the indignity of a struggle to 
 gain the place where he now stood sullen and 
 triumphant. Enraged? He was choking, 
 dying with rage ; and yet this kingly crea- 
 ture would not even condescend to look in 
 our direction. 
 
 Why, I could feel his fearful rage as he 
 now walked on and around the edge of that 
 granite slab. At length he came opposite to 
 where I lay crouching on the farther edge of 
 my column. He passed on without so much 
 as turning his eyes in my direction. And 
 yet I felt, I felt and knew, as distinctly as if 
 he could have talked and told me, that he 
 was carefully measuring the distance. 
 
 When the lion, in his stately round, came 
 to the narrow pass by which he had ascended 
 he paused an instant, and half lowered his 
 head. 
 
A LION AND A LIONESS. 17 
 
 Ah, liow devoutly I did pray that he 
 would be generous enough to descend to the 
 sands and gracefully present us with his 
 absence. 
 
 But no ! Lifting his huge head even 
 higher in the air than before, he now passed 
 on hurriedly, came on around to where in his 
 stately majesty he stood with quivering flank 
 and flashing eye almost within reach of me. 
 Yet he still disdained to even so much as 
 look at me. His head was far above me as I 
 crouched there on the farther edge of my 
 column ; his flashing eyes were lifted and 
 looking far above me and beyond me. 
 Maybe he was on the lookout over the 
 desert for the coming of his companion. 
 
 Soon, however, he set his huge paws on 
 the very edge of the great slab on which he 
 stood, and then suddenly threw his right paw 
 out toward me and against the edge of my 
 column with the force and velocity of a cata- 
 pult ! 
 
 I heard the sharj), keen claws strike and 
 scrape on the granite as if they had been 
 hooks of steel. 
 
 Then he threw himself on his breast, and 
 hitching himself a little to one side, he 
 threw his right paw so far that it landed 
 full in the center of my column's top and 
 tore a bit of my coat sleeve. Then he 
 hitched his huge body a little farther on 
 
78 A LION AND A LIONESS. 
 
 over the edge and again threw his huge paw 
 right at my face. It fell short of its mark 
 only a few inches, as it seemed to me. But, 
 having hastily gathered in my garments, his 
 claws did not find anything to fasten on 
 and they drew back empty. 
 
 At this point three dusky etchings stood 
 out against the golden east on the yellow 
 sands, and looked intently at us with their 
 enormous heads high in the air. And now 
 the beast slowly arose and moved on. A 
 lion's head seems always disproportionately 
 large, but when he is exercising for an ap- 
 petite to eat you it looks large indeed. 
 
 The monster who was occupying the plat- 
 form with us surely saw his followers ; in- 
 deed, he must have seen them long before ; 
 but his unbending dignity seemed to for- 
 bid that he should take any heed of 
 them. 
 
 The new-born hope that he would descend 
 and join his followers died as he came on 
 around. 
 
 And now something strange and notable 
 transpired. This one incident is my excuse 
 for thus elaborating this otherwise passive 
 and tediously dull sketch of this night. I 
 had risen to my feet, and as the lion came 
 on around, this woman, with a force that 
 was irresistible, sprang to my side, thrust 
 me behind her, and stepping forward with a 
 
A LION AND A LIONESS. 79 
 
 single spring, she stood on the edge of the 
 column nearest to the lion. 
 
 I would have followed, but that same 
 force, which I can now understand was a 
 mental force and not at all a physical force, 
 held me hard and fast to where I stood. 
 
 She had let her robe fall as she sprang 
 forward and now stood only as the hand of 
 God had fashioned her ; a snow-white sil- 
 houette of perfect comeliness against the 
 terrible and bloody mouth and tossing mane 
 of the lion. She leaned forward as he came 
 on around and close to the edge of his slab. 
 She looked him firmly and steadily in the 
 face, her wondrous eyes, her midnight 
 eyes of all Israel, the child of the wilder- 
 ness, had once more met the lion of the 
 desert as of old. 
 
 Who was this woman here who stepped 
 between death and me and stood looking a 
 wounded lion in the face ? Was this Judith 
 again incarnate? Or was this something 
 more than Judith? Was it the Priestess 
 and the Prophetess Miriam, back once more 
 to the banks of the Mle ? Was it the old and 
 forgotten mastery of all things animate 
 which Moses and his sister knew that gave 
 her dominion over the king of the desert? 
 Or was her name Mary? *'That other 
 Mary," if you will, who won all things to 
 her side, God in heaven, God upon earth, 
 
80 A LION AND A LIONESS. 
 
 by the sad, sweet pity of her face, and the 
 story of holy love that was written there ? 
 The lion's head for a moment forgot its 
 lofty defiance as she leaned a little forward. 
 Then the tossed and troubled mane rose up 
 and rolled forward like an inflowing sea. 
 It never seemed so terrible. He was surely 
 about to spring ! And she, too ! Her right 
 foot settled solidly back, her left knee bent 
 like a bow, her shapely and snowy shoulders, 
 under their glory of black hair, bowed low. 
 Her dauntless and defiant spirit had already 
 precipitated itself forward and was smiting 
 the imperious beast full in his blazing eyes. 
 I knew that her body would follow her 
 spirit in an instant more. 
 
 Face to face! Spirit to spirit! Soul to 
 soul ! A second only the combat lasted. 
 The awful ferocity and force of the brute 
 was beaten down, melted like lofty battle- 
 ments of snow before the burning arrows 
 of the sun, and he slowly, surlily, shrank 
 in size, in spirit, in space. A paw drew 
 back from the edge of the block, the eyes 
 drooped, the head dropped a little, and the 
 terrible mane seemed terrible no more, as 
 slowly, doggedly, mightily, aye doggedly 
 and majestically, too, at the same time, this 
 noble creature forced himself side wise and 
 back a little. 
 
 Then he hesitated. Rebellion was in his 
 
A LION AND A LIONESS. . 81 
 
 mighty heart. He turned suddenly and 
 looked her full in the face once more. All 
 the beast that was in him rose up. The terri- 
 ble mane now seemed more terrible than be- 
 fore. With great head tossed, tail whipped 
 back, and teeth in the air, talons unsheathed 
 and legs gathered under him, he was about 
 to bound forward. 
 
 But the woman was before him! Witli 
 eyes still fastened on his face, she with one 
 long leap forward drove not only her shining 
 soul but her snowy body right against his 
 teeth. Or rather, she had surely done so 
 had not the lion, half turned about, shrank 
 back as she leaped forward. Then slowly, 
 looking back with his blazing but cowering 
 eyes, feeling back with his spirit still defiant, 
 if but to see whether her courage failed her 
 in the least or her mighty spirit was still in 
 battle armor ; and then he passed. His com- 
 panions had drawn back and into a depres- 
 sion in the desert where he slowly and sul- 
 lenly joined them. 
 
 One, two, three, four dim yet distinct 
 black silhouettes against the yellow east ; 
 then but a single confused black etching ; 
 away, away, smaller and smaller, gone ! 
 
 I gathered up her robe, crossed over, and 
 letting it fall on her shoulders where she still 
 stood, looking down and after the beast. I 
 picked up my pistol from where it had fallen. 
 
82 A LION AND A LIONESS. 
 
 a few feet below, and as she turned about, 
 carefully reloaded it from cartridges by 
 chance in my vest pocket. 
 
 Eeturning to the summit, I found her 
 again resting on her couch at the corner of 
 the huge slab, tranquilly as if we had not 
 been disturbed. I did not speak. Not a 
 single word had been uttered all this time. 
 
 I sat down at the feet of this woman — not 
 at her side, as before— and let my own feet 
 dangle down over the edge on the side 
 farthest away from the isolated columns. 
 Neither of us spoke ; nor did she move hand 
 or foot till morning. 
 
THE CHEATED JULIET. 
 
 BY Q. 
 
 Extracted from the Memoirs of a Retired 
 Burglar, 
 
 THE house in question was what Peter 
 the Scholar (who corrects my proof- 
 sheets) calls one of the rusinurby sort — 
 the front facing a street and the back 
 looking over a turfed garden with a lime 
 tree or two, a laburnum, and a lawn- tennis 
 court marked out, its white lines plain to 
 see in the starlight. At the end of the 
 garden a door, painted dark green, led 
 into a narrow lane between high walls, 
 where, if two persons met, one had to turn 
 sideways to let the other pass. The 
 entrance to this lane was cut in two by a 
 wooden post about the height of your hip, 
 and just beyond this, in the high road, 
 George was waiting for us with the dog-cart. 
 We had picked the usual time — the 
 dinner-hour. It had just turned dark, and 
 the church-clock, two streets away, was 
 chiming the quarter after eight, when Peter 
 
84 TEE CHEATED JULIET. 
 
 and I let ourselves in by the green door I 
 spoke of and felt along the wall for the 
 gardener's ladder that we knew was hang- 
 ing there. A simpler job there never was. 
 The bed-room window we had marked on 
 the first-floor stood right open to the night 
 air ; and inside there was the light of a 
 candle or two flickering, just as a careless 
 maid will leave them after her mistress has 
 gone down to dinner. To be sure there 
 was a chance of her coming back to put 
 them out ; but we could hear her voice going 
 in the servants' hall as we lifted the ladder 
 and rested it against the sill. 
 
 ^' She's good for half a hour yet," Peter 
 whispered, holding the ladder while I began 
 to climb ; ^* but if I hear her voice stop, I'll 
 give the signal to be cautious." 
 
 I went up softly, pushed my head gently 
 above the level of the sill, and looked 
 in. 
 
 It was a roomy place with a great half- 
 tester bed, hung with curtains, standing out 
 from the wall on my right. The curtains 
 were of chintz, a dark background with 
 flaming red poppies sprawling over it ; and 
 the fm^ther curtain hid the dressing-table, 
 and the candles upon it and the jewel-case 
 that I confidently hoped to stand upon it 
 also. A bright Brussels carpet covered the 
 floor, and the wall-paper, I remember — 
 
THE CHEATED JULIET. 85 
 
 though for the life of me I can't tell why — 
 was a pale grey ground, worked up to 
 imitate watered silk, with sprigs of gilt 
 honeysuckle upon it. 
 
 I looked round and listened for half a 
 minute. The house was still as death up 
 here — not a sound in the room or in the 
 passages beyond. With a nod to Peter to 
 hold the ladder firm I lifted one leg over 
 the sill, then the other, dropped my feet 
 carefully upon the thick carpet and went 
 quickly round the bed to the dressing-table. 
 
 But at the corner, and as soon as ever I 
 saw round the chintz curtain, my knees 
 gave way, and I put out a hand towards the 
 bed-post. 
 
 Before the dressing-table, and in front 
 of the big glass, in which she could see my 
 white face, was an old lady seated. 
 
 She wore a blaze of jewels and a low 
 gown out of which rose the scraggiest neck 
 and shoulders I have ever looked on. Her 
 hair was thick with black dye and fastened 
 with a diamond star. The powder between 
 the two candles showed on her cheek-bones 
 like Hour on a miller's coat. Ciiin on hand, 
 she was gazing steadily into the mirror 
 before her, and even in my fright I had 
 time to note that a glass of sherry and a 
 plate of rice and curry stood at her elbow, 
 among the rouge-pots and powder-puffs. 
 
86 THE CHEATED JULIET. 
 
 Wliile I stood stock still and pretty- 
 well scared out of my wits, she rose, still 
 staring at my image in the glass, folded her 
 hands modestly over her bosom, and spoke 
 in a deep tragical voice — 
 
 '' The Prince ! " 
 
 Then, facing sharply round, she held out 
 her thin arms. 
 
 ^' You have come — at last ? " 
 
 There wasn't much to say to this except 
 that I had. So I confessed it. Even with 
 the candles behind her I could see her eyes 
 glowing like a dog's, and an uglier poor 
 creature this world could scarcely show. 
 
 " Is the ladder set against the window ? " 
 
 '' Since you seem to know, ma'am," said 
 I, '' it is." 
 
 ** Ah, Romeo! Your cheeks are ruddy — 
 your poppies are too red." 
 
 ^^ Then I'm glad my colour's come back ; 
 for, to tell the truth, you did give me a turn, 
 just at first. You were looking out for me, 
 no doubt ■" 
 
 '' My Prince ! " — She stretched out her 
 arms again, and being pretty well at my 
 wits' end I let her embrace me. " It has 
 been so long,'* she said. ^' Oh, the weary 
 while ! And they ill-treat me here. Where 
 have you been, all this tedious time ? " 
 
 I wasn't going to answer that, you may be 
 sure. It appeared to me that 'twas my 
 
THE CHEATED JULIET. 87 
 
 right to ask questions rather than stand 
 there answering them. 
 
 ^'If they've been ill-treating you, 
 ma'am," said I, '^ they shall answer for it." 
 
 '' My love ! " 
 
 ^'Yes, ma'am. Would it be taking a 
 liberty if I asked their names ? " 
 
 " There is Gertrude—" 
 
 '' Gertrude's hash is as good as settled, 
 ma'am." 
 
 I checked Gertrude off on my thumb. 
 
 ^^ — that's my niece." 
 
 For a moment I feared I'd been a little 
 too prompt. But she went on 
 
 ^^ And next there's Henry ; and the 
 children — ^who have more than once made 
 faces at me ; and Phipson." 
 
 ^^Phipson'sinittoo?" 
 
 *^ You know her ? '' 
 
 '' Don't I ? " It surprised me a trifle to 
 find that Phipson was a female. 
 
 '' Three times to-night she pulled my 
 hair, and the rice she brought me — look 
 at it ! all stuck together and sodden." 
 
 ^^ Phipson shall pay for it with her blood." 
 
 ^' My hero — my darling! Don't spare 
 Phipson. She screams bitterly if a pin is 
 stuck into her. I did it once. Stick her 
 all over with pins." 
 
 By this I'd begun to guess what was 
 pretty near the truth — that I was talking 
 
88 THE CHEATED JULIET. 
 
 with a mad aunt of the family below, 
 and that the game was in my hands if I 
 played it with decent care. So I brought 
 her to face the important question. 
 
 '^ Look here," I said, '^ all this shall be 
 done when you are out of their hands. At 
 present I'm running a considerable risk 
 in braving these persecutors of yourn. 
 Dearest madam, the ladder's outside and 
 the carriage waiting. Hadn't we better 
 elope at once ? " 
 
 She gave a sob, and fell on my shoulders. 
 
 '^ Oh, is it true — is it true? Pinch me, 
 that I may awake if this is but a hajDpy 
 dream ! " 
 
 ^' You are ready?" 
 
 '' This moment." 
 
 '^ There's just one other little matter, 
 ma'am — your jewels. You won't leave 
 them to your enemies, I suppose ? " 
 
 This was the dangerous moment, and 
 I felt a twitch of the nerves as I watched 
 her face to see how she would take the 
 suggestion. But the poor silly soul 
 turned up her eyes to mine, all full of 
 tears and confidence. 
 
 ^' Dearest, I am old, old. Had you come 
 earlier, my beauty had not wanted jewels 
 to set it off. But now I must wear them 
 to look my best — as your bride." 
 
 She hid her face in her hands for a 
 
THE CHEATED JULIET. 89 
 
 second, then turned to the dressing-table, 
 lifted her jewel-case and put it into my 
 hands. 
 
 '^ I am ready," she repeated : ^^ let us be 
 quick and stealthy as death." 
 
 She followed me to the window and 
 looking out, drew back. 
 
 ^^ What horrible, black depths ! " 
 
 ^^It's as easy," said I, ^^ as pie. You 
 
 could do it on your head ; look here ," 
 
 I climbed out first and helped her, setting 
 her feet on the rungs. 
 
 We went down in silence, I choking 
 with laughter all the way at the sight of 
 Peter below, who was looking with his 
 mouth open and his lips too weak to meet 
 on the curses and wonderment that rose 
 up from the depths of him. When 1 
 touched turf and handed him the jewel- 
 case, he took it like a man in a trance. 
 
 We put the ladder back into its place 
 and stole over the turf together. But out- 
 side the garden-door Peter could stand no 
 more of it — 
 
 ' ' I've a fire-arm in my pocket," whispered 
 he, pulling up, '' and I'm going to fire it off 
 to relieve my feelings if you don't exj^lain 
 here and now. Who, in pity's name, is she .? " 
 
 ^^ You mug — she's the Original Sleeping 
 Beauty. I'm eloping with her, and you've 
 got her jewels." 
 
90 THE CHEATED JULIET. 
 
 '^ Pardon me, Jem," he says in his gentle- 
 manly way, ^^ if I don't quite see. Are you 
 taking her off to melt her or marry her ? 
 For how to get rid of her else " 
 
 The poor old creature had halted, too, 
 three paces ahead of us, and waited while 
 we whispered, with the moonlight, that 
 slanted down into the lane, whitening her 
 bare neck and flashing in her jewels. 
 
 ^' One moment," I said, and stepped for- 
 ward to her. *^ You had better take off those 
 ornaments here, my dear, and give them to 
 my servant to take care of. There's a car- 
 riage waiting for us at the end of the lane, 
 and when he has stowed them under the seat 
 we can climb in and drive off '' 
 
 '' To the end of the world — to the very 
 rim of it, my hero." 
 
 She pulled the gems from her ears, hair, 
 and bosom, and handed them to Peter, who 
 received them with a bow. Next she 
 searched in her pocket and drew out a tiny 
 key. Peter unlocked the case, and having 
 carefully stowed the diamonds inside, locked 
 it again, handed back the key, touched his 
 hat, and walked off towards the dog-cart. 
 
 ^' My dearest lady," I began, as soon as 
 we were alone between the high walls, ^4f 
 the devotion of a life " 
 
 Her bare arm crept into mine. '' There 
 is but a little time left for us in which to be 
 
THE CHEATED JULIET. 91 
 
 happy. Year after year I have marked off 
 the almanack : day by day I have watched 
 the dial. I saw my sisters married, and my 
 sisters' daughters ; and still I waited. Each 
 had a man to love her and tend her, but none 
 had such a man as I would have chosen. 
 There were none like you, my Prince." 
 
 " No, I daresay not." 
 
 ^^ Oh, but my heart is not so old ! Take 
 my hand — it is firm and strong ; touch my 
 lips — they are burning " 
 
 A low whistle sounded at the top of the 
 lane. As I took her hands I pushed her 
 back, and turning, ran for my life. I sup- 
 pose that, as I ran, I counted forty before 
 her scream came, and then the sound of her 
 feet pattering after me. 
 
 She must have run like a demon ; for I 
 was less than ten yards ahead when Peter 
 caught my wrist and pulled me up on to 
 the back-seat of the dog-cart. And before 
 George could set the horse going her hand 
 clutched at the flap on which my feet 
 rested. It missed its grasp, and she never 
 got near enough again. But for half a 
 minute I looked into that horrible face fol- 
 lowing us and working with silent rage ; 
 and for half a mile at least I heard the 
 patter of her feet in the darkness behind. 
 Indeed, I can hear it now. 
 
THE MYSTIC KREWE. 
 
 BY MAURICE THOMPSON. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 ABOUT seventy years ago a young man 
 ■^l\. of strong physique and prepossessing 
 appearance arrived at New Orleans. He 
 had come from New York, of which city he 
 was a native, and had brought with him a 
 considerable sum of money, supplemented 
 by a letter of introduction to Judge Favart 
 de Caumartin, who was then at the flood 
 tide of his fame. 
 
 It would not be fair to call our young man 
 (*' our hero " would be the good old phrase) 
 an adventurer, without taking pains to 
 qualify the impression that might be pro- 
 duced. Hepworth Coleman had his own 
 way of looking at life. Fifty years later he 
 would have been a tragedian — probably a 
 famous one, but the conditions were not fa- 
 vorable to awakening histrionic ambition at 
 the time when his character, his tastes, his 
 
THE MYSTIC KREWE. 93 
 
 ambition should have been forming. What 
 he saw that was most fascinating to him had 
 no distinct form ; it lay along the south- 
 western horizon, a dreamy, mist-covered 
 something not unlike the confines of ro- 
 mance. 
 
 Hepworth Coleman was rich, and what 
 was, perhaps, a greater misfortune, he had 
 no living kinsfolk for whom he cared or 
 who cared for him. Practically speaking, 
 he was alone in the world : moreover, he 
 had an imagination. Scott' s novels, Byron' s 
 poetry, the French romances, and I know not 
 what else of the sort, had been his chief 
 reading. For physical recreation he had 
 turned to fencing and pistol practice. When 
 I add that he was but twenty-two and 
 unmarried, the rest might be guessed, but 
 Coleman was not a young man of the world 
 in the worst sense — he had not turned to evil 
 sources of dissipation. Healthy, vigorous, 
 full of spirit, he nevertheless had senti- 
 mental longings as indefinite as they were 
 persistent. 
 
 Youth is the spring time when ^*Longen 
 folk to gon on pilgrimages," as old Chaucer 
 words it, and it would be' hard to find the 
 young man who has not felt the vaguely 
 outlined yet irresistible desire to wander, to 
 go over the horizon into a strange, new world. 
 Hepworth Coleman, when he was taken with 
 
94 TEE MYSTIC KREWE. 
 
 this longing, felt no restraint cast around 
 him. He was absolutely free, had all the 
 means necessary — why should he not go 
 where he pleased ? If it seems strange that 
 he should have been attracted to New Orleans 
 rather than to the Old World, we must 
 remember what New Orleans was in 1820. 
 No other city, not even Paris, could at that 
 time compare with it as a center of genuine 
 romance, nor was this romance unmixed 
 with lawlessness of the most picturesque 
 kind. Money poured into it from a hundred 
 sources more or less illegitimate, besides the 
 streams of wealth produced by cotton, sugar, 
 and rice industries. Gambling was indeed 
 a fine art, duelling appeared more a pastime 
 than anything else, and what went on in the 
 gilded halls and melody-filled salles may be 
 imagined, I suppose, though, I do not care 
 to cast a glance that way. 
 
 Hepworth Coleman had heard much of the 
 gay city, of its warm, odorous atmosphere, 
 its hospitality, its social charm, the smack 
 of reckless romance in all its ways. Some- 
 how the desire to go there got hold of his 
 imagination and he went. 
 
 The letter to Judge Favart de Caumartin 
 was given to Coleman by his banker, who in 
 handing it to him said : 
 
 ' ' I don' t know the Judge personally, never 
 saw him ; but he has done a lot of business 
 
THE MYSTIC KREWE. 95 
 
 through US. He is very rich, evidently very 
 influential, and certainly will be of use to 
 you. I feel that I can take the liberty of 
 sending you to him, because — well, he is 
 under many obligations to the bank, and is 
 likely to want many more large favors. I 
 fancy that you'll find him a trifle eccentric, 
 but enthusiastically hospitable. A Creole 
 of the Creoles I judge him to be, and a repre- 
 sentative of the nabobs." 
 
 Young Coleman considered himself lucky 
 to carry with him a document that would 
 give him introduction to a person so re- 
 nowned as Judge Favart de Caumartin, of 
 whom he had been recently reading a good 
 deal owing to a duel fought between the 
 Judge and one Colonel Sam Smith, of the 
 United States army, in which the latter had 
 been killed. The duel had brought out his- 
 tory from which it appeared that Judge 
 Favart de Caumartin had fought before, not 
 once only, but many times, and always to 
 the death of his antagonist. Along with 
 these facts were disclosed numerous pic- 
 turesque details of the Judge's past life, 
 with more than hints that in his young days 
 he had been a jnrate or something of the 
 sort. The account also made the most of 
 his wealth, his almost reckless liberality, 
 his eccentricity, and, most of all, the air of 
 
96 THE MTSTW KREWE. 
 
 mystery which still hung over his business 
 operations. 
 
 All this was rich food for an imagination 
 already thoroughly saturated with the spirit 
 of romantic adventure, and during the 
 voyage from New York to New Orleans 
 Hepworth Coleman found deep satisfaction 
 in anticipating what he felt was in store for 
 him. In every fiber of his frame he felt the 
 assurance that he was on the way to new 
 and strange experiences. 
 
 His banker had sent a letter to precede his 
 arrival by a few days, asking a friend to se- 
 cure suitable apartments for Mr. Hepworth 
 Coleman, gentleman, the consequence being 
 that a dark young man, small but well-built 
 and handsome, met him at the landing to 
 conduct him to his suit of elegant rooms on 
 Koyal Street. 
 
 ''Is you Meestu Coleman, sah?" in- 
 quired this young stranger in a musical and 
 respectful tone of voice. "I look fo' zat 
 ma' at prayson." 
 
 "Yes, sir, that is my name," said Cole- 
 man briskly, at the same time he showed 
 by his look that he would like to know 
 whom he was meeting. 
 
 " Yareeglad you come, Meestu Coleman ; 
 varee glad, sah, indeed. Got your rooms all 
 prepare f o' you, sah. Yes, sah, zey is beau- 
 tifu' an' sharming rooms." 
 
THE MYSTIC KREWE. 97 
 
 *' Thank you ; I am mucli indebted. Are 
 you the gentleman to whom Mr. Cartwright, 
 the banker, wrote in my behalf? " 
 
 "Nah, sah, not any banker write to me ; 
 I been told to meet you at zis place at pray- 
 son. Happy to see you. Mist Coleman ; 
 varee happy." 
 
 There was an elegant carriage at hand 
 waiting for our friend. A negro driver in 
 livery and a small black footman stood by. 
 
 Coleman entered the vehicle, followed 
 closely by the young creole who had met 
 him on the landing. He saw his baggage 
 hoisted into a little wagon to come after the 
 carriage. 
 
 For some reason not exactly explained 
 this whole proceeding affected Coleman 
 peculiarly ; he felt a sort of vague uneasi- 
 ness, as if he w^ere passing into an atmos- 
 phere of mystery, if not of danger. 
 
 As he was whirled through the narrow 
 streets he caught glimpses of queer tile-cov- 
 ered houses with curious hanging galleries. 
 High walls and gloomy courts flanked these, 
 and here and there a dusky palm or a bright 
 orange tree flung up its foliage. Blooming 
 magnolia clumps filled the air with a heavy, 
 languid odor. 
 
 But what most attracted the attention of 
 Coleman was a company of four or five 
 young men dressed like dandies, swaggering 
 
98 THE MYSTIC EREWE. 
 
 along on one of the banquettes (sidewalks) 
 and singing a drinking song at the top of 
 their voices. One of these hilarious fellows 
 made a lasting impression on our young 
 friend's imagination. He was a tall, olive- 
 skinned, handsome man, apparently about 
 twenty-five, strikingly dressed in a plaid 
 coat, a vest of red and black velvet, gray 
 trousers, and a profusely ruffled shirt. Evi- 
 dently he was the leading spirit of the party. 
 At all events he was somewhat in front, with 
 his black cap set well back on his shapely 
 head, while his jet black hair fell in shining 
 curls over his strong shoulders. He was 
 shouting forth the French drinking carol in 
 a voice as sweet as it was loud, and at the 
 same time waving in the air a small cane. 
 The entire group looked the worse for wine, 
 their faces flushed and their eyes bril- 
 liant. 
 
 *'Who is that strange-looking man in 
 front 1 " inquired Coleman of his Creole com- 
 panion, as they passed them by. 
 
 '' Zat ge'man ees ze goozh Favart de Cau- 
 martin,'' was the answer that fairly startled 
 the interrogator. 
 
 Coleman actually grew red in the face and 
 exclaimed : 
 
 " That Judge Favart de Caumartin ! 
 Surely, sir, you are mistaken." 
 
 *'Beg pahdon, sah, zat ees Monsieur le 
 
THE MYSTIC KREWE. 99 
 
 Juge Favart de Caumartin. I him know 
 varee well myself at pray son." 
 
 Coleman turned and stared back through 
 the window at the strutting youthful figure 
 leading the noisy rout. 
 
 How could that be the celebrated duellist, 
 the guardian i)irate ! 
 
 *'It cannot be," he muttered aloud. "It 
 is impossible." 
 
 "Varee well, Meestu Coleman," said the 
 young Creole dryly ; "but I mus' inqui yo' 
 pahdon, sah. Monsieur le Juge Favart de 
 Caumartin ees to me well acquainted. I we- 
 mark to you, sah, zat zare ees not any mis- 
 take." 
 
 " Oh certainly, sir ; I beg a thousand par- 
 dons!" exclaimed Coleman, pulling himself 
 together and seeing his breach of etiquette. 
 "Of course you were right; but I was so 
 surprised to see the J udge looking so young. 
 I had supposed he was an aged man. I am 
 astonished." 
 
 " Oh, Monsieur le Juge ees not so young — 
 not so varee — hees hair not much gray." 
 While they were still discussing this matter 
 the carriage stopped in front of a square, 
 heavy-looking house, which, painted a dull 
 red and projecting its upper gallery over the 
 banquette, flung out on either side a heavy 
 brick wall on whose top was a jagged dress- 
 ing of broken bottles and jags. It looked 
 
100 THE MYSTIC KREWE. 
 
 more like a convent than like an apartment- 
 house. 
 
 Hepworth Coleman found his suit of rooms 
 admirable in every respect, large, airy, lux- 
 uriously furnished. His Creole conductor 
 parted with him at the door without giving 
 his name or address and without any expla- 
 nation whatever of his connection with the 
 matter of securing these elegant apartments 
 or with making his arrival easy and pleasant. 
 
 Some silent and obsequious negro servants 
 were at hand to do his bidding ; but he soon 
 dismissed them ; while he flung himself upon 
 a sofa and lit his pipe. Altogether incom- 
 prehensible to him were the suggestions of 
 secrecy and mystery connected with his re- 
 ception ; scarcely less so was the youthful, 
 nay, boyish appearance of Judge Favart de 
 Caumartin. 
 
 As if the mysterious atmosphere meant to 
 continue growing denser, it was while he lay 
 along the luxuriant scarlet sofa, smoking, 
 resting, and meditating, that a beautiful girl 
 came and stood for a moment in the doorway 
 of his chamber. She blushed sweetly at 
 sight of him, recoiled violently, and then 
 slipped swiftly away, leaving behind her a 
 rustle of fine stuff, a sparkle of rare jewels, 
 and a lingering bouquet of violets and 
 roses. 
 
 Coleman felt the delicious shock of her 
 
THE MT8TW KREWE. 101 
 
 magnetic beauty thrill through him. A sort 
 of shimmering outline of her body wavered 
 or appeared to waver in the door after she 
 had gone, so dazzling had been the effect 
 of her fresh, pure, flower-like, yet intensely 
 human, beauty. He heard her feet tap 
 swiftly and lightly along the hall. Invol- 
 untarily and with unpardonable curiosity he 
 sprang up and, hurrying to the door, looked 
 out, but she was not in sight. For the first 
 time in his life, he felt his heart beating 
 unnaturally. 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 Evening was drawing on, sending a soft 
 twilight into the room, when Coleman's din- 
 ner was brought in by a shy and silent old 
 colored woman. He had not ordered the 
 meal, nor had he felt the need of it. Doubt- 
 less the stimulus afforded by the unusual 
 character of his surroundings held his sense 
 of hunger in abeyance. 
 
 The old woman retired as soon as she had 
 arranged the repast on a round mahogany 
 table. Coleman found the oysters, the wine, 
 the broiled fish, the French bread, and the 
 black coffee excellent to such a degree that 
 he ate almost everything before him ; then 
 leaning far back in his chair he began to 
 
102 THE MYSTIC KREWE. 
 
 study the silver set from which all those 
 good things had been taken. The platter 
 was in the form of a flounder, the sugar bowl 
 was a frog, the cream pitcher a heron, the 
 coffee-pot a pelican. These curious pieces 
 were exquisitely carved, and on each was 
 cut the name Favart de Caumartin in plain, 
 bold letters. Even on the iive-armed silver 
 candle-stick in which burned fragrant myrtle 
 wax tapers appeared that striking inscrip- 
 tion. He surveyed the room now with a 
 more critical eye, discovering at once that 
 the pictures, the curtains, the carpets, and 
 indeed all the articles of furniture were costly 
 and beautiful beyond anything he had ever 
 seen before. Evidently he was in Judge 
 Favart de Caumartin' s house. 
 
 The moon was shining brilliantly when 
 Coleman went forth for a short walk in the 
 street. Not many people were abroad, it 
 being the dinner-hour, but certain cafes were 
 crowded with men and women who were 
 drinking champagne and discussing the 
 dishes on well-spread tables. 
 
 At the door of one these gorgeous rooms 
 Coleman met the young man whom a few 
 hours before he had seen leading the singers 
 in the street. It occurred to him that now 
 was as good as any time to present his letter 
 to the Judge, so he forthwith stepped near 
 him and said, lifting his hat : 
 
THE MYSTIC KREWE. 103 
 
 **I believe I have the honor of meeting 
 Judge Favart de Caumartin ? " 
 
 The gentleman stared at him a moment 
 very deliberately, then, with just a suspicion 
 of a smile and with a courteous dignity 
 wholly inimitable and indescribable, doffed 
 his queer little black cap as he spoke : 
 
 ^* And who does me the honor of address- 
 ing me?" 
 
 " I am Hepworth Coleman of New York V 
 
 *^Ah!" 
 
 ** I hold a letter to you from Mr. Phineas 
 Cartwright, of the firm of Cartwright & 
 Vanderveer, bankers." 
 
 *' Indeed ! I feel honored." 
 
 Coleman produced the letter and tendered 
 it : but not without a vague feeling of inse- 
 curity of some sort. He had not expected 
 this peculiar reserve and caution on the part 
 of the Judge. Could it be that he was to be 
 treated as an infliction to be borne for mere 
 policy's sake. His distrust and doubt, how- 
 ever, were of short duration, for the Judge 
 had no sooner read the epistle, which was 
 much longer than any mere letter of intro- 
 duction, than his whole manner changed. 
 He held out his hand. 
 
 *'I am charmed, delighted, sir," he said, 
 with a slight Creole accent that made his 
 voice very pleasing. ''I am proud to see 
 you. I hope you find your rooms agreeable. ' ' 
 
104 THE MYSTIC KREWE. 
 
 Coleman clasped his hand and felt that 
 measure of relief which comes when one is 
 suddenly lifted out of a very awkward situ- 
 ation. 
 
 The Judge read the banker's letter over 
 again with great deliberation and appar- 
 ently with much concentration of mind, while 
 Coleman, who conld not remove his eyes 
 from his fascinating dark face, stood waiting 
 for an opportunity to say : 
 
 ^'You do me infinite honor. Judge, in 
 quartering me in your own house. I had 
 not expected and could not expect such hos- 
 pitality." 
 
 The Judge hesitated, then with a calm 
 smile remarked that whatever he could do 
 for so distinguished a visitor would be but 
 a small expression of the greater hospitality 
 that he would like to bestow were he able. 
 
 **And now," he presently continued, 
 *'come with me to my own private apart- 
 ments, where we can have some quiet conver- 
 sation and a smoke." 
 
 Coleman could not fail to see that the 
 Judge was still somewhat touched with wine, 
 though the mood of wild hilarity had passed 
 off. 
 
 They passed along the street until they 
 reached a narrow blind alley into which the 
 moonlight fell but dimly between dusky 
 walls. 
 
THE MYSTIC KREWE. 105 
 
 To Coleman's surprise the Judge led the 
 way into this, then up a flight of winding 
 and rather rickety stairs to a dark hall, 
 along which they passed to what seemed a 
 great distance. At the end the Judge fum- 
 bled for some time, and by some means 
 opened a low, heavy door leading into a 
 room that reeked with the odor of tobacco 
 and the fumes of wine. Passing across this 
 by the light of a dim dormer Avindow they 
 reached a close passageway which led to 
 another prison-like door, which the Judge 
 managed to open after a great deal of trouble. 
 The room that they now entered was exceed- 
 ingly small — a mere cell in extent, as Cole- 
 man felt rather than saw, the walls, damp 
 and grimy, being almost within reach on 
 either hand. 
 
 " Stand here for one moment, please," 
 said the Judge, touching Coleman's arm, 
 " until I call a servant." 
 
 Then he stepped briskly back through the 
 doorway and drew the solid shutter to with 
 a hollow clang. Some strange echoes went 
 wandering away as if from distance to dis- 
 tance, above, below, around, followed by 
 absolute silence. A faint flicker of light 
 came from above, but it seemed a reflection 
 rather than a direct beam from the moon, 
 and the air was close, heavy, atrociously bad. 
 
 Coleman stood amazed for a few moments 
 
106 THE MYSTIC KREWE. 
 
 before going to the door, wliicli he found 
 immovable. He groped around the wall 
 only to discover that there was no other 
 outlet. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Judge Favart de Caumartin's residence 
 was a large, rambling structure, more like a 
 hotel than like a private house. Consider- 
 ing that his wife was dead and that he had 
 but one living child, a daughter of seven- 
 teen, it was strange that he kept up such an 
 extensive establishment, in which, perhaps, 
 twenty rooms stood richly furnished but un- 
 occupied. It was his pleasure, however, and 
 his pleasure was law. 
 
 Mile. Olympe de Caumartin was greatly 
 surprised when by merest chance she dis- 
 covered Hepworth Coleman making himself 
 quite at home in a remote room of the house. 
 We have seen how she showed her confusion 
 as she stepped into the doorway and found 
 herself face to face with the young man. 
 The glance that passed between them 
 wrought a wonder in the heart of each. 
 I shall not say that they fell in love at first 
 sight. Love cannot be so accurately traced 
 that its origin can be exactly found out in any 
 particular case. It is enough to record that 
 
THE MYSTIC KREWE. 107 
 
 Mile. Olympe de Caumartin canglit some- 
 thing new, something sweet from that mo- 
 mentary gaze, and shut it up in her heart 
 involuntarily, with a thrill that never again 
 quite left her breast. She was back through 
 halls and rooms to her own boudoir, her 
 cheeks and lips rosy with excitement, and 
 a gentle tremor in her limbs. 
 
 That evening in the library the Judge told 
 his daughter that he had given a suit of 
 rooms in the farthest wing of the mansion to 
 a wealthy young gentleman from New York. 
 
 *' I have had letters from Mr. Cartwright, 
 my banker there, asking me to take care of 
 him, and this seemed the best I could do 
 under the circumstances. I did not see my 
 way to bringing him any nearer to us. We 
 don't care to have another member added to 
 our family, eh, Olympe, dear? " 
 
 Mile, de Caumartin blushed. She may 
 have felt a touch of guilt because she could 
 not muster courage to tell her father that she 
 had already visited Mr. Coleman. 
 
 " I have not seen him yet," continued the 
 Judge ; "I thought it best to let him have 
 some rest before calling upon him. Cart- 
 wright advises me that he is of an excellent 
 family— a man to be given the greatest at- 
 tention, and for my banker's sake, if for 
 nothing else, I must meet the demand upon 
 my hospitality. He came a fortnight earlier 
 
108 THE MYSTIC KREWE. 
 
 than I expected ; but I had Jules watching 
 for him, and you know Jules never fails." 
 
 *'But you should have told me before, 
 father dear," said Mile. Olympe. ''Only a 
 while ago, while wandering through the dis- 
 tant wing of the house, I invaded this young 
 gentleman's apartment. It surprised him 
 evidently as much as it abashed me." 
 
 *' The obvious moral of which is," replied 
 the Judge quickly, ''that you are hereafter 
 to be more careful about what rooms you 
 are stumbling into." As he spoke his dark 
 oval face, with its fine, grave smile, was al- 
 most like a boy's. The flush that lay under 
 the skin shone through with a suggestion 
 of some repressed stimulus, as if a great 
 passion had forced it up. In his eyes an 
 underglow, so to call it, smoldered with 
 fascinating vagueness. 
 
 Mile. Olympe sat for a moment on his 
 knee and stroked his long black hair. 
 
 " You will stay with me to-night, father, 
 dear," she presently murmured, coaxingly; 
 *' you will not go out to-night." 
 
 " I must be gone a little while," he said, 
 rising at once, " but just a little while." 
 
 She clung close to him. 
 
 " Not this night, please," she urged, with 
 a touching tremor in her voice. " Oh ! you 
 remember this night a year ago you had 
 that dreadful adventure in the dark room. 
 
THE MYSTIC KREWE. 109 
 
 You must not go out ; please, for my sake, 
 do not." 
 
 An expert observer could have seen while 
 this was going on a strange, half-worried, 
 almost fiercely concentrated expression in 
 the Judge's eyes. It was as if he mightily 
 wished to remain with his child, but could 
 not by any effort resist some powerful 
 temptation tugging at him and drawing 
 him away. 
 
 He kissed her tenderly, pushed her gently 
 from him and went out. 
 
 The girl cast herself upon a sofa and 
 buried her face in her hands, as a vision of 
 that night one year before came up before 
 her eyes. 
 
 Some strange masked men had brought 
 her father home far in the night, white as a 
 ghost, helpless, speechless, apparently dead. 
 They put him down there in the room and 
 vanished. 
 
 He had no wound, no bruise, no mark of 
 any violence. But he recovered very slowly, 
 and he never told what had befallen him. 
 
 Mile. Olympe knew of her father's fre- 
 quent duels, and if he had been brought in 
 dead or badly off on account of pistol ball 
 or rapier thrust she would not have been 
 surprised beyond measure, but this myste- 
 rious performance of the masked men and 
 the unaccountable condition of the Judge 
 
110 THE MYSTIC KREWE. 
 
 were taken hold upon by her imagination 
 and raised to the highest power of romantic 
 meaning. 
 
 A year had passed, and she might not 
 have recalled the exact anniversary but for 
 the prattle of an old servant to the effect 
 that she had seen her master, the Judge, 
 marching at the head of a company of 
 masked men, himself wearing an *' invisi- 
 ble" mask and a queer black velvet cap. 
 
 Mile. Olympe observed that her father was 
 flushed as if with wine, and his bearing was 
 indicative of some subtile and indescribable 
 excitement within him. When he went 
 away she felt that something startling was 
 going to happen soon. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 When Hepworth Coleman suddenly found 
 himself a prisoner in that close, dark room, 
 he did not at first suspect any treachery on 
 the part of Judge Favart de Caumartin. 
 He expected that gentleman to return in the 
 course of a few minutes, but this favorable 
 impression was soon removed by certain 
 startling events that crowded one upon an- 
 other. 
 
 First a low, rumbling, clanging sound, 
 like the beating of metallic gongs in the dis- 
 
THE MYSTIC KllEWE. 111. 
 
 tance, came tlirougli the walls and filled the 
 cell. Then as this died away to utter silence 
 he heard tumultous whispering all around, 
 above, below. The thousand voices all 
 seemed to be saying the same thing, which 
 I)resently he made out to be the words : 
 "The Krewe is coming ; make ready for the 
 Krewe ! ' ^ When the whispering ended little 
 l)urple lights began to flash here and there, 
 but so mysteriously glinted that he could 
 not locate them, and these were followed by 
 phantom faces, wan, waxen, faintly lumi- 
 nous, appearing and fading instantly, suc- 
 ceeded by intense darkness. 
 
 Now, Hepworth Coleman was a man of 
 iron nerve, an athlete in body and spirit, 
 who, although full of romantic and poetic 
 impulses, was at the base of his character as 
 brave and steadfast as a lion. Still, even 
 the best courage has its moment of faltering, 
 and just at the point when one whole wall of 
 his cell was withdrawn, so that he stood in 
 the full glare of twenty brilliant chandeliers 
 that lighted a large, gorgeously decorated 
 hall, he felt the blood grow stifiingly heavy 
 on his heart. Before him stood a file 
 of fantastic figures, men oddly clad and 
 strangely armed, who clashed their brazen 
 shields together and pointed their swords at 
 his breast. On the walls of the spacious 
 room hung weird-looking trophies, skulls, 
 
112 THE MYSTIC KREWE. 
 
 pictures of dead men, ghastly and livid, 
 pistols, swords, and strange banners. The 
 floor was carpeted with heavy Persian 
 tapestry, thickly padded underneath. 
 
 Coleman stood gazing while the file of 
 armed men — perhaps platoon would be more 
 correct — went through some silent but intri- 
 cate evolutions after beating their shields 
 together and threatening him with their 
 swords. When the movements were ended 
 one of the masters came ui) to him and 
 struck him lightly with the flat of his 
 weapon across the cheek, saying in a loud 
 whisper : 
 
 '' Beware ! you are in imminent dan- 
 ger." 
 
 Coleman took him at his word and in- 
 stantly let go a blow from the shoulder. 
 His close-set fist met the masker's jaw with 
 a sound of crushing pasteboard, and down 
 went the man outstretched at full length on 
 the floor, his shield and sword giving forth 
 a mufiled clang as they crossed upon the 
 soft carpet. 
 
 Quick as a cat Coleman leaped forward 
 and picked up the sword, a beautiful rapier, 
 and, assuming a defensive attitude, cried 
 out boldly : 
 
 " Come one at a time and I will fight you 
 all!" 
 
 The fantastic fisrures looked at one another 
 
THE MYSTIC KREWE. 113 
 
 with evident questioning, though not a word 
 was said. 
 
 Meantime the fallen one scrambled to his 
 feet and swore two or three bitter French 
 oaths. The leader rebuked him with ges- 
 tures. 
 
 '* Come one at a time, you cowardly vil- 
 lains," repeated Coleman, ''and I'll soon 
 finish you all. Come on, the first one, if you 
 dare meet a man ! " 
 
 He was terribly angry, but his voice was 
 steady and even. 
 
 There was a space of silence. Then the 
 leader said something to one of the men, 
 who immediately cast aside his shield and 
 advanced with his rapier. 
 
 It was a short conflict. Coleman disarmed 
 his antagonist with ease in less than a min- 
 ute. 
 
 Another man came on and shared the same 
 fate, with the addition of a prick through 
 the wrist of the sword-arm. 
 
 This was exhilarating to Coleman in his 
 exasperation at being made the butt of some 
 mysterious trick. 
 
 *' Come next," he cried ; '' I want the best 
 of you— and the best is a coward. Come 
 on!" 
 
 Evidently the mystic band now felt the 
 gravity that the occasion was assuming. 
 The maskers looked to their leader. 
 
114 THE MYSTIC KREWE. 
 
 " Don't stand there afraid," sneered Cole- 
 man ; '' come on and get your turn. Who's 
 next?" 
 
 One after another responded, only to fare 
 badly. As yet, however, all had escaped 
 without deadly hurt, when the leader him- 
 self made ready to fight. Those who had 
 come to grief were quietly cared for by 
 others, and all seemed to treat the pro- 
 ceedings as by no means startling or even 
 unusual. 
 
 When the leader threw aside his shield 
 and took off his tall plume-covered hat, 
 Coleman was able to recognize Judge Favart 
 de Caumartin, more by his form and bear- 
 ing than by any disclosure of his features. 
 
 As the Judge handled his rapier, all the 
 company of maskers, even the sorely- 
 wounded ones, came forward to look on 
 with eager expectation. His was steel that 
 never yet had failed to find the vitals of his 
 opponent. But, on the other hand, there 
 stood Coleman, steadfast and alert, the very 
 picture of strength and will, and the em- 
 bodiment of quickness and certainty, his 
 sword bearing at its point a tiny red clot of 
 blood. 
 
 They looked with straining eyes and did 
 not feel sure of the result even with their 
 captain as their champion. 
 
 *'Come on, sir, and take your punish- 
 
THE MYSTIC KREWE. 115 
 
 ment, you cowardly leader of cowards!" 
 exclaimed Coleman in a most exasperating 
 tone. *^ Don't stand there dreading it. 
 Pluck up a little nerve and come on!" 
 
 It is useless to say that Judge Favart de 
 Caumartin needed no bullying of this sort 
 to urge him into combat. With beautiful 
 swiftness and grace he sprang forward and 
 at once took the offensive. Then followed 
 sword play that was amazing to look at. 
 Each combatant showed that mastery of the 
 fencing art which makes the weapon appear 
 to be a part of the man. So swiftly leaped 
 the shining shafts of steel that the eye saw 
 only fine symmetrical figures shimmering 
 between the fighters, w^hile spangles of fire 
 leaped from the crossing edges. Coleman 
 felt at once that he had met his match ; the 
 Judge tingled with the discovery that here 
 at last was a master. 
 
 From the first it was a fight to the death 
 if possible. Neither could hope to disarm 
 the other, nor was there probability of any 
 mere disablement ending the contest. The 
 watchers, looking on in breathless suspense, 
 heard wdth intensely straining ears the 
 almost magically rapid clinking of the 
 blades. 
 
 Coleman fought as if with the energy of 
 all the accumulated romance of his recent 
 experiences, half recognizing, as he parried 
 
116 THE M78TIG KREWE. 
 
 and thrust and feinted and recovered guard, 
 the vivid picturesqueness, the melodramatic 
 unreality, and yet the deadly intensity of 
 the situation. He did not know where he 
 was or why he had been brought there. The 
 whole affair had mystery enough in it to 
 have destroyed the will power of any weaker 
 man ; but to him, while the strangeness af- 
 fected his imagination, there was nothing in 
 the matter to make him falter or to weaken 
 the force of his arm. A fine glow of enthus- 
 iasm flashed indeed into his blood, and with 
 it an access of cunning grace and swift cer- 
 tainty of hand and eye. The feeling pre- 
 vailed that he had in some strange way 
 stepped out of the real world into the world 
 of romance, and as he fought, the charm of 
 heroism fell upon him, and, like the knights 
 of old, he felt the strength of a glorious des- 
 peration. All round him the vague spirit 
 of dreamland seemed to hover, though the 
 hideous pictures of skeletons and cadavers 
 gleamed real enough in the glare of the 
 chandeliers. What inspired him most, how- 
 ever, was the knowledge that he was trying 
 his force with that of the greatest duellist 
 in the world, and one who had always killed 
 his man. 
 
 There was something more that gave spirit 
 and courage to Coleman : he was in some in- 
 direct way remembering the beautiful girl 
 
THE MYSTIC KREWE. 117 
 
 who had appeared at the door of his room, 
 and he half imagined that he was doing bat- 
 tle for the right to know more of her. Youth 
 is a mystery in itself, and love knows no law 
 of origin or of progress. By some cerebral 
 slight, some trick of thinking under a 
 thought, so to say, Coleman was making a 
 love dream keep time to the ringing strokes 
 of his sword. A girl whose name he did not 
 know, whose voice he had never heard, was 
 inspiring him as he strained every nerve. 
 
 As the combat proceeded, the lookers-on 
 saw that Coleman's play was new to the 
 Judge, who found great difficulty in meet- 
 ing and parrying certain eccentric move- 
 ments that invariably ended in a thrust of 
 lightning quickness. Presently the Judge 
 tore off his mask with his left hand. He 
 had to do this at the risk of his life, for he 
 could not breath freely with it on. But his 
 great skill saved him even then ; nay, more, 
 it came near giving him the victory. As 
 Coleman lunged, the agile creole leaped aside 
 and returned quickly with a wicked thrust 
 that barely reached his adversary's breast, 
 piercing it to the depth of a half inch. 
 
 Now the fight took on more of passion and 
 less of grace, as if the men felt that it was 
 to be a test of strength at last. Round and 
 round, back and forth, this way and that, 
 they leaped, and recoiled, and advanced ; 
 
118 THE MYSTIC KREWE. 
 
 their faces — one dark and beautiful as a 
 southern night, the other fair and magnetic 
 as a New England June day — fixed and star- 
 ing, the white froth gathering on their lips. 
 
 When the end came it was like nothing 
 ever before witnessed in a New Orleans duel. 
 How it happened not one of the observers 
 could tell ; but the two men appeared to rush 
 into each other's arms, and then it was seen 
 that each had run the other through. 
 
 That broke the charm. The masked men 
 sprang forward and separated the combat- 
 ants, and all began to speak at once. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Judge Favart de Caumartin and Hep- 
 worth Coleman were, by order of the Judge 
 himself, taken to the Judge's mansion, where 
 their wounds were examined by physicians 
 and surgeons quickly summoned. 
 
 Mile. Olympe de Caumartin found herself 
 nursing two almost dying patients at the 
 same time. Although she suspected that 
 this was the result of a duel between her 
 father and the young stranger, she was not 
 told the secret of the affair until long after- 
 ward. 
 
 Strange to say, although the Judge was 
 much the older man, and was wounded 
 
THE MYSTIC KREWE. 119 
 
 much nearer the heart, he recovered and 
 was walking about in his house before Cole- 
 man had even taken a turn for the better. 
 The first thing he did was to order his 
 daughter to cease her nursing of the young 
 man. 
 
 *' It is not proper,'- he said, " for a young 
 girl to be the nurse of a man who is a 
 stranger." 
 
 Mile. Olympe blushed scarlet, and was so 
 much confused that she could not find a 
 word to say. It had been a great pleasure to 
 her to wait upon Coleman, who, though for 
 the greater part of the time quite insensible 
 of her presence, seemed to respond better to 
 her care than to the treatment of the doctors. 
 She had been having her sweet dream, was in 
 love with him, indeed, and the command 
 of her father struck her likea blow. 
 
 Judge Favart de Caumartin suspected the 
 truth about his daughter, and was not slow 
 in making up his mind in the matter. He 
 gave strict orders that the hall between 
 Coleman's rooms and the rest of the mansion 
 should be kept at all times locked and 
 barred. 
 
 Love laughs at such precautions. Hep- 
 worth Coleman, during his convalescence, lay 
 on his back and thought of nobody but 
 Mile. Olympe, and when at last he was able 
 to get up he sent for her. It so chanced that 
 
120 THE MTSTIC KREWE. 
 
 the Judge, having got well in a measure, was 
 gone up to Natchez on business. 
 
 Mile. Olympe did not go to see the young 
 man ; but she wrote him a note explain- 
 ing her father's wishes. 
 
 *' But he has never forbidden you to come 
 to see me when you are able to walk so far 
 as to the library," she added very frankly, 
 *' and I see no reason why you should stay 
 away." 
 
 When the Judge returned it was too late 
 to interfere, as he soon discovered, and he 
 had to bow to the inevitable. 
 
 The mystery of the adventure with the 
 masked men in that secret salle has never 
 been further explained. Judge Favart de 
 Caumartin would not consent to his daugh- 
 ter's marriage until he had exacted a prom- 
 ise from Coleman that he would never di- 
 vulge what he knew. 
 
 The truth was that Coleman knew very 
 little. He tried to discover the blind alley 
 into which the Judge had led him on that 
 eventful evening, but there was no such 
 alley to discover. The whereabouts of the 
 mysterious hall cannot be pointed out to- 
 day, although from that memorable Tuesday 
 in the spring of 1820 up to the Mardi-Gras of 
 1891, every anniversary of the Mystic Krewe 
 has been duly celebrated by a fantastic band 
 that at a certain hour of the night parades 
 
THE MYSTIC KREWE. 121 
 
 the streets of New Orleans. I do not refer 
 to the regular carnival societies. These are 
 but playful imitations of mystery. The 
 genuine Krewe, as wierdly strange and mys- 
 terious as ever, may be seen only on Koyal 
 Street, a small band headed by a tall, slender, 
 dark man, who wears an invisible mask and 
 a quaint black velvet cap. Where they 
 come from nobody has ever been able to dis- 
 cover. Who they are is not known even to 
 the great Rex, the king of the Carnival. 
 
 Hep worth Coleman and Mile. Olympe de 
 Caumartin were married in due time and 
 lived on Royal Street all their lives. Every 
 year on the evening of Mardi-Gras, they were 
 called upon to give dinner to the Mystic 
 Krewe, thirteen in number, who ate in 
 silence with their masks on. The last of 
 these dinners was in 1860. That year saw 
 the twain, who for forty years had been 
 happy together, laid in their tomb side by 
 side. 
 
 Strangely enough there is no record what- 
 ever of Judge Favart de Caumartin' s death ; 
 indeed, there is a tradition to the effect that 
 he it is who still leads the Mystic Krewe. 
 
Steai^ge Adventures of a 
 Million Dollaes. 
 
 BY INGERSOLL LOCKWOOD. 
 
 OLD New Yorkers may remember Din- 
 gee's famous Club House in lower 
 Greene Street. From 1800 to 1850 it was 
 the most fashionable gambling house in the 
 metropolis, its founder, Alphonse Dingee, 
 having been the first to introduce roulette 
 and rouge et noir into the new world. It 
 was in 1850 or a little later that ill health 
 obliged his son Cyrill to sell the business 
 out. He retired to his country seat at 
 Bricksburg, quite a ]3alatial residence for 
 those days, where he died shortly after, leav- 
 ing a round million dollars and one child, a 
 daughter, Daisy. Spite of the fact that she 
 was popularly known throughout the coun- 
 try as the "gambler's daughter," there 
 were several respectable young men in the 
 place who would have been only too happy 
 to administer an estate worth a round mil- 
 lion with Daisy thrown in for better or worse. 
 
 122 
 
A MILLION DOLLARS. 123 
 
 But Daisy Dingee knew what she wanted, 
 and it was nothing more nor less than an 
 alliance with the most aristocratic family 
 in the country, to wit : the Delurys, whose 
 large white mansion at the other end of the 
 town was as tumble-down and shabby look- 
 ing as Daisy's was neat, fresh, and well kept. 
 Miss Dingee, therefore, proceeded to throw 
 herself at the head of one Monmouth Delury, 
 mentally and physically a colorless sort of 
 an individual, who, for want of sufficient in- 
 tellect to make an honest living, passed his 
 time going to seed with the thousand or so 
 acres of land belonging to him and his 
 maiden sisters, Hetty, Prudence, and Mar- 
 tha, three women who walked as stiff as 
 they talked, although they never were 
 known to discuss any subject other than 
 the Delury family. 
 
 When Daisy's proposition was made 
 known to them they tried to faint, but were 
 too stiff to fall over, and were obliged to 
 content themselves with gasping out : 
 
 "What ! Daisy Dingee marry our brother, 
 the head of the Delury family ! " 
 
 But it was the first idea that had ever 
 entered the brother's head, and he clung to 
 it with a parent's affection for his first born. 
 In a few months Mr. and Mrs. Monmouth 
 Delury set out for Paris with that proverb- 
 ial speed with which Americans betake 
 
124 STRANGE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 themselves to the French capital when oc- 
 casion offers. They found it a much pleas- 
 anter place than Bricksburg. Delury im- 
 proved rapidly and Daisy fell quite in love 
 with him, made her will in his favor, con- 
 tracted the typhoid fever and died. 
 
 Whereupon the really disconsolate wid- 
 ower sent for his three sisters to join him. 
 They had but one objection to going, that 
 was to part company with the dear old 
 homestead, but they overcame it the day 
 after receiving Monmouth's letter, which 
 happened to be a Friday, and took the 
 Saturday's steamer. 
 
 To confess the truth, the Delurys had 
 been so land-poor that their spare aristo- 
 cratic figures were rather the result of neces- 
 sity than inclination. Six months of Paris 
 life under the benign protection of Dingee's 
 round million made different women of 
 them. It was wonderful what a metamor- 
 phosis Parisian dressmakers and restaura- 
 teurs effected in their figures. They became 
 round and plump. They stopped talking 
 about Bricksburg, signed themselves the 
 Misses Delury of New York, enrolled them- 
 selves as patrons of art, gave elegant dinners, 
 and in a very short time set up pretensions 
 to being the leaders of the American colony. 
 
 But remorseless fate was at their heels. 
 Figaro unearthed the secret of old Dingee's 
 
A MILLION DOLLARS. 126 
 
 million, and the Delurys suddenly found 
 themselves the sensation of Paris, the butt 
 of ridicule in the comic papers. Monmouth 
 had been in poor health for several months, 
 and this killed him. 
 
 Dingee's million was now in the eye of the 
 law divided up among his three sisters', but 
 fate willed it otherwise, for the following 
 year Hetty, the eldest, died of Roman fever, 
 and six months later Prudence fell a victim 
 to rat poison in a small hotel at Grasse, City 
 of Delightful Odors, in the south of France, 
 whither she had gone in search of balmy air 
 for her sister Martha, Avho had suddenly de- 
 veloped symptoms of consumption. 
 
 Left thus alone in the world with old Din- 
 gee's million and an incurable ailment, Mar- 
 tha's only ambition was to reach Bricksburg 
 and die in the old white Delury mansion. It 
 seemed to her that its great spacious rooms 
 Avould enable her to breathe more easily and 
 to fight death off for possibly another year. 
 
 But it was not to be. She got as far 
 as Paris when old Dingee's million again 
 changed hands, going this time by will to 
 Martha's only relatives, twin brothers, John 
 and William Winkletip, produce dealers in 
 Washington street, New York. 
 
 The will was a peculiar one, as was to be 
 expected : 
 
 I give, devise, and bequeath all the property popu- 
 
126 STRANGE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 larly known as the " Dingee Million " to my cousins 
 John and William Winkletip, produce dealers of 
 New York, as joint tenants for their lives and the life 
 of each of them, with remainder over to the eldest son 
 of the survivor, his heirs and assigns forever ; pro- 
 vided, that said remainder man shall be of full age at 
 the time of his father's decease, and shall thereupon 
 enter the ministry of the Methodist Episcopal Church 
 and devote his life and the income of this estate to 
 the encouragement of legislative enactment through- 
 out the United States for the suppression of gambling 
 and wager laying. 
 
 In default of such male heir, the Dingee 
 million was to be divided up among certain 
 religious and eleemosynary institutions. 
 
 When the cablegram from Paris informing 
 them of their extraordinary luck reached the 
 Winkletip Brothers, they were down in the 
 cellar of the old tenement which served as 
 their place of business, with their long jean 
 coats on, busily engaged in sorting onions. 
 As the Winkletips were only a little past 
 fifty, and as strong as hickory knobs, their 
 families were quite satisfied to get only a 
 life estate in the Dingee million, for, bar- 
 ring accidents, the brothers had twenty-five 
 or thirty years to live yet. 
 
 True, Brother John had a son, Cyrus, who 
 would soon be of age, but he was a worthless 
 wight, whose normal condition was alco- 
 holic stupor, barely characterized with suffi- 
 cient lucidity to enable him to distinguish 
 rotten vegetables from sound. 
 
A MILLION DOLLARS. 127 
 
 " He will die years before his father," 
 every one remarked, *'and then the gam- 
 bler's money will go where it ought to go." 
 
 There had been a fire next door to the 
 Winkletips about the time the good news 
 had arrived from Paris ; a huge warehouse 
 had burned down, leaving a brick wall 
 towering sixty feet above the old wooden 
 tenement inwhich the brothers did business. 
 They had given notice to the authorities; 
 but the inspectors had pronounced the wall 
 perfectly safe. So the two brothers con- 
 tinued to come and go, in their best Sunday 
 clothes, however, for they were only engaged 
 in settling up the old business. 
 
 Suddenly, without the slightest warning, 
 the huge wall fell with a terrific crash upon 
 the wooden tenement, crushing it like an egg- 
 shell. When the two brothers were taken 
 out from the ruins, John was pronounced 
 dead and a coroner's permit was given to 
 remove him to a neighboring undertaker's 
 establishment. William lived six hours, 
 conscious to the last and grateful to an all- 
 wise Providence that his worthless nephew 
 would now be excluded from any control 
 over the Dingee million. 
 
 John Winkletip was a grass widower, his 
 wife, an Englishwoman, having abandoned 
 him and returned to England, and for many 
 years he had made his home with his only 
 
128 STRANG B ADVENTURES OF 
 
 other child, a widowed daughter, Mrs. Tim- 
 mins, who was openly opposed to many of 
 her father's peculiar notions, as she termed 
 them, one of which was his strong advocacy 
 of cremation ; he being one of the original 
 stockholders and at the time of his death 
 a director of the Long Island Cremation 
 Society. 
 
 Consequently Mrs. Timmins gave orders 
 that immediately after the coroner's inquest, 
 her father's body should be removed to her 
 residence in Harlem, but as the officers of 
 the Cremation Society held the solemnly 
 executed direction and authorization of their 
 late friend and associate to incinerate his 
 remains, they were advised by the counsel of 
 their corporation that such an instrument 
 would justify them in taking possession of 
 the remains at the very earliest moment pos- 
 sible and removing it to the crematory. 
 
 Warned by the undertakers of Mrs. Tim- 
 min's threatened interference, they resolved 
 not to risk even the delay necessary to pro- 
 cure a burial casket ; in fact it would be a 
 useless expense, anyway, and consequently 
 John Winkle tip began his last ride on earth 
 lying in the cool depths of the undertaker's 
 ice box. 
 
 As Mrs. Timmins'scab turned into Wash- 
 ington Street she met a hearse, but not until 
 she had reached the undertaker's establish- 
 
A MILLION DOLLARS. 129 
 
 ment was her suspicion transformed into 
 certainty by being told that her father's 
 body was already on its way to the cre- 
 matory. 
 
 Mrs. Timmins was a long-headed woman. 
 She knew the uncertainties of cab transpor- 
 tation through the crowded streets below 
 Canal, and dismissing her cab at the Cham- 
 bers Street station of the Third Avenue Ele- 
 vated, she was soon speeding on her way 
 to the Long Island City ferry. 
 
 This she reached just as a boat was leaving 
 the slip. Misfortune number one. When 
 she finally reached the Long Island side, she 
 threw herself into the carriage nearest at 
 hand, crying out: 
 
 ' ' To the crematory ! Five dollars extra if 
 you get me there in time ! " 
 
 It was not many minutes before Mrs. Tim- 
 mins became aware of the fact that the horse 
 was next to worthless, and could scarcely be 
 lashed into a respectable trot. Mrs. Tim- 
 mins was nearly frantic. Every minute her 
 head was thrust out of the window to urge 
 the hackman to greater speed. There was 
 but one consoling thought — the hearse itself 
 might get blocked or might have missed a 
 boat ! 
 
 As again and again her head was thrust 
 out of the carriage window her hair became 
 disheveled, for she had removed her hat, and 
 
130 STRANGE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 the superstitious Hibernian on the box was 
 upon the point of abandoning his post at 
 sight of the wild and crazed look presented 
 by Mrs. Timmins. Was she not some one's 
 ghost, making this wild and mysterious ride ? 
 
 But the promise of an extra five dollars 
 kept the man at his post. 
 
 Suddenly a cry of joy escaped Mrs. Tim- 
 mins' s lips. The hearse was just ahead of 
 them ; but its driver had the better horses, 
 and half suspecting that something was 
 wrong, he whipped up vigorously and dis- 
 appeared in a cloud of dust. Mrs. Tim- 
 mins' s horse was now as wet as if he had 
 been dipped into the river, and she ex- 
 pected every minute to see him give out; 
 but, strange to say, he had warmed up to 
 his work, and now, in response to the driv- 
 er's urging, broke into a run. 
 
 Again Mrs. Timmins caught a glimpse of 
 the black coach of death in the dust clouds 
 ahead of her. The race became every in- 
 stant more exciting. It was a strange sight, 
 and instinctively the farmers, in their re- 
 turning vegetable wagons, drew aside to let 
 them pass. Once more the hearse disap- 
 peared in the dust clouds. This was the 
 last Mrs. Timmins saw of it until she drew 
 up in front of the crematorium. There it 
 stood, with its black doors thrown wide 
 open. She had come too late ! Her father's 
 
A MILLION DOLLARS, 131 
 
 body had already been thrust into the fiery 
 furnace. 
 
 The antagonism of Winkletip's family to 
 his views concerning the cremation of the 
 dead was an open secret with every attache 
 of the society, and the men in charge were 
 determined that the society should come out 
 the winner. They were on the lookout for 
 the body. Everything, to the minutest de- 
 tail, was in readiness. The furnace had been 
 pushed to its greatest destroying power, and 
 hence was it that haste overcame dignity 
 when the foam -flecked and panting horses of 
 the undertaker drew up in front of the en- 
 trance to the crematory. 
 
 The ice-chest was snatched from the hearse, 
 borne hurriedly into the furnace-room, set 
 upon the iron platform, wheeled into the 
 very center of the white flames, whose wav- 
 ing, curling, twisting tongues seemed reach- 
 ing out to their fullest length, impatient for 
 their prey, and the iron doors slammed shut 
 with a loud, resounding clangor. 
 
 At that instant a woman, hatless and 
 breathless, with disheveled hair, burst into 
 the furnace-room. 
 
 *' Hold ! Hold ! " she shrieked, and then 
 her hands flew to her face, and staggering 
 backward and striking heavily against the 
 wall, she sank, limp and lifeless, in a heap 
 on the stone floor of the furnace-room. 
 
i32 STRANGE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 But the two men in charge had neither 
 eyes nor ears for Mrs. Timrains. As the 
 doors closed they sprang to their posts of 
 observation, in front of the two peep-holes, 
 and stood watching the effect of the flames 
 upon the huge ice-chest. 
 
 Its wooden covering parted here and there 
 with a loud crack, laying bare the metal 
 case, from the seams of which burst fitful 
 puffs of steam. Now came a sight so 
 strange and curious that the two men held 
 their breath as they gazed upon it ! By the 
 vaporizing of the water from the melted ice 
 the flames were pushed back from the chest, 
 and it lay there for an instant, as if pro- 
 tected by some miraculous aura. 
 
 Then happened something which caused 
 the men to reel and stagger as if their limbs 
 were paralyzed by drink, and which painted 
 their faces with as deep a pallor as death's 
 own hand could have laid upon them. 
 
 From the furnace depths came forth a 
 dull, muffled cry of '' Help ! Help ! '' 
 
 Making a desperate effort, the men tore 
 open first the outer and then the inner doors 
 of the fire chamber. As the air rushed in, 
 the lid of the metal chest burst silently 
 open. Again the cry of *' Help ! " rang out, 
 and two hands quivered for an instant above 
 the edge of the chest, then with a loud and 
 defiant roar the flames closed in upon it. 
 
A MILLION DOLLARS. 188 
 
 and began to lick it np ravenously. The 
 doors were banged shut, and John Winkle- 
 tip had his way. 
 
 But the Dingee million seemed to draw 
 back instinctively from the touch of the 
 worthless Cy Winkletip. 
 
 With loud cries of joy, the various benefi- 
 ciaries under Martha Delury's will now dis- 
 covered that Cyrus Winkletip was born on 
 the 11th day of August, and that as his 
 father had departed this life on the 10th 
 day of August, the son was not of full age 
 when his father died. But the law put an 
 end to this short-lived joy by making known 
 one of its curious bits of logic, which so 
 often startle the layman. 
 
 It was this : The law takes no note of 
 parts of a day, and therefore as Cyrus Win- 
 kletip was of age on the first minute of his 
 twenty-first birthday, he was also of age on 
 the last minute of the day before — conse- 
 quently on the first minute of the day before 
 he was twenty-one ! 
 
 This gave the Dingee million to Cy Win- 
 kletip ! 
 
 Under constant and stringent surveillance 
 and tutelage, Cy Winkletip was, after sev- 
 eral years of as close application as was 
 deemed safe in view of his weak mental con- 
 dition, admitted to the ministry in accord- 
 ance with the provisions of Miss Delury' s will. 
 
134 A MILLION DOLLARS. 
 
 At last the wicked Dingee million seemed 
 safely launched upon its task of undoing 
 the wrong it had done ; but Cy Winkletip's 
 mind ran completely down in five years and 
 he died a wretched slavering, idiot. 
 
 Mrs. Timmins was inclined to warn off the 
 Dingee million with a gesture of horror ; but, 
 yielding to the solicitation of her friends, 
 she consented to take title in order that she 
 might create a trust with it for some good 
 and noble purpose. To this end, by a last 
 will and testament she created and endowed 
 the American Society for the Suppression of 
 Gambling and Wager-laying, and then died. 
 
 The trustees at once began to erect the 
 buildings called for, but before the society 
 had had an opportunity to suppress a single 
 gaming establishment, the lawyers, at the 
 prayer of Mrs. John Winkletip, Mrs. Tim- 
 min's mother, fell tooth and nail upon the 
 trust, which was declared too '' vague, shad- 
 owy, and indefinite to be executed," and the 
 Dingee million, its roundness now sadly 
 shrunken, made its way across the ocean to 
 Mrs. John Winkletip, of Clapham Common, 
 London. 
 
 She died last year and with her the wan- 
 derings of the Dingee million came to an end. 
 She willed it to trustees for building and 
 maintaining a Hospital for Stray Dogs and 
 Homeless Cats, and those learned in the law 
 say that the trust will stand. 
 
A LOST DAY. 
 
 BY EDGAR FAWCETT. 
 
 MY Family, '^ John Dairy mple would 
 say, " have the strange failing (that 
 is, nearly all of them except myself, on the 
 paternal side) of " 
 
 And then somebody would always try to 
 interrupt him. At the Gramercy, the small 
 but charming club of which he had been for 
 years an honored member, they made a 
 I)oint of interrupting him when he began on 
 his family failing. Not a few of them held 
 to the belief that it was a myth of Dairy m- 
 ple's imagination. Still, others argued, all 
 of the clan except John himself had been a 
 queer lot ; there was no real certainty that 
 they had not done extraordinary acts. 
 Meanwhile, apart from his desire to delve 
 among ancestral records and repeat tales 
 which had been told many times before, he 
 was a genuine favorite with his friends. 
 But that series of family anecdotes remained 
 a standing joke. 
 
 They all pitied him when it became known 
 
 135 
 
•136 A LOST DAY. 
 
 that his engagement to the pretty win- 
 some widow, Mrs. Carrington, was definitely 
 broken. He was past forty now, and had 
 not been Itnown to pay serious court to any 
 woman before in at least ten years. Of 
 course Mrs. Carrington was rich. But then 
 her money could not have attracted Dal- 
 rymple, for he was rich himself, in spite of 
 his plain way of living there in that small 
 Twenty-second Street basement house. 
 
 But the widow's money had doubtless 
 lured to her side the gentleman who had cut 
 poor Dalrymple out. A number of years 
 ago, when this little occurrence which we 
 are chronicling took place, it was not so easy 
 as it is now to make sure of a foreigner's 
 credentials and antecedents. The Count de 
 Pommereul, a reputed French nobleman of 
 high position, had managed to get into the 
 Gramercy as a six-months' member, and had 
 managed also to cross the thresholds of 
 numerous select New York drawing-rooms. 
 At the very period of his introduction to 
 Mrs. Carrington her engagement with Dal- 
 rymple had already become publicly an- 
 nounced. Then, in a few weeks, society re- 
 ceived a shock. Dalrymple was thrown over, 
 and it transpired that the brilliant young 
 widow was betrothed to the Count. 
 
 Dalrymple, calm and self-contained, had 
 nothing to say on the subject of why he had 
 
A LOST PAT. 137 
 
 received such shabby treatment, and nobody- 
 ventured to interrogate him. Some people 
 believed in the Count, others thought that 
 there was a ring of falsity about him, for all 
 his frame was so elegantly slender and sup- 
 ple, for all his mustache was so glossily 
 dark, and his eyes so richly lustrous. Dal- 
 rymple meanwhile hid his wound, met the 
 Count constantly at the Club, though no 
 longer even exchanging bows with him, and 
 — worked at his revenge in secret as a beaver 
 works at the building of his winter ranch. 
 He succeeded, too, in getting superb ma- 
 terials for that revenge. They surprised 
 even himself when a few relatives and 
 friends in Paris mailed him appalling docu- 
 mentary evidence as to what sort of a char- 
 acter this Count really was. There is no 
 doubt that he now held in his hand a thun- 
 derbolt, and had only to hurl it when he 
 pleased. 
 
 He did not tell a single soul what he had 
 learned. The thought of just how he should 
 act haunted him for several days. One 
 evening he went home from the club a little 
 earlier than usual, and tossed restlessly for a 
 good while after going to bed. When sleep 
 came it found him still irresolute as to what 
 course he should take. 
 
 It seemed to him that he had now a suc- 
 cession of dreams, but he could recall none 
 
138 A LOST DAY. 
 
 of them on awaking. And he awoke in a 
 peculiar way. There was yet no hint of 
 dawn in the room, and only the light from 
 his gas, turned down to a very dim star. He 
 was sitting bolt upright in bed, and feverish, 
 fatigued sensations oppressed him. *' What 
 have I Been dreaming?" he asked himself 
 again and again. But as only a confused 
 jumble of memories answered him, he sank 
 back upon the pillows, and was soon buried 
 in slumber. 
 
 It was past nine o'clock in the morning 
 when he next awoke. He felt decidedly 
 better. Both the fever ishness and the fa- 
 tigue had left him. He went to the club and 
 breakfasted there. It was almost empty of 
 members, as small clubs are apt to be at that 
 hour of the morning. But in the hall he 
 met his old friend Langworth and bowed to 
 him. Langworth, who was rather near- 
 sighted, gave a sudden start and a stare. 
 *'How odd," thought Dairy mple, as he 
 passed on into the reading-room, ''I hope 
 there's nothing unexpected about my per- 
 sonal appearance." Just at the doorway of 
 the room he met another old friend, Siim- 
 merson, a man extremely strict about all mat- 
 ters of propriety. Summerson saw him and 
 then plainly made believe that he had not 
 seen. As they moved by one another Dal- 
 
A LOST DAY. 139 
 
 rymple said Mglitly, '^Good-morning, old 
 chap. How's your gout ? " 
 
 Summerson, wlio was very tall and exces- 
 sively dignified, gave a comic squirm. Then 
 his eyelids fluttered and with the tips of his 
 lips he murmured, ''Better," as he glided 
 along. 
 
 "Pooh," said Dairy mple to himself. 
 " Getting touchy, I suppose, in his old age. 
 How longevity disagrees with some of us 
 mortals." 
 
 He nearly always took a bottle of seltzer 
 before breakfast, and this morning old An- 
 drew (a servant who had been in the club 
 many years) poured it out for him. 
 
 "I hope you're all right again this morn- 
 in', sorr," said Andrew with his Celtic ac- 
 cent and in an affable half whisper. 
 
 "All right, Andrew," was the reply. 
 " Why, you must be thinking of some one 
 else. I haven't been ill. My health has 
 been excellent for a long time past." 
 
 "Yes, sorr," said Andrew, lowering his 
 eyes and respectfully retiring. 
 
 That last "Yes, sorr," had a dubious 
 note about its delivery that almost made 
 Dalrymple call the faithful old fellow back 
 and further question him. "All right 
 again?" As if he had ever been all wrong! 
 Oh, well, poor Andrew was ageing ; others 
 had remarked that fact months ago. 
 
140 A LOST DAY. 
 
 A different servant came to announce 
 breakfast. There were only about five men 
 in the dining-room as Dalrymple entered it. 
 All of them gazed at him in an unusual way, 
 or had late events led him to think that they 
 did so ? At the table nearest him sat Ever- 
 dell, one of the jolliest men in the club, 
 a person whose face was nearly always 
 wreathed in smiles. 
 
 *' Good-morning !" said Dalrymple, as he 
 caught Everdell's eye ! 
 
 * ' Good-morning ! " The tones were replete 
 with mild consternation, and the look that 
 went with them was smileless to the degree 
 of actual gloom. Then Everdell, who had 
 just finished his breakfast, rose and drew 
 near to Dalrymple. 
 
 ** 'Pon my word," he said, ^' I'm delighted 
 to see you all right again so soon." 
 
 " All right again so soon V was the reply. 
 *' What in mercy's name do you mean ? " 
 
 " Oh, my dear oldfellow," began Everdell, 
 fumbling with his watch-chain, "it was 
 pretty bad, you know, yesterday." 
 
 " Pretty — bad — yesterday ? " 
 
 "I saw you in the morning, and for an 
 hour or so in the afternoon. Perhaps no one 
 would have noticed it if you hadn' t stayed 
 here all day, and poured those confidences 
 into people' s ears about De Pommereul. You 
 didn't appear to have drank a drop in the 
 
A LOST DAT. 141 
 
 club ; there's the funny part of it. You went 
 out several times, though, and came back 
 again. All that you had to drink (except 
 some wine here at dinner, you remember) you 
 must have got outside. I wasn't here at ten 
 o'clock when De Pommereul came in. I'm 
 glad I wasn't. You must have been dread- 
 ful. If Summerson and Joyce hadn' t rushed 
 in between you and the Count, heaven knows 
 what would have happened. As it is " 
 
 At this point Dalrymple broke in with 
 cold harshness : " Look here, Everdell, I al- 
 ways disliked practical jokes, and I've known 
 for a number of years that you're given to 
 them. You've never attempted to make me 
 your butt before, however, and you'll have 
 the kindness to discontinue any such pro- 
 ceeding now." 
 
 Everdell drew back for a moment, frowned, 
 shrugged his shoulders, and then muttering, 
 ''Oh, if you're going to put it in that way," 
 strode quickly out of the dining-room. 
 
 Dalrymple scarcely ate a morsel of break- 
 fast. After he had gulped down some hot 
 coffee he repaired to the reading-room. As 
 he re-entered it a waiter handed him several 
 letters. One, which he opened first, was 
 marked "immediate," and had been sent 
 him from his own house by an intelligent 
 and devoted woman servant there, who had 
 been for a long period in his employ. This 
 
142 A LOST DAY. 
 
 letter made poor Dalrymple's head swim as 
 he read it. Written and signed by Mr. Sum- 
 merson himself, as chairman of the house 
 committee of the club, it ordered him to ap- 
 pear that same evening before a meeting of 
 the governors and answer to a charge of 
 disorderly conduct on the previous night. 
 Then it went on to state that he (Dalrym- 
 ple) had been seen throughout the previous 
 day at the club in a state of evident intoxi- 
 cation, and had, finally, between the hours 
 of 10 and 11 p. m., accosted and grossly in- 
 sulted the Count de Pommereul in the main 
 drawing-room of the Gramercy. 
 
 '' Disorderly conduct," '' evident, intoxi- 
 cation," ''grossly insulted the Count de 
 Pommereul." These words were trembling 
 on Dalrymple's lips as he presently ap- 
 proached Summerson himself, the very gen- 
 tleman who had signed the letter, and who 
 stood in the hall, ai:rayed for the street. 
 
 " What — what does it all mean? " gasped 
 Dalrymple. ''I — I never was intoxicated in 
 my life, Lawrence Summerson ; you ought 
 to know that ! I played euchre last night, 
 up in the card-room, from nine o'clock till 
 twelve, with Ogden and Folsom and your- 
 self. If there's any practical joke being 
 got up against me, for God's sake " 
 
 ''Wait a minute, please," said Summer- 
 son. He went back into the coat-room, dis- 
 
A LOST BAT. 143 
 
 arrayed himself of his street wraps, and 
 finally joined Dalrymple. His first words, 
 low and grave, ran thus: "Can it be pos- 
 sible you don't recollect that our game of 
 euchre was played the night before last and 
 not last night ? " Then he went with Dal- 
 rymple into a corner of the reading room, 
 and they talked together for a good while. 
 
 Dalrymple went back to his home that 
 day in a mental whirl. It still Avanted a 
 number of hours before the Governing Com- 
 mittee would meet. He had lost a day out 
 of his life — there could be no doubt of that. 
 If he had moved about the Club at all yes- 
 terday with a drunken manner, reviling De 
 Pommereul to everybody w^ho would lend 
 him an ear — if he had afterward met De 
 Pommereul in the Club and directed toward 
 him in loud and furious tones a perfect tor- 
 rent of accusation — he himself was com- 
 pletely, blankly ignorant. 
 
 For a good while he sat quite still and 
 thought. Then he summoned Ann, the 
 elderly and very trustworthy Ann, w^ho had 
 been his dear mother's maid, and was now 
 his housekeeper. He questioned Ann, and 
 after dismissing her he pondered her an- 
 swers. Three times yesterday she had seen 
 him, and regarding his appearance Ann had 
 her distinct opinions. 
 
 Suddenly a light flashed upon Dalrymple 
 
144 A LOST BAY. 
 
 while he sat alone and brooded. He sprang 
 up and a cry, half of awe, half of glad- 
 ness, left his lips. The baffling problem had 
 been solved ! 
 
 That evening he presented himself before 
 the Governing Committee. All assembled 
 were sorry for him. Of course, punishment 
 must be dealt, but for an old and popular 
 member like Dalrymple it must not be ex- 
 pulsion. The general feeling of the Club 
 had indeed already been gauged, and it was 
 in favor of suspension for six months or a 
 year at the farthest. 
 
 Dalrymple, however, was determined that 
 he should be visited with no punishment at 
 all. And he meant to state why. 
 
 The judges, as he faced them, all looked 
 politely grim. The President, after a few 
 suave preliminaries, asked Dalrymple if he 
 had anything to say concerning the charges 
 preferred against him. Dalrymple then pro- 
 ceeded to speak with a clear voice and com- 
 posed demeanor. 
 
 His first sentences electrified his hearers. 
 '' I have no possible recollection of yester- 
 day," he began, '' and it is precisely as much 
 of a lost day to me as though I had lain 
 chloroformed for twenty-four hours. On 
 Wednesday night I returned home from this 
 club and went to rest. I never really woke 
 until Friday, possibly a little while after 
 
A LOST DAT. 145 
 
 midnight, and then within my own bed. 
 On Thursday morning I must have risen 
 in a state of somnambulism, hypnotism, 
 mental aberration, whatever you please, and 
 not come to myself until Thursday had 
 passed, and I had once more retired. Of 
 what yesterday occurred I therefore claim 
 to have been the irresponsible agent, and to 
 have become so through no fault of my own. 
 I am completely innocent of the misde- 
 meanors charged against me, and I now 
 solemnly swear this, on my word of honor 
 as a gentleman." 
 
 Here Dalrymple paused. The members of 
 the committee interchanged glances amid 
 profound silence. On some faces doubt 
 could be read, but on others its veriest op- 
 posite. The intense stillness had become 
 painful when Dalrymple spoke again. 
 
 ''I had hoped that I should escape 
 throughout my own lifetime all visitations 
 of this distressing kind. My grandfather 
 and two of my uncles not only walked in their 
 sleep to an alarming degree, but were each 
 subject to strange conditions of mind, in 
 which acts were performed by them that they 
 could not possibly remember afterward." 
 Here the speaker paused, soon continuing, 
 however, in a lower and more reflective 
 tone : 
 
 *'Yes, my family have had the strange 
 
146 A LOST DAY. 
 
 failing (that is, nearly all of them except 
 myself, on the paternal side) of " 
 
 But he said no more. The tension was 
 loosened, and a great roar of laughter rose 
 from the whole committee. Ho w often every 
 man there had joked him about that mar- 
 velous budget of stories which he infallibly 
 began one way and one way only ! And 
 when the familiar formula sounded forth, it 
 was all the funnier to those who heard it 
 because of the solemn, judicial circumstances 
 in which it again met their hearing. 
 
 The plaintiff was honorably acquitted. 
 As for De Pommereul, as every word that 
 Dalrymple had said concerning his past life 
 in France happened to be perfectly true, 
 the Count never reappeared at the Gramercy. 
 His engagement with Mrs. Carrington was 
 soon afterward broken off by the lady 
 herself, and for a good while it was rumored 
 that this lady had repentantly made it 
 optional with Dalrymple whether he should 
 once more become her accepted sweetheart. 
 
 But Dalrymple remained a bachelor. He 
 is quite an old man now, yet he may be found 
 in the card-room of the Gramercy nearly 
 every evening. He is very willing to tell you 
 the story of his '' lost day" if you ask him 
 courteously for it, and not in any strain of 
 fun-poking ; but he attempts no more volun- 
 tary recitals on the subject of his '^ family's " 
 maladies or mishaps. 
 
A TRAGEDY OF HIGH 
 EXPLOSIVES. 
 
 BY BRAINARD GAEDNER SMITH. 
 
 IN the course of my work last year I had 
 occasion to go over a file of old Liverpool 
 newspapers, and thus came upon a remark- 
 able paragraph in the ship news. Trans- 
 lated out of the language of commerce, it 
 was to the effect that the good ship Empress, 
 just arrived from Australia, reported that 
 while rounding the Cape of Good Hope she 
 had been driven southward far out of her 
 course by a storm ; and that away down in 
 the Southern Atlantic had sighted a vessel 
 drifting aimlessly about. The first mate 
 boarded her, and, returning, reported that 
 the derelict was the ship Albatross. That 
 she had been abandoned was plain, for all the 
 boats were gone, and so were the log and the 
 ship's instruments. On the deck, close by 
 the companion hatcli, lay two bodies, or 
 
 14? 
 
148 A TRAGEDY OF HIGH EXPLOSIVES. 
 
 rather skeletons, clad in weather-rotted gar- 
 ments, that showed them to have been man 
 and woman. These bodies were headless, 
 but the heads were nowhere to be found on 
 the deserted deck. The mate found on the 
 cabin table an open book,Avith writing on its 
 pages. A pen lay on the table, and a small 
 inkstand, in which the ink had evidently 
 long since dried. The book was evidently a 
 journal or diary, so the mate reported, and 
 he put it in his pocket, meaning tc carry it 
 aboard the Empress ; but when he was get- 
 ting down into his small boat the book 
 slipped from his pocket, dropped into the 
 water and sunk. The Albatross was badly 
 water-logged, and, he thought, could not 
 have floated much longer. To this report 
 the editor of the paper added a note saying 
 that the readers would all doubtless remem- 
 ber that the Albatross had sailed from Liver- 
 pool several years before, bound for Aus- 
 tralia, and it was thought to have gone down 
 with all on board, as no news of her had 
 since been received. 
 
 That was the substance of the remarkable 
 paragraph. What was almost as remark- 
 able to me, a newspaper man, was that the 
 Liverpool paper had evidently made no effort 
 to learn the owners of the Albatross^ the 
 name of her captain and crew, or whether 
 or not she carried any passengers. I care- 
 
A TRAGEDY OF HIGH EXPLOSIVES. 149 
 
 fully searched files to see if there was any- 
 further reference to the case. There was 
 none. After the manner of his kind, the 
 editor of the paper had, so it seemed, taken 
 it for granted that his intelligent readers 
 *' would remember" all the particulars that 
 they wanted to know. 
 
 I was much impressed by the paragraph. 
 My professional instinct told me that there 
 was a good newspaper story there, and I was 
 disgusted that any editor could let it go un- 
 told. I also experienced more than usual 
 curiosity to know how those headless bodies 
 came there, or rather, why they should lie 
 there on the deck headless. Then there was 
 that journal that had been found lying open 
 on the cabin table, as though the writer had 
 been interrupted in the writing which had 
 never been finished. What light might that 
 little book not throw on the mystery ? And 
 now it was lying fathoms deep in the South- 
 ern Atlantic. Of what use to speculate over 
 the matter. Thanks to the careless mate 
 and the stupid editor, that mystery would 
 remain forever unsolved. But in spite of 
 reason I did speculate considerably over the 
 matter, and, try as I did, qould not banish 
 the story from my mind. 
 
 A few weeks after that I went into N'orth- 
 ern Vermont to report the Benton murder 
 trial, which was attracting much more than 
 
150 A TRA0ED7 OF HIGH EXPLOSIVES. 
 
 local attention. I was pleased to find that 
 the prosecuting attorney was an old class- 
 mate of mine, George Judson. I had known 
 him pretty well as a hard-working and re- 
 markably bright man, with a curious streak 
 in his mental make-up that led him to in- 
 vestigate every new ''ism" that appeared. 
 We used to call him a Spiritualist, and, had 
 the word been in use, I am sure would have 
 called him a crank. He Avas five years 
 older than I, had married immediately after 
 graduating, had prospered as a lawyer, and 
 now had a good home for his wife and two 
 children. He seemed much pleased to re- 
 new the acquaintance of college days, and 
 insisted that I should make his house my 
 home during my stay in the town. 
 
 One Saturday evening as we sat in his 
 comfortable library smoking after dinner, 
 Judson said, with some apparent hesitation : 
 
 "There's going to be a show here this 
 evening that may interest you." 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 " Yes. There's a woman living here who 
 does some remarkable things when in a 
 trance. There are a few of us who are curi- 
 ous about such things, and I' ve asked her 
 and them here to my house this evening." 
 
 "What is it?" I asked lightly; "the 
 cabinet act ?" 
 
 Judson looked a trifle hurt. "Yes," he 
 
A TRAGEDY OF HIGH EXPLOSIVES. 151 
 
 answered, slowly, *' she's a medium, and 
 you newspaper men liave said that she's a 
 fraud. But I've seen manifestations that I 
 can't explain on any theory other than that 
 they were the work of higher powers, and 
 I'm going to look into it further." 
 
 The same old Judson, I thought. He was 
 evidently more in earnest than his assumed 
 indifference indicated. I marveled that the 
 shrewd, successful lawyer could be so easily 
 deluded, for I was sure that be was deluded. 
 I had attended many a seance, and had 
 helped to expose more than one medium, 
 and knew that the whole matter of manifes- 
 tations was nothing but a more or less 
 clumsy juggle. But I kept my thoughts to 
 myself — experience had taught me that when 
 it was known that there was present at a 
 seance a pronounced unbeliever in that phase 
 of Spiritualism, the "conditions" were 
 usually "unfavorable" for a "manifesta- 
 tion." Sol said that I should be glad to 
 see the "show," as he called it. Then I 
 encouraged Judson to talk, and he talked 
 well. From mediums and cabinets, and 
 manifestations and the ways of spirits gen- 
 erally, our conversation drifted to the mar- 
 velous and the mysterious, and finally I told 
 the story of the Albatross and the headless 
 skeletons. Judson was much impressed by 
 the story. He joined me in anathematizing 
 
152 A TRAGEDY OF HIGH EXPLOSIVES. 
 
 the careless mate of the Empress and the 
 stupid editor of the Liverpool paper. His 
 lifelong habit of seeking to know the un- 
 knowable, re-enforced by the detective in- 
 stinct that is developed in every good lawyer 
 as well as newspaper man, made him un- 
 naturally anxious to solve the mystery. 
 The thought came to me just then that if 
 Spiritualism was good for anything it would 
 be in such a case. What I said was, ''I 
 have often wondered whether the peculiar 
 power of the trance medium might not be 
 employed in such cases. Now, is it impos- 
 sible that that journal found on the Alba- 
 tross, and which I believe contains the 
 solution of our mystery, should be mate- 
 rialized for us here?" 
 
 Judson jumped at the idea. '* Yes, yes," 
 he said hurriedly, ^4t shall be— it must be. 
 How fortunate!" He spoke with such 
 earnestness and confidence that I showed my 
 surprise in my face. I also voiced it. 
 
 "You talk as though the thing were al- 
 ready accomplished. My experience with 
 mediums has led me to consider them a trifle 
 unreliable, but you seem to be sure of this 
 one." 
 
 *'Not of the medium but of myself. I 
 had better tell you now what but one other 
 living person knows — that I have a very pe- 
 culiar power. I don't attempt to explain it, 
 
A TRAOEDT OF HIGH EXPLOSIVES. 153 
 
 but it is no less a fact. I seem to be able, 
 by mere force of will, to control certain per- 
 sons. This medium is one of them. I have 
 never been able to produce any results un- 
 aided, but more than once have I thought 
 into visible form those who had long before 
 died." 
 
 The same old story you see. Judson was 
 apparently an out-and-out Spiritualist, ready 
 to be humbugged by the first shrewd trick- 
 ster that came along. He went on : 
 
 ''Now, this evening you will see a remark- 
 able woman ; I have been able to control her 
 in a remarkable way. I confess that I had 
 never thought of seeking the materialization 
 of an inanimate object. But I believe that 
 it can be done. It shall be done. We shall 
 have that journal this night." 
 
 I was almost convinced by my friend's 
 absolute confidence ; then saddened by the 
 thought that this usually hard-headed, keen 
 young lawyer had such a weak spot in his 
 brain. He was the last man you would ex- 
 pect to be deluded by the tricks of the me- 
 dium. At the same time I found myself, in 
 spite of my skepticism, wondering what 
 would come of it all. That evening I 
 was seated in Judson' s large parlor, one of 
 about twenty persons of the sort usually seen 
 at such seances ; the Spiritualists of the 
 place, I thought. The room had been ar- 
 
154 A TRAGEDY OF HIGH EXPLOSIVES. 
 
 ranged after the fashion customary. There 
 was an improvised cabinet in one corner, 
 chairs in a semi-circle in front of it, not too 
 near. Judson seemed a sort of master of 
 ceremonies, passing in and out, greeting 
 newcomers, whispering a word here and 
 there. He was pale, I thought, and seemed 
 rather pre-occupied. We waited perhaps a 
 quarter of an hour, and then Judson ushered 
 into the room a tall, slender woman, middle- 
 aged, gray-haired, with rather strongly 
 marked features and dark eyes that had a 
 tired look. She seemed a person of nerves. 
 A trifle above the average medium in ap- 
 pearance of intelligence and refinement, and 
 with rather less of the self-assertive bold- 
 ness usually displayed by the women who 
 make a business of communing with spirits. 
 There was no preliminary nonsense. She 
 entered the cabinet in a business-like way. 
 Judson turned the gas down low, so that we 
 were in the dimmest sort of a dim religious 
 light — just the light, I have always observed, 
 that seemed most congenial to spirits, or, 
 rather, that aided most effectually in the 
 tricks played by the mediums. Then he 
 sat down by my side and said ; '^Let us all 
 clasp hands.'* 
 
 I grasped with my left the fat hand of a 
 large woman next to me, and Judson seized 
 my right with his left hand. It was quite 
 
A TRAGEDY OF HIGH EXPLOSIVES. 155 
 
 cold, and I thought trembled a little. He 
 leaned over me and whispered in my ear : 
 ^'I am determined to see that journal to- 
 night. If will can do it, it shall be done. 
 Join your will with mine. You are a man 
 of will. Let us force the powers to yield to 
 our combined wills." 
 
 I was startled by the intensity of his man- 
 ner more than by the words. In spite of my 
 half disgust at the whole proceedings, that 
 were such an exact repetition of more than 
 one humbugging seance, I was forced into a 
 respectful attitude of mind, and at once be- 
 came an interested assistant, where a moment 
 before I had been an unbelieving, critical 
 observer. I nodded my head, and Judson's 
 grasp of my hand became firm. 
 
 Then there was complete silence for many 
 moments. I bent all my mind to the one 
 thought that I would see that journal wher- 
 ever in the large world it might be. At first 
 my thoughts would wander, but then it 
 seemed to me that Judson's grasp tightened 
 and drew the desultory thought back to the 
 one subject of his own thoughts. I have 
 considered this a good deal since and con- 
 clude that Judson did, for the time at least, 
 possess some extraordinary power, possibly 
 pure force of will. At all events, I grew 
 more and more determined to have my will 
 
156 A TRAGEDY OF HIGH EXPLOSIVES. 
 
 done. Then there came a calm voice from 
 behind the curtain of the cabinet. 
 
 *' What is your wish ? " 
 
 No one spoke for a moment, and then a 
 weak voice at my left said something about 
 a desire to see a child that had died, and 
 another voice expressed the wish to look 
 upon the form of a departed husband. I 
 was too much occupied with my own 
 thoughts to notice then that this was the 
 same old scene, enacted as at all the other 
 seances. Again there was perfect silence ; 
 it seemed interminable. I could hear the 
 breathing of the fat woman on my left. I 
 could hear my watch ticking in my pocket. 
 I thought that I could hear my heart beat, 
 but all the time there was the firm pressure 
 of the cold hand of my friend, and the con- 
 stant thought, now shaped into words and 
 the words into a sentence, and that sentence 
 continually repeating itself until I seemed to 
 hear that too: *'I will see that journal 
 to-night." 
 
 And still that strange silence. The air in 
 the room became close. Every door and 
 window had been carefully closed, and the 
 breathing of twenty or more persons had 
 made large drafts on the oxygen. Suddenly 
 a breath fanned my cheek, then a stronger 
 draught, and then a steady current of air 
 set against my face. I felt it move my hair, 
 
A TRAGEDY OF HIGH EXPLOSIVES. 157 
 
 and it smelled of the sea. It was salty. 
 Yes, undoubtedly a strong, steady sea 
 breeze was in that room, and it brought with 
 it the smell of a ship, tar and oakum and 
 pitch — the odor that arises when the sun 
 beats hotly down upon the unprotected deck 
 and the boards shrink and the great pine 
 masts feel the fierce heat. But there was no 
 heat ; only at first that cool sea breeze and 
 then the patter of rain, seemingly on the 
 floor of the room in which we sat. 
 
 Then a low moan came from behind the 
 curtains of the cabinet, and then the sound 
 of a heavy fall. At this some of the women 
 shrieked weakly. There was a general let- 
 ting go of hands, and Judson sprang to the 
 cabinet and disappeared behind its folds. 
 After an instant of silence we heard his 
 voice: *' More light." I hastened to turn 
 on the gas. Judson pulled aside the cur- 
 tains, and we saw that the woman^was lying 
 outstretched on the floor. 
 
 ^'She has fainted," said Judson, calmly. 
 "That is all. I believe that she is subject 
 to such attacks. I doubt, my friends, if 
 we shall have any manifestations to-night. 
 May I ask you all to consider the meeting 
 adjourned ? I Will give our friend here all 
 medical attention." 
 
 He spoke so calmly and with such author- 
 ity that without a word the little company 
 
158 A TRAGEDY OF HIGH EXPLOSIVES. 
 
 passed out of the room and out of the house. 
 Judson and I raised the woman to a couch, 
 and he brought water and bathed her face. 
 She opened her eyes, sighed deeply, and then 
 sat up. There was a strange scared look on 
 her face. 
 
 '^ Where is it ? " she asked faintly. 
 
 **Here,'' said Judson, and he drew from 
 beneath his coat a small book and handed it 
 to her. She turned away with a shudder. 
 
 ' ' No, no. Take it away. Take it away. ' ' 
 
 Judson handed it to me. ''Will you 
 kindly take this book to the library," said 
 he ; "I will join you in a moment." 
 
 I obeyed mechanically. Before going into 
 the library I stepped to the broad piazza and 
 looked out into the night. The snow lay 
 white on the ground, stars twinkled in the 
 frosty sky, it was very cold, and I could hear 
 the snow creak under the feet of passers-by, 
 and yet I had felt that sea breeze and heard 
 the [patter of rain. What did it mean ? I 
 shivered, entered the warm house, turned the 
 light high in the library, shut the door, and 
 not till then looked at the book in my hand. 
 It was a small blankbook about six inches 
 long and four inches wide, well bound in 
 leather and thoroughly water-soaked. I 
 opened it. The leaves were wet and discol- 
 ored, and I could see that the pages were 
 covered with writing. I turned to the fly-leaf 
 and there read these words : 
 
A TRAGEDY OF HIOH EXPLOSIVES. 159 
 
 ** Arthur Hartley's journal. Begun on 
 board the ship Albatross, March 7, 1851." 
 
 I stood in a daze, glaring at the writ- 
 ten words, utterly confounded. The door 
 opened and Judson entered hurriedly. His 
 cheeks were now flushed, his eyes fairly 
 blazed with light, his face was bright with a 
 smile of triumph. "Iknewit! I knew it!" 
 he said loudly. * ' What a victory ! What a 
 victory ! Even Nature yields to the power 
 of Will!" 
 
 He paced back and forth rapidly, showing 
 no desire to see the book that had come to us 
 so strangely. Then he threw himself into a 
 big chair, lighted a cigar, puffed at it vigor- 
 ously a moment, then became quiet, looked 
 intently at the glowing coals in the grate, 
 and said calmly : 
 
 "Well, let's see what Mr. Hartley has to 
 say for himself. Eead the journal, please." 
 
 I had been standing all this time by the 
 table, with the little damp book in my hand, 
 and watching Judson curiously. I drew up 
 a chair, opened to the first page and began 
 to read. 
 
 II. 
 
 March 7. — I begin this journal for two 
 reasons. First, my dear mother asked me to 
 keep a record of my voyage and of my life, 
 that she might read it when I got back 
 
160 A TRAGEDY OF HIGH EXPLOSIVES. 
 
 home. She thinks that I am coming home 
 again. I promised her to do so, but I shall 
 never see England again. I hope the day- 
 may come when I can take my dear mother 
 to my Australian home, but I shall never set 
 foot on the island that holds the woman I 
 hate, and that holds so many women like 
 her. In the second place, I want to write 
 down not only my impressions in this new 
 experience, but my thoughts. I have many 
 of them. I want to see them spread out 
 before me. We are now well started on 
 the voyage, five days out from Liverpool. 
 Uncle John is still ill enough, and says that 
 he wants to die. Captain Kaymond laughs 
 at him, and says that a little sea-sickness 
 will do him good. I like Captain Raymond. 
 He is big and burly, and has a deep voice, 
 and a heavy brown beard. He's just the 
 typical sea captain, an interesting person to 
 a man who saw the sea for the first time six 
 days ago. I'm glad to find that I'm a good 
 sailor, and can thoroughly enjoy the new ex- 
 periences that present themselves in the be- 
 ginning of the long voyage we have started 
 upon. I have written the word "enjoy"; 
 let it stand. I thought I never should have 
 known enjoyment again, but I do. There's 
 enjoyment in the knowledge that each hour 
 puts miles of ocean between me and the 
 woman that has spoiled my life. No, I 
 
A TRAGEDY OF HIGH EXPLOSIVES. 161 
 
 won't admit that. She shan't have the 
 satisfaction of spoiling my life. She tried 
 hard enough, God knows. She played with 
 my heart, much as though it were a mouse 
 and she a cat. She is a cat. A sleek, soft, 
 purring cat, and with claws. I could eat out 
 my own heart when I think how she played 
 with it. I was fair game for this experienced 
 coquette, and now I suppose she is boasting 
 of another conquest, telling of her victory 
 over the simple country lad. Well, let her 
 enjoy her conquest while she may. The 
 country boy will one day come back with 
 money enough to buy her and her purse- 
 proud heart. Yes, I will go back to England 
 and I'll humble her at my feet. What rot 
 I'm writing. Mother, if you ever see these 
 pages, read these words with sympathy, as 
 the idle ravings of a man well nigh gone mad 
 over a woman' s false beauty. I never told the 
 story, even to you, my dear mother. I dare 
 say you guessed much of it. You know how 
 Helen Rankine came down from London to 
 our quiet country home. You know how 
 beautiful and gracious she was. How kind 
 and loving to you ; how apparently frank 
 and friendly with me. She was the first 
 woman I ever saw to whom I gave a second 
 thought, save you, dear mother. We rode 
 and drove and chatted together. She drew 
 my very heart from me. I told her all my 
 
162 A TRAGEDY OF HIGH EXPLOSIVES. 
 
 plans and hopes and aspirations ; of my 
 love of the art to which I had devoted my 
 life ; that I hoped to go to London and study, 
 and then to Rome ; that I wanted to become 
 a great painter. She was so full of hearty 
 sympathy, so kind, so womanly, that before 
 I knew it she had me enslaved. For all the 
 graciousness and frankness and sympathy 
 were but the means she used in her heart- 
 lessness to enslave me. Then came a day, a 
 day to be remembered ; a day like that when, 
 beguiled by another beautiful fiend in woman 
 form, our first father, poor, foolish man, ate 
 of the fruit of the tree of the knowledge of 
 good and evil, and so lost his paradise. I 
 told Helen of my love ; and how I did love 
 that woman ! And she put on an appear- 
 ance of surprise, and squeezed a cold tear or 
 two from her beautiful eyes, and said that 
 she thought I knew and understood. And 
 when half dazed I asked her what she meant, 
 what it was that I was thought to have 
 known, she had to blush, and said that she 
 had long been engaged to her cousin, John 
 Bruce, who was now with his regiment in 
 India, and that when he came home they 
 were to be married. And then she said 
 something about my being so young and 
 having a great career before me, and that she 
 should always be my friend and pray for my 
 success. And she stretched out her hand 
 
A TRAOEDT OF HIOH EXPLOSIVES. 163 
 
 toward me. I think she must have seen the 
 hate in my face, for my great love turned to 
 great hate even while she spoke, and all the 
 wholesome currents of my being seemed 
 poisoned by the supreme passion, and she 
 turned pale, and her hand dropped, and I 
 cursed her. 
 
 March 10. — A call from Uncle John inter- 
 rupted me the other day, and I have had no 
 heart to write since. My moods shame me. 
 I wrote those words with burning cheek and 
 throbbing heart. I have just read them 
 without an emotion. Why can' 1 1 be a man, 
 and not a silly, raving boy? Not that the 
 hate that burns in my heart is abating. It 
 can never abate. It will grow and grow, and 
 keep me true to my purpose. No more 
 mooning over art and the hope of a great 
 name; but hard work and money-making. 
 Uncle John promises us both fortunes. He 
 feels confident that his explosive will work 
 such wonders in Australian mines that with- 
 in ten years we can go back to England rich 
 beyond the dreams of avarice. But I shall 
 never see England again. No matter what I 
 may have written here. Never shall I set 
 foot on the land that rears such women as 
 the one I hate. Captain Raymond was 
 almost angry when he learned that in Uncle 
 John's innocent-looking boxes was a com- 
 pound powerful enough to blow us all out of 
 
104 A TRAGEDY OF HIGU EXPLOSIVES. 
 
 the water. But lie was somewhat reassured 
 when uncle insisted that as long as the Alba- 
 tross floated she and we were safe ; for he 
 says that the explosive is only an explosive 
 when wet. Captain Raymond said that he'd 
 try and keep it dry then, and he sent men 
 into the hole where the boxes were stored, and 
 had them placed carefully in an unused 
 cabin. We are the only passengers. I 
 made sure that no woman was to be on 
 board during the long voyage. I came near 
 being disappointed in this, for Captain Ray- 
 mond tells me that his wife was to sail with 
 him, and had made all preparations, even to 
 sending some boxes of clothing aboard, when 
 the sudden death of her father prevented 
 her from going. I'm sure I'm sorry that 
 Mrs. Raymond's father is dead, but I'm very 
 glad that Mrs. Raymond is not on this ship. 
 I don't want to look on woman's face, nor 
 hear woman's voice. There's but one 
 woman to me in the wide world, and, dear 
 mother, forgive me if sometimes I cannot 
 thank her for bringing me into the world. 
 You understand me, mother. You know 
 what I have suffered. You can sympathize 
 with me when I say that I exult at the 
 thought that leagues of ocean lie between 
 
 me and that other woman, who 
 
 March 12. — A strange thing has happened 
 since I last wrote in this book. As I was 
 
A TRAGEDY OF HIGH EXPLOSIVES. 165 
 
 writing I heard quite a commotion on deck — 
 cries of the sailors, sharp orders from offi- 
 cers, and the tramping of feet. I rushed on 
 deck. Uncle John and the captain were 
 standing on the poop, looking intently 
 across the water ; the first mate was shout- 
 ing orders that I couldn't understand, 
 and the crew were lowering the long 
 boat. 
 
 *' What's the matter?" I asked, joining 
 uncle and the captain. 
 
 '' There's a little boat adrift out yonder," 
 answered Uncle John pointing, ''and the 
 lookout says that there are a couple of 
 bodies lying in it. There, do you see it, on 
 the top of that wave ! ' ' 
 
 I saw it ; a mere shell it seemed, poised 
 for a moment on the top of a swell, and then 
 sliding down into the trough of the sea, 
 quite out of sight. The long boat was soon 
 lowered, and, guided by the cries of the 
 lookout, made straight for the little boat. 
 It seemed very long before it was reached, 
 and then we saw the sailors make it fast to 
 the long boat and begin to pull slowly back 
 toward the Albatross. It was slow and 
 hard work towing that boat, small as it 
 seemed, tlirough the rather heavy sea. 
 There was no sign of life in her. What 
 was behind those low gunwales ? What 
 were the men bringing to us ? At length 
 
166 A TRAGEDY OF HIGH EXPLOSIVES. 
 
 they came alongside, and then we saw that 
 there were two bodies lying there. 
 
 " A man and a woman, sir," called up the 
 mate. "There's life in 'em both, but 
 precious little." 
 
 It was nice work getting the two boats 
 alongside and tlie bodies out of them and up 
 to the deck ; but it was done by the aid of 
 slings, the woman being brought up first. 
 Uncle John, by virtue of his profession, gave 
 directions as to placing her on the deck, and 
 then knelt by her side. I stood aloof. Why 
 had that woman come to us in mid-ocean ! 
 Why was it ? Fate ? 
 
 ''She is alive," cried Uncle John. ''Cap- 
 tain, we must get her below at once." 
 
 I glanced at the woman. Thick locks of 
 matted black hair lay around a face on 
 wliicli the sun and wind and the salt sea- 
 water had done fearful work. And yet 
 those blackened and blistered features some- 
 how had a familiar look. Where had I seen 
 them ? I could not tell. Four sailors carried 
 her below and I turned to look at her com- 
 panion, who had been laid on the deck. 
 Uncle John just took time to grasp his wrist 
 and said, "He's alive, too" ; then he 
 dropped the limp hand and hurried below. 
 Always the way. Women first. This dying 
 man might get what attention he could. 
 The woman must be nursed back to life to 
 
A TRAGEDY OF HIGH EXPLOSIVES. 167 
 
 deceive the first fool that takes her fancy. 
 I turned to the man, a common sailor evi- 
 dently, brawny and bearded. The mate was 
 by his side, and together we did what we 
 could to nourish the spark of life that kept 
 the pulse feebly fluttering in the big brown 
 wrist. It was afternoon when these two 
 waifs were found, and all night we fought 
 with death. Now Uncle John says that he 
 thinks that they will live. Neither of them 
 has spoken, but each has taken a little 
 nourishment and the pulse shows gaining 
 strength. Captain Raymond has turned his 
 cabin over to the woman, and as I write uncle 
 is sitting by her side. For the time he has 
 forgotten his wonderful explosive. The old 
 professional air has come back, and he is 
 like the Dr. Hartley of the days before he 
 gave up medicine for chemical investigation. 
 The question continually repeats itself to 
 me, What has brought this woman here? 
 Reason as I may, I feel, I know, that she 
 has come to me; to me who was happy in the 
 thought of not seeing her kind for months. 
 Another question asks itself. Has she come 
 for good or ill ? There can be but one answer 
 to that question. 
 
 March 13. — The sailor whom we rescued 
 gains strength fast. He was able to talk a 
 little to-day. Briefly told, his story, as far 
 as I got it, is that he was one of the crew of 
 
168 A TRAGEDY OF HIGH EXPLOSIVES. 
 
 the Vulture, bound from England to India 
 with army stores and arms, including a large 
 consignment of powder. One day, he can't 
 say how many days ago, the ship caught lire 
 in the hold. There were frantic and un- 
 availing efforts made to get at the flames and 
 extinguish them ; and then the order was 
 given to flood the hold, but before it could 
 be executed there was a tremendous roar, 
 and the sailor knew nothing else until he 
 found himself in the water clinging to a frag- 
 ment of the wreckage that strewed the sea. 
 The ship had been blown up and had sunk 
 at once. Not far from him floated one of the 
 quarter-boats apparently uninjured. He 
 managed to swim to it, and clamber in. 
 There he was able to stind up and look 
 around him. At first he could see no sign 
 of life, but in another moment he heard a 
 faint cry behind him, and, turning, saw a 
 woman clinging to a broken spar. With a 
 bit of broken board he paddled to her and 
 got her into the boat. Like himself, she was 
 unharmed, save by the awful shock and 
 fright. He paddled around and around, but 
 saw no further sign of life. Once a man's 
 body rose near the boat ; rose slowly, turned, 
 and sank again, and that was the last they 
 saw of the twoscore men that but a little 
 moment before had been full of life and 
 vigor. 
 
A TRAGEDY OF HIGH EXPLOSIVES. 169 
 
 This much I heard the sailor tell, and then 
 stopped him, for he was tired. The woman 
 still sleeps and has showed no signs of con- 
 sciousness. 
 
 March 14. — The sailor, whose name is 
 Richard Jones, was able to crawl out on 
 deck this morning. He completed his story. 
 The young woman, he said, was the only 
 passenger on the Vulture. He did not know 
 her name. It had been talked among the 
 crew that she was going out to her lover, an 
 officer in the Indian Army who had been 
 wounded ; that she would not wait for the 
 regular East Indiaman, but had managed to 
 secure passage on the Vulture. When she 
 realized that she and the sailor, Jones, were 
 the only ones alive of all those that had been 
 on the vanished ship, and that they were 
 quite alone on the ocean, in a small boat, with- 
 out oars, or sail, or food, or drink, she cried a 
 little and wrung her hands and became very 
 quiet. She took her place in the bow, and 
 there she sat. Jones sat in the stern and 
 paddled clear of the wreckage, and then, 
 using the piece of board for a rudder, kept 
 the boat before the wind. Luckily there 
 was very little sea. He thought that they 
 were in the track of Indiamen, and so kept 
 good hope. He tried to encourage the 
 young woman, but she seemed to prefer 
 silence, and so he kept still. Thus they 
 
170 A TRAGEDY OF HIGR EXPLOSIVES, 
 
 drifted. The sun beat down npon their un- 
 protected heads. They began to want for 
 water. They did not think so mucli of food 
 as of water. Jones doesn't know how long 
 they Avere adrift. He doesn't know when 
 the girl lost consciousness. He remembers 
 that one day she moaned a little, and in the 
 night he thought that he heard her whisper- 
 ing to herself. He thought that she was 
 praying, perhaps. Then he began to lose 
 consciousness. He remembers seeing a 
 beautiful green field, with trees, and a brook 
 running through it. He says that men 
 suffering from thirst on the ocean often have 
 such visions. He remembers nothing else 
 until he opened his eyes and saw me bend- 
 ing over him. 
 
 Uncle John reports no change in the con- 
 dition of the young woman. She lies in a 
 stupor, apparently. The pulse daily grows 
 stronger, he says, and she swallows freely 
 the nourishment administered. 
 
 III. 
 
 April 2. — It is more than two weeks since 
 I wrote in my journal. I have been ill — a 
 sort of low fever that kept me in my cabin. 
 Nothing serious, Uncle John said, and so it 
 has proved, except that I am very w^eak. 
 Uncle has been kind, but most of his time 
 
A TRAGEDY OF HIGH EXPLOSIVES. 171 
 
 has been devoted to that woman. He says 
 that it is a very interesting case. She be- 
 came conscious a few days ago, and has 
 gained strength since. She will be on deck 
 in a day or two, he thinks. I'm anxious to 
 see her. I want to see if there really is any- 
 thing familiar in her face. It's fortunate 
 for her that clothing of Mrs. Kaymond's is 
 on board. She'd be in a plight, else. I 
 asked Uncle John what her name was. He 
 looked queer, and said that he didn't know. 
 Strange that he hasn't asked her. The 
 sailor, Jones, seems quite recovered and has 
 taken his plqice among the crew. We were 
 rather short-handed, and the captain was 
 glad enough to have him. He can be of 
 service. But the woman can be nothing but 
 a trouble, to me at least, for I must see her 
 daily, I suppose. And yet I am anxious to 
 see her, too. This fever has left me rather 
 childish as well as weak. 
 
 April 3. — Thank God for these pages to 
 which I can talk, else I should go mad, I 
 think. Could you read these words as they 
 flow from my pen, mother, you might well 
 wonder whether I had not indeed gone mad. 
 But I will be quite calm while I tell of what 
 fate, or Satan, or whatever evil power it is, 
 has done for me. I was sitting on the deck 
 this morning, still very weak, when I heard 
 footsteps behind me, and Uncle John's voice 
 
172 A TliAQEDY OF HIGH EXPLOSIVES. 
 
 saying, ' ' Good-morning, Artliur. ' ' I turned 
 and saw him standing near me, and leaning 
 on his arm Helen Kankine! I write these 
 words calmly enough now. Can you imagine 
 what I felt when I saw her ? I staggered to 
 my feet, muttered some incoherent w^ords, 
 and would have fallen had not Uncle John 
 sprang to my side and caught me. " Why, 
 what's the matter, Artliur? Calm yourself, 
 my boy. Is it possible that you know this 
 young lady?" 
 
 By a supreme effort of will, aided by the 
 memory of that day when we last parted, I 
 drew myself up and bowed, and I said that I 
 had had the great honor of once knowing 
 Miss Helen Rankine, and that I had had 
 no idea that it was she we were fortunate 
 enough to have rescued. 
 
 Uncle looked at me in wonder as I said 
 these words with sneering politeness. The 
 girl looked at me questioningly, but there 
 was no shadow of recognition on her face. 
 
 "Then your name is Helen Rankine?" 
 said Uncle John kindly, turning toward the 
 girl and speaking as though to a little child. 
 
 A troubled look passed over her face, and 
 then she said quietly, ''I do not know. I 
 cannot remember." 
 
 ''Do you know this gentleman, Mr. Ar- 
 thur Hartley ? " he asked in the same kindly 
 way. 
 
A TRAGEDY OF HIGH EXPLOSIVES. 1V3 
 
 Again the troubled look, an apparent effort 
 to seize some elusive thought, and then again 
 the voice I knew so well, but now so unnat- 
 urally calm : 
 
 '' I do not know him." 
 
 I stood aghast at what seemed the consum- 
 mate acting of a heartless and conscienceless 
 woman, and yet on the instant I saw that 
 there was no acting there. Let me stop a 
 moment, mother, and describe her. You 
 remember how beautiful she was, with that 
 rich, dark beauty you once spoke of as 
 ' ' Italian. ' ' It was that beauty that enslaved 
 me. You remember that I have written of 
 her appearance as she lay on the deck the 
 day she was saved. The days of illness and 
 quiet in the cabin below had almost obliter- 
 ated all the ravages done by wind and sun 
 and sea. The olive cheeks were a little 
 darker than of old, and the hands browner. 
 The face was not quite so pure an oval as 
 when you saw it last ; the color of lip and 
 cheek not quite so vivid. The large brown 
 eyes had lost the sparkle and the changing 
 light that once pierced my boyish, foolish 
 heart. Clad in a simple gown, belted at the 
 waist and hanging in folds to the deck, her 
 dark hair parted across her broad forehead 
 and confined in a simple knot, and with a 
 strange calm on the face that once expressed 
 her varying moods as they came and went, 
 
174 A TRAGEDY OF HIGH EXPLOSIVES. 
 
 she seemed to me to be another, a better, an 
 almost unearthly Helen, come to me here to 
 atone for the great wrong that she had done 
 me ; and, for the moment, I forgot my hate. 
 
 My uncle gave his arm to Helen, and they 
 walked the deck whi]e I watched them. 
 What did it mean, this failure of Helen to 
 recognize me ? Was I right in thinking the 
 girl to be Helen Rankine. Yes ; I could not 
 be mistaken. That graceful walk, some of 
 its old-time spring and elasticity gone, to be 
 sure, was the walk of Helen ; the turn of the 
 lovely neck ; the pose of the head were hers. 
 Then the story of the sailor, Jones, the fore- 
 castle gossip that she was going out to India 
 to join her soldier-lover ; how well it tallied 
 with what she had told me on that fatal day 
 when she spurned my proffered love. But I 
 would not dwell more on that. I will not 
 now. I must force myself to forget, just for 
 a little time, the past, that I may solve the 
 mystery of the present. My head throbs; 
 my brain is in a whirl. 
 
 April 4.^After writing this I threw my- 
 self into my berth and tried to think over 
 clearly the strange occurrences of the day. 
 I was aroused by Uncle John asking me if I 
 felt well enough to take a turn with him on 
 deck. I joined him at once, and we paced 
 the deck without speaking. It was a lovely 
 night and the stars filled the heavens. At 
 
A TRAGEDY OF HIGH EXPLOSIVES. 175 
 
 length Uncle John said, *' Arthur, here's a 
 very remarkable case. This poor girl has 
 lost her memory completely, and no wonder, 
 after her terrible sufferings. She cannot re- 
 member an event that happened before she 
 opened her eyes in the cabin below. She 
 can talk well, reads readily, shows the breed- 
 ing of a lady, but as far as the past is con- 
 cerned, she might as well be a week-old 
 baby. You say that her name is Helen E,an- 
 kine. Who is Helen E-ankine ? Where did 
 you meet her?" 
 
 Uncle John had never known why I was so 
 ready to give up my dreams of artist life 
 and join him in his Australian scheme. I 
 told him the whole story of my infatuation 
 for Helen and her heartless perfidy. He lis- 
 tened intently. When I had finished, he 
 said : 
 
 "My boy, let me say one thing, first of 
 all. On your own evidence, forming my 
 opinion solely from what you have told me, 
 I think you have done a good girl injus- 
 tice. I don't believe that Helen Rankine 
 coquetted with you. Like many a young 
 fellow before you, you thought that the frank 
 friendliness of a young woman who looked 
 upon you as a boy, though perhaps not your 
 senior in years, was encoura,gement to make 
 love to her. She thought that you knew of 
 her engagement, so she said, and felt a se- 
 
176 A TRAGEDY OF HIGH EXPLOSIVES. 
 
 curity that misled you. You are not tlie 
 first lad that has had such an experience 
 and cursed all women, and vowed that he'd 
 never trust one again. I'll trot your chil- 
 dren on my knee yet. Well, so much for 
 the Helen of the past. JSTow for the Helen 
 of the present, for we might as well call her 
 Helen as anything else." 
 
 '' But she is Helen ; Helen Eanldne. I can 
 swear it," I interrupted. 
 
 " Well, well. So be it. If confess it looks 
 so. I have taken a physician's liberty, and 
 examined her clothing for marks. I find it 
 marked 'H. K'" 
 
 "Isn't that proof enough?" I asked 
 eagerly. 
 
 ''Yes. I dare say it is. Still there are 
 other girls whose initials are H. R. You 
 and I have our task. It is to try and lead 
 this poor girl back to the past. The awful 
 experiences and sufferings of those days in 
 the boat have affected her brain. Whether 
 beyond cure or not I know not. Now re- 
 member, Arthur," and Uncle John looked at 
 me seriously ; '' remember, that even if this 
 girl is the girl you think has wronged you, 
 in fact she is not the same girl. She knows 
 no more of you than she knows of me, whom 
 she never saw in her life before. Another 
 thing, if she is Helen Rankine, she is en- 
 gaged to John Bruce. Perhaps she wears 
 
A TRAGEDY OF HIGH EXPLOSIVES. 177 
 
 his ring on her finger. You and I as gentle- 
 men are bound to do what we can to deliver 
 her to him as speedily as possible. And I 
 pray God that we may see her meet him 
 in her right mind, the same free-hearted 
 English girl that he is now dreaming 
 of." 
 
 I bowed my head, but could not say a 
 word. Is Uncle John right, and have I been 
 a weak, blind fool of a boy, thinking that 
 the girl, who was merely kind, was encourag- 
 ing me to love her ? I feel my face burn at 
 the thought. I can't think clearly yet, but 
 I see my duty. 
 
 April 10. — If I lacked proof of the girl's 
 identity, I have it now. Yesterday we sat 
 together on the deck for hours, I trying 
 gently to lead her back to the past. Helen 
 Rankine used to wear several valuable rings. 
 Now she wears but one. *'You have a 
 pretty ring," I said, pointing to her hand! 
 How white and dimpled it used to be. How 
 I longed to catch it to my lips, to kiss the 
 pretty rosy-tipped fingers ! Her hand ! 
 JSTow brown with wind and sun, but still 
 dimpled and rosy tipped. Like a child she 
 laid it in mine. 
 
 ^' Yes," she said, "it is a pretty ring." 
 
 *' Where did you get it, Helen ? " I asked. 
 
 " I don't remember," she said quietly. 
 
 ''May Hook at it?" I asked. 
 
 M 
 
178 A TRAGEDY OF HIGH EXPLOSIVES. 
 
 *'0h, yes," and she slipped it from her 
 finger and laid it in my hand. 
 
 * ' What are these letters engraved within ? ' ' 
 I asked. 
 
 " Are there letters there ?" she said. " I 
 didn't know it. So there are. To H. R., 
 from J. B. What does that mean ? " 
 
 "Don't you know?" I asked. Oh, it 
 was hard to see that calm face, to hear that 
 calm voice. Better the blush and silent 
 avowal of love, even for another, than that 
 blank gaze. 
 
 ''No. I do not know what those letters 
 mean," she answered. 
 
 ''Perhaps 'H. R.' stands for your own 
 name," said T. 
 
 She smiled like a happy child. " Yes, 
 yes. That must be it. But the 'J. B.,' 
 what do they stand for ? " 
 
 I hesitated — who would not ? 
 
 "Perhaps they stand for — for John 
 Bruce," I said slowly, looking her steadily 
 in the eyes. She returned the gaze with the 
 calm confidence of a child. 
 
 "Who is John Bruce?" she asked. "I 
 can't remember John Bruce." 
 
 My heart gave a great leap, then sank 
 like lead. Am I then such a villain that I 
 rejoice at the thought that Helen Rankine 
 has no memory of her lover ? Where is the 
 hate that I boasted of ? It has gone. It 
 
A TRAOEDT OF HIGH EXPLOSIVES. 179 
 
 could not live before the calm eyes of the 
 girl by my side. But I had my duty to do. 
 
 '* John Bruce is in India, Helen," said I. 
 "Don't you remember ? And you were go- 
 ing to him, and when you reached him you 
 were to marry him. He loves you dearly, 
 and you loved him dearly. Can't you re- 
 member? " 
 
 The troubled look came to the dark eyes 
 and ruffled the calm brow. A faint Hush 
 passed across the rich, warm cheeks. Then, 
 like a spoiled child, she shook her head and 
 said : 
 
 "No, no, no, no!" with a little pat of 
 the foot and nod at the last " No." " I do 
 not know anything about it at all. I do not 
 know John Bruce, and of course I do not 
 love him. How could I ? But I know you, 
 Arthur, and I love you," and she laid her 
 hand in mine, with a pretty smile. 
 
 I wonder if I' m the same man that set 
 sail in the Albatross six short weeks ago ? 
 The Arthur Hartley then was a mad, foolish 
 boy. The Arthur Hartley now is a grave, 
 serious man. I feel that years and years 
 have passed, instead of weeks. How much 
 I am changed let this prove : I held Helen's 
 hand in mine and answered gently, " I am 
 very glad you love me, Helen. I hope you 
 will ever love me. I certainly love you 
 dearly. I could not love a sister more." 
 
180 A TRAGEDY OF HIQU EXPLOSIVES. 
 
 She smiled at this and patted my hand, 
 and then we sat, hand in hand, without speak- 
 ing, until the shadows deepened on the deck. 
 
 May 2. — You have been much in my 
 thoughts of late, dear mother, but you will 
 never know it. You will never see these 
 words. I had thought not to write in this 
 book again, for I feel sure that it will never 
 reach you ; but I seem to be urged to keep 
 some record of our eventful voyage. We are 
 lying becalmed far in the Southern Atlantic, 
 so Captain Raymond says. An awful storm 
 that drove ns at its will, and before which 
 it seemed possible for no ship to live, has 
 driven us here far out of our course. For six 
 days we have been lying here motionless. 
 The storm that raged with such terrible fury 
 seems to have exhausted all the winds of 
 the heavens. I never knew anything more 
 thoroughly depressing than this calm. Even 
 writing seems a task beyond me. But, in- 
 deed, I am not as strong as before the attack 
 of fever. I do not seem to regain my 
 strength. I had in mind to describe the 
 storm. It is beyond my powers. We lost a. 
 long boat and a quantity of spars. Two 
 sailors, one of them Richard Jones, saved 
 but to be lost, were washed overboard and 
 never seen again. There is no change in 
 Helen. She is apparently perfectly happy, 
 but it is the happiness of a contented and 
 
A TRAGEDY OF HIGH EXPLOSIVES. 181 
 
 healthy child. She takes much pleasure in 
 being with me, and sits by the hour with her 
 hand in mine, while I talk of the England 
 that we have left and of the scenes of other 
 days. But nothing awakens the dormant 
 memory. Uncle John has got back to his 
 studies, and talks explosives to any one who 
 will listen. 
 
 May 17. — Here we lie, still becalmed. It 
 is horrible ! What will come of it all ? The 
 sailors are ready to take to the boats and 
 quit the ship, and it requires all of Captain 
 Kaymond's firmness and kindness, for he is a 
 kind captain, and all of Mate Robinson's 
 sternness, to deal with the crew. The stew- 
 ard tells me in great confidence that the men 
 say that the Albatross is bewitched, and that 
 Helen is the witch that has done it. I can 
 see that they follow her with black looks, in 
 which is something of fear, as she walks the 
 deck, singing softly to herself and happy as 
 a bird — the only happy soul aboard. Why 
 should she not be happy ? She has no past, 
 looks forward to no future. She lives in the 
 present, Nature's own child. The ocean 
 that gave her to us seems to have claimed 
 her as its own. She loves the sea in all its 
 moods. When the storm was at its fiercest 
 and the huge waves swept over us, she in- 
 sisted on being on deck, and clapped her 
 hands and laughed in glee, as thoughtless of 
 
182 A TRAGEDY OF HIGH EXPLOSIVES. 
 
 danger as one of Mother Gary's chickens. 
 Now, when this horrible calm is drawing 
 the very life out of us all, she sings and 
 laughs and is merry ; or, when not merry, 
 wears a calm, passionless, almost soulless 
 face. I don't wonder that the men think 
 that she is a witch. She has bewitched me 
 more than once. 
 
 lY. 
 
 May 21. — I am sitting alone in the cabin 
 writing. It is very late. I hear the steps 
 of the mate as he paces the deck. The calm 
 still holds us in its fearful clasp. Great 
 God ! What is to be the end of it all ? 
 There has been a break in the monotony of 
 our existence to-day. Uncle John got into 
 a hot discussion with Captain Raymond at 
 the dinner table about the efficacy of the 
 wonderful explosive compound. The captain 
 seemed doubtful. Uncle John was for the 
 instant angry. 
 
 'Til show you, then," he said, and he 
 rushed into the cabin where his boxes are 
 stored, and came out shortly with two tin 
 cans, each holding something less than a 
 pint. He unscrewed the top of one disclos- 
 ing a brownish powder. '' Take care," said 
 the captain, who seemed needlessly cautious, 
 and almost fearful. 
 
A TRAGEDY OF HIOH EXPLOSIVES. 183 
 
 '* Why, I thought you said it was useless," 
 said Uncle John with a laugh, '' and yet you 
 are afraid of it. Look here." He lighted a 
 match and held it close to the powder. A 
 dark smoke arose that instantly extinguished 
 the little flame, and floated off, leaving a 
 queer smell behind. That was all. 
 
 ''Perfectly harmless, captain," continued 
 uncle, who had now recovered his usual 
 good nature. ''Perfectly harmless unless 
 you wet it. Then look out." 
 
 The cook had made a sort of dumpling for 
 dinner, and a great lot of it remained. 
 Uncle John took a mess of this dough, for it 
 was little else, squeezed it until it was quite 
 dry and molded it into a ball. " Come with 
 me," he said, "and, Arthur, b]>ing a plate 
 of that dough with you." He took the cans 
 and we followed him to the deck. There he 
 carefully covered the ball of dough with the 
 powder, and, going to the rail, threw it as 
 far as lie could out over the placid sea. As 
 the ball struck the water there was a loud 
 explosion and the spray was thrown high 
 into the air. The crew, who had been hang- 
 ing over the port rail forward, turned and 
 rushed over to see what was up. Uncle 
 John made another ball and threw it with 
 like result. 
 
 " Oh, houly torpeter ! " growled one of 
 the men, and they turned back to their for- 
 
184 A TRAGEDY OF HIGH EXPLOSIVES. 
 
 mer places. Uncle John, now evidently 
 anxious to give us thorough proof of the 
 value of his compound, was for throwing 
 more balls, when the boatswain, rolling 
 aft, touched his hat, and said to the cap- 
 tain: 
 
 ''Please, sur, there's a big shark as has 
 showed his fin lioff the port bow, and if so 
 be that the doctor '11 wait a bit with his tor- 
 peters, we'll show 'im some fun a-catchin' 
 of it." 
 
 '' All right, bo' sun," said the captain, and 
 we all went over to the port rail. 
 
 '' There he is," said the captain, pointing 
 to a sharp, black thing, that, rising just 
 above the water, was cutting quietly through 
 it. ''That is his fin, and there's a big shark 
 under it or I'm much mistaken." 
 
 The sailors had got a large hook, and had 
 baited it with a piece of salt beef, and made 
 it fast to a stout line with a chain that the 
 fish couldn' t bite off. This tempting morsel 
 was flung overboard, and, as it fell with a 
 splash into the water, we saw the fin cut to- 
 ward it, and then disappear. The next in- 
 stant there was a great tug at the rope. 
 
 "Hurrah! we've got 'um!" yelled the 
 boatswain. " Walk away with 'im now, 
 my hearties." 
 
 A dozen sailors had manned the rope, 
 and now started to drag the big fish out of 
 
A TRAOEBY OF IIIQII EXPLOSIVES. 185 
 
 the water. There was a tremendous pull, a 
 great splashing, and then the men tumbled 
 in a heap on the dock, and the hook was 
 jerked sharply over the rail. 
 
 *' Cuss the luck," growled the boatswain. 
 '* The 'ook didn't 'old." 
 
 The taste of salt beef evidently suited the 
 shark, for he was soon right alongside, 
 cruising back and forth, looking for more. 
 We could see him distinctly, and a treaien- 
 dous fellow he was. Again the men baited 
 the hook and dropped it overboard. We 
 saw the big iisli dart forward, turn on his 
 side and grab the bait with a sharp snap of 
 his terrible jaws. Again the hook would 
 not catch, and the shark was w^aiting for 
 more beef. The men were about to make a 
 third attempt when Uncle John started. 
 
 '' Wait a bit, men," he said. "I've got a 
 hook that will hold. Give me a piece of the 
 meat." 
 
 The men fell back and looked eagerly. 
 The cook handed up a big chunk of meat. 
 ''Wipe it as dry as you can," said uncle, 
 ''and tie it firmly to the rope." When this 
 was done he sprinkled the powder from the 
 can carefully over the meat ; then he carried 
 it cautiously to the rail. The shark was 
 cruising back and forth. Uncle lowered the 
 meat slowly into the water, right in front of 
 the monster. He saw the bait and darted 
 
186 A TRAGEDY OF HIGH EXPLOSIVES. 
 
 at it, and then there was a tremendous 
 report, and the spray flew into our faces as 
 we leaned over the rail. The next moment 
 we saw the big lish floating motionless on the 
 water. 
 
 " Blessed if 'e 'asn't blowed 'is 'ead clean 
 hoff," said the boatswain. 
 
 It was so. That terrible compound of 
 Uncle John's had needed only the impact of 
 the shark's teeth to explode it with deadly 
 effect. Uncle looked perfectly happy. The 
 effect on Helen was strange. For the first 
 time since she had been with us she seemed 
 to be angry. 
 
 '' I think you are very cruel," she said to 
 Uncle John, *'to kill that beautiful shark. 
 He had not harmed you. I shall not love 
 you any more." As she said this she 
 stepped to my side and grasped my hand, as 
 though she feared uncle and wanted my 
 protection. The men heard her words and 
 the effect was marked. They had been in 
 high good humor over the death of the shark, 
 the sailors' most dreaded enemy, but at these 
 strange words they shrank away with gloomy 
 faces, and I could hear muttered curses, and 
 the words "witch" and *' she-devil." That 
 put an end to the good humor that for the 
 first time in days seemed to pervade the 
 becalmed vessel. Uncle John made one 
 more " torpeter " with the little powder that 
 
A TRAGEDY OF HIGH EXPLOSIVES. 187 
 
 remained in the open can. The other he 
 carried to his cabin. When I left the deck 
 just before beginning this writing the sailors 
 were huddled together forward and eagerly 
 talking, but very quietly. The sea was like 
 a glass in which the stars of this strange 
 southern sky were all mirrored. 
 
 Again, impelled by I know not what 
 power, I come to my journal. For what 
 strange eyes am I writing these words? I 
 doubt whether I shall have strength to put 
 down the record that I feel ought to be put 
 down. Perhaps the power that impels me to 
 write at all will give me the needed strength. 
 I have lost the reckoning of the days, but 
 that matters not. After writing the words 
 with which my last entry closed I went to 
 my little cabin and was soon asleep. I was 
 awakened by stealthy feet without my door, 
 followed by sounds of a struggle on deck^ 
 two or three pistol shots, curses and groans 
 and the trampling of feet. I jumped from my 
 bunk, threw on some clothing, and hurried 
 out. The large cabin was in total darkness. 
 I rushed to the companion way. As I 
 stepped upon the deck I saw before me a 
 struggling throng, and then there was a 
 crash, and I knew no more for a time. I 
 know now that I was struck on the head by 
 one of the crew v/ho had been watching for 
 
188 A TRAGEDY OF HIGH EXPLOSIVES. 
 
 me. When I recovered consciousness I was 
 lying bound hand and foot on the deck. It 
 was early daylight, I struggled to rise, but 
 could not stir. I saw the crew carrying bags 
 and casks and clothing and lowering them 
 over the side. Two or three forms lay on the 
 deck, but I could not see who or what they 
 were. I recognized the boatswain's voice 
 giving orders. He asked if there was water 
 enough and food, if the log and chronometer 
 and compasses had been stowed away. It 
 was all confusion, and my brain seemed on 
 fire ; but I knew that the crew were prepar- 
 ing to quit the ship. Where was Uncle John, 
 where was Captain Raymond, and where was 
 Helen ? At this I again struggled and strove 
 to rise, and the noise I made attracted the 
 boatswain and he came to me. 
 
 ** You're fast enough, my lad," said he, 
 smiling grimly. " Best lie quiet and listen, 
 Th' lads 'ave 'ad enough of this bediviled 
 ship and the v/itch that 'as bediviled 'er^ 
 So we're goin' to ship our cable andputlioif. 
 You seem so fond o' the witch that we'll 
 leave you with 'er. She'll care for thee, 
 never fear," and he turned on his heel. 
 
 I tried to speak, but must have fainted 
 with the effort. When I again became con- 
 scious, I was still lying on the deck, but my 
 bonds had been cut, and I managed to stag- 
 ger to my feet. I looked all around. IN'ot a 
 
A TRAGEDY OF HIGH EXPLOSIVES. 189 
 
 living being could I see. Just then the sun 
 came up, and as his glowing disc showed 
 above the quiet water, I caught, far away in 
 the south, a faint sparkle, and then saw two 
 small dark spots, that before my straining 
 gaze disappeared. I doubt not that what I 
 saw were the boats containing the crew of 
 the Albatross. I turned and looked around 
 the deck. The forms that I had seen were 
 no longer visible, but just aft of the wheel 
 was a piece of canvas covering something. 
 I walked over feebly, for the blow that I had 
 received had shaken me badly, and lifted 
 the canvas. There lay the dead bodies of 
 my dear uncle and Captain Raymond and 
 big First Mate Robinson. Like a man in a 
 dream I covered them again, and again looked 
 about the deck. Where was Helen ? Not 
 on the deck. Had the villains taken her 
 with them ? I made my feeble way below 
 and went to Helen's cabin. The door was 
 shut. I tried to open it. It was locked. I 
 examined the lock. The key was in it, and 
 on the outside. They had locked her in. 1 
 cautiously turned the key, opened the door, 
 and entered. There lay Helen, her dark 
 hair streaming back over the pillow. One 
 round cheek rested softly on her brown, 
 dimpled hand, the other bore a lovely flush. 
 The half- parted lips were like crimson rose- 
 buds, and over her bosom her white night- 
 
190 A TRAGEDY OF HIGH EXPLOSIVES. 
 
 robe rose and fell gently. She was asleep. 
 As I stood there she opened her eyes. When 
 she saw me she smiled happily and said in a 
 sweet, sleepy voice, *'Is it time to get np, 
 Arthur? Why, how pale j^ou look. Are 
 you ill ? " And she rose on one arm and the 
 smile faded away. 
 
 "Yes, Helen," I said, as steadily as I 
 could. "It's time to get up. Come into 
 the cabin as quickly as you can. I am not 
 at all well." And I left the little cabin, still 
 like a man in a dream. Helen soon joined 
 me. I asked her if she had slept well. She 
 had. Had she heard no unusual noises in 
 the night ? No ; she had not awakened 
 once. So it was. Like a tired, healthy 
 child, Helen had slept through all that awful 
 tragedy. I shan't attempt to try and tell of 
 the task I had in making her comprehend 
 our awful situation. She did not compre- 
 hend it. She wept bitterly when I told her 
 of the three dead bodies on the deck. She 
 moaned over my " poor, bruised head," and 
 with gentle hands bathed and bound it up. 
 Then she said that she was hungry. We 
 found the lockers in great confusion, but the 
 crew had left food enough of one sort or 
 another to satisfy our immediate needs. 
 there was an awful task before us, and I ex- 
 plained it to Helen. We must consign those 
 dead bodies to the sea. She shuddered at 
 
A TUAGEDT OF HIGH EXPLOSIVES. 101 
 
 the thought, but, like an obedient child, 
 tried to help me. How I managed to encass 
 those silent forms in Sanvas I hardly know, 
 but I did, and got them to the side of the 
 ship. Then I got my prayer book and read 
 the blessed burial service, while Helen looked 
 on in troubled wonder. Then came the hard- 
 est task of all, but it was done, and the 
 bodies, one after the other, fell with a great 
 splash into the still sea. I had thought to 
 bind heavy weights to the feet, and they 
 sank at once, and Helen and I were left 
 quite alone. I am writiog this with great 
 difficulty, for we are dying — dying of thirst. 
 Why I write I do not know. There is no 
 water on board. The sailors, after filling 
 their casks from the great casks in the hold, 
 left the water running. When we sought 
 to draw there was not a drop left. There is 
 a change coming over Helen, She some- 
 times looks at me strangely. She seems 
 almost shy. I wonder what it is. Is mem- 
 ory coming back ? Or has she learned that 
 she is a woman and I a man ? But she is 
 not for me. There is John Bruce, and I 
 vowed to take her safely to him, and I shall 
 
 . Mother, good . I can't write more. 
 
 I see that the end is . . . 
 
192 A TBAOEDY OF HIGH EXPLOSIVES. 
 
 The writing in the little water-soaked "book 
 became entirely illegible. Indeed, the last 
 few lines were very indistinct, and showed 
 the failing of mental and physical strength. 
 I sat staring at the yellow page and then 
 looked up at Judson. Ho was gazing in- 
 tently at me. 
 
 " Well, go on ; go on," he said impatient- 
 
 ^'That's all," said J. 
 
 He seized the book from my hands, and 
 turned the leaves feverishly. *' Yes, yes. 
 That is all. Why man, we're not much 
 wiser than we were. We've got something, 
 but we haven't solved the mystery of the 
 headless skeletons." 
 
 " No, nor are we likely to," said I. 
 
 " Not likely to? We must ! " said Judson, 
 in a sharp, strained voice. He seemed to be 
 much excited. I looked at my watch. 
 
 "It's Sunday morning," said I, and luck- 
 ily Sunday, I thought. Judson wouldn't 
 be good for much in a trial after such an 
 evening as this. As for myself, I was tired 
 and hungry, and I said so. 
 
 " So am I," said Judson, dropping the ex- 
 cited air, but with an effort, "Sit still a 
 moment." He came back soon with a tray 
 
A TRAGEDY OF IIIOU EXPLOSIVES. 103 
 
 on which were cold meat, and bread and 
 butter, and crackers, and Rochefort cheese, 
 and a bottle of Macon Yieux. 
 
 "You evidently know what a hungry 
 newspaper man wants in the middle of the 
 night," said I. 
 
 *'I know what a hungry lawyer wants," 
 and he drew the cork. 
 
 ^'Now," said he, after we had taken the 
 edge off our appetites and were enjoying the 
 Burgundy, *' we must know the rest of that 
 story." 
 
 " Easier said than done." 
 
 "Why so? Does it seem more difficult 
 to get a message directly from Arthur Hart- 
 ley than to get that journal from the bottom 
 of the ocean ? I do not think so. This 
 night's experience has given me a confidence 
 in the power of will over nature that nothing 
 can shake. There is but one obstacle that 
 stands in the way of our success. The 
 woman whom you call the medium was 
 thoroughly prostrated, as you saw. She 
 seemed badly frightened, too. She said that 
 she had never had such an experience : that 
 she felt that she could not live through an- 
 other. As she expressed it, she felt that 
 she had been the battle ground where two 
 great forces had met and contended. I 
 soothed her as best I could and sent her 
 home. I did not tell her that I thought that 
 
194 A TRAGEDY OF IIIOH EXPLOSIVES. 
 
 slie was right. She was. She was the nn- 
 conscious medium through which will over- 
 came the forces of nature. This evening she 
 must be the medium through which, in 
 obedience to our will, the Spirit of Arthur 
 Hartley shall speak with us." 
 
 *' Suppose she refuses." 
 
 *' She will obey me, or rather my will," 
 said Judson quietly. ''It's merely a ques- 
 tion of whether it is safe to subject her to 
 the ordeal. But as it will be nothing com- 
 pared with that she has just been through I 
 shall attempt it, if she is at all able to bear 
 it. I must have that mystery solved" 
 
 I slept very late that morning and joined 
 the family at the Sunday afternoon dinner ; 
 tind then went with Judson to the library to 
 smoke. 
 
 "It's all right," he said, as soon as we 
 were seated. ' ' She will come this even- 
 ing." 
 
 " Will all those other persons be here ? " I 
 asked. 
 
 " Oh, no. You and I and the woman 
 only." 
 
 It was ten o'clock that evening when Jud- 
 son entered the library, where I sat reading 
 before the glowing grate, and said : 
 
 ' ' She' s here. Come into the parlor. ' ' 
 
 It was with more than ordinary emotions 
 that I followed him. The medium was the 
 
A TRAGEDY OF HIGH EXPLOSIVES. 195 
 
 only person in the room. The cabinet still 
 stood where it had stood twenty-four 
 hours before. She looked the picture of ill 
 health. Great hollows were beneath the 
 tired eyes, and she moved feebly. She 
 bowed gravely to me, and entered the cab- 
 inet. Judson turned the gas down low. 
 
 " If you will remain entirely passive," he 
 said softly, " I think we shall get the com- 
 munication without trouble." There was a 
 calm confidence in his voice, quite different 
 from the intensity of his manner the night 
 before. We sat quietly for many minutes, 
 until I began to grow uneasy. I tried to 
 think of nothing with very poor success, 
 but while I was making the effort strenu- 
 ously there came from the cabinet a clear, 
 firm voice. Its tones were something like 
 those in which the woman the night before 
 had said: "What do you wish?" but as 
 the voice proceeded it took on a manlier 
 tone, with that indescribable accent we call 
 " English." These were the words : 
 
 " Since you wish it, I will' finish the story 
 of my life on earth. Listen. When I 
 ceased writing in my book on the Albatross 
 it was because I had lost control of my pen, 
 and of my mind as well. I managed to 
 crawl to the deck. Helen was lying motion- 
 less in the shadow of the companion hatch. 
 I threw myself down by her side. She put 
 
196 A TRAQEDT OF HIGH EXPLOSIVES. 
 
 out her hand and grasped mine, and a flush 
 crossed her face. I was too weak to speak, 
 and thus hand in hand we lay for I don't 
 know hov/ long. Gradually I lost conscious- 
 ness, perhaps in sleep. At all events, my 
 spirit was not free. The frail body still had 
 strength enough to retain it. I was aroused 
 by something dropping on my face. As 
 consciousness came back I saw that the sky 
 had become overcast ; that a cool breeze was 
 blowing, and that a gentle rain was falling. 
 Helen was sitting erect and with parted lips 
 drinking in the grateful rain-laden air. I 
 tried to rise, but could not. She was much 
 stronger than I, and at my direction went 
 below and brought blankets and clothes, 
 which she spread on the deck that they 
 might catch the falling drops. She seemed 
 quite vigorous, and already I felt my own 
 strength coming back. Soon she was able to 
 squeeze water from a blanket into a small 
 can which stood by the mast. We were in 
 too great agony of thirst to think of small 
 matters of neatness. She offered the can 
 to me. 
 
 " ' Drink, yourself, Helen,' I said. 
 
 " ' No,' she answered, with a smile. * No, 
 you need it most.' And kneeling by my 
 side, she slipped her arm under my head, 
 and with her other hand held the water to 
 my lips. 
 
A TRAGEDY OF HIQH EXPLOSIVES. 197 
 
 *'I drank eagerly. The draught was life to 
 me. Never had water such strength-giving 
 power. I hardly noticed that it left a queer 
 taste upon ray lips. I sat erect. Helen, 
 with her arm still around my neck, drank 
 what remained in the can. Then she looked 
 me full in the face. There was a new ex- 
 pression in the lovely eyes ; the old vague, 
 calm look had gone. A deep flush was on 
 her brow as she spoke : 
 
 " 'Arthur,' she said, and there was a 
 tremor in the rich, deep voice. ' Arthur, my 
 memory has come back. No, do not speak, 
 but hear me. The past all returned the 
 night after that awful day when we buried 
 those dead bodies in the sea. I now remem- 
 ber and understand all that you and the dear 
 doctor said to me. I remember our parting 
 in England ; I remember John Bruce ; I re- 
 member why I set out for India so suddenly. 
 I heard that he was wounded. I thought 
 duty called me. For I did not love him, 
 Arthur. How could I ? I had not seen him 
 since we were children, and our fathers be- 
 trothed us. But, Arthur, a higher power 
 than hate or love has given us to each other, 
 and I can tell you, dear, that I love you. 
 Oh, I love you ! My darling ; my noble, 
 faithful darling ! Oh, Arthur, Arthur ! ' 
 
 *' She threw herself upon my breast with 
 burning face and streaming eyes. The blood 
 
198 A TRAGEDY OF HIGH EXPLOSIVES. 
 
 leaped through my veins. She raised her 
 sweet face and our lips met for the first 
 time. 
 
 " There was an awful crash, and our freed 
 spirits took their happy flight together. 
 We had drank from the can that had con- 
 tained Uncle John's explosive. A little of 
 the powder had clung to the can, floated on 
 the water, and adhered to our lips when we 
 drank. The impact of that first ecstatic 
 kiss had exploded the compound and our 
 heads were blown from our shoulders. 
 That's all. Good-by." 
 
THE BUSHWHACKER'S 
 GRATITUDE. 
 
 BY KIRKE MUNROE. 
 
 AS we sat over our after-dinner coffee 
 _ and cigars in the major' s cosy library, 
 one evening last winter, I discovered my host 
 to be in a reminiscent mood, and ventured 
 to ask him a question that I had frequently 
 meditated. He smiled and was silent for a 
 moment before answering. 
 
 *' Yes, I have, as you suggest, experienced 
 a number of what may be termed adventures 
 since entering Uncle Sam's service. Of them 
 all, however, I have no difficulty in recalling 
 one that stands out pre-eminently as the 
 most thrilling experience of my life ;" and 
 then he gave this narrative : 
 
 *' Shortly after the close of the war, I was 
 ordered to a remote section of the South, not 
 far from the Gulf coast, to investigate certain 
 claims against the Government that involved 
 what, for that part of the country, was a 
 large sum of money. As, for several reasons, 
 
 199 
 
200 TEE BUSEWEAGKEIVS GRATITUDE. 
 
 it was deemed advisable that my real busi- 
 ness there should be kept secret, I assumed 
 the role of a settler, took possession of a 
 vacant tract of land, built a two-pen log 
 cabin, engaged a negro servant, and pro- 
 ceeded to explore the country with a view to 
 making the acquaintance of my neighbors. 
 
 ''The place in which 1 was located was 
 remote from railroads or regular routes of 
 travel, and was about as wild and lawless a 
 district as could well be found east of the 
 Mississippi. It was a limestone country, 
 abounding in sink-holes, caverns, and under- 
 ground rivers, and thickly covered with a 
 primeval growth of timber. A few clearings 
 at long intervals marked the fields and 
 garden patches of its widely scattered inhab- 
 itants, who were as primitive a^set of people 
 as I had ever encountered. During the war 
 it had been a very hot-bed of bushwhacking, 
 and its men had plundered and killed on 
 both sides, with a slight predilection in favor 
 of Southerners and a bitter hatred of 
 Yankees. Although I carefully concealed 
 my connection with the army, and was most 
 guarded in my remarks whenever forced to 
 allude to the war, I could not hide the fact 
 that I was a Northern man. On that ac- 
 count alone I was from the first an object of 
 suspicion and close scrutiny to my neighbors, 
 by most of whom my friendly overtures 
 
THE BUSHWHACKER'S GRATITUDE. 201 
 
 were received with a sullen unresponsiveness 
 that was, to say the least, discouraging. 
 
 ''My nearest neighbor was a giant of a man 
 named Case Haffner, who, as I learned before 
 leaving Washington, was the acknowledged 
 leader of the district and foremost in all 
 its deeds of deviltry. He, better than any 
 other, could furnish me with the information I 
 wished to acquire. For this reason I had 
 taken up my abode as near to him as the 
 unwritten law of the country, which forbade 
 neighbors to live within less than a mile of 
 each other, allowed. In vain did I strive to 
 cultivate his acquaintance. He would have 
 nothing to do with me. Only by stratagem 
 did I succeed in meeting him, when he 
 simply ignored my presence and walked 
 away without a word. He lived alone with 
 his son Abner, a bright, keen-witted lad of 
 about fifteen, the pride of his father's life 
 and the sole object of his ambitions. With 
 this boy I also tried to scrape an acquaint- 
 ance, hoping to win the father's confidence 
 through him, but to no purpose. He either 
 eluded me or fled like a startled deer if by 
 chance we met. While others of the neigh- 
 borhood sought my house with a view to 
 satisfy their curiosity, with Case Haffner and 
 his son 'Ab,' I could hold no intercourse. 
 
 " So matters stood at the end of a month, 
 when, late one evening, on returning from an 
 
202 THE BUSHWHACKER'S GRATITUDE. 
 
 all day's ride to a remote corner of the set- 
 tlement I was overtaken by a terrific tliunder 
 storm while still some distance from home. 
 I was accompanied by Caesar, my negro ser- 
 vant, and we were on horseback. Bewil- 
 dered by the storm we lost our way, and 
 after a half hour of hopeless wandering, 
 floundering and general discomfort I was 
 more than thankful to discover a feeble light 
 twinkling in the window of a log cabin. 
 
 "Receiving no response to my repeated 
 knockings at the door, I pushed it open and 
 entered. I had not recognized the cabin and 
 did not know until I saw Case Haffner sitting 
 on a stool before the great mud- chinked 
 fire-place, that it was his. The man's face 
 was buried in his hands, and he did not 
 look up at my entrance, nor in any way be- 
 tray a consciousness of my presence. As I 
 glanced about the rudely-furnished room in 
 search of Abner, my eye fell upon a bed on 
 which lay the motionless form of the boy. 
 The light was dim, and fancying him to be 
 asleep, I called him by name. 
 
 " At this the man by the fire sprang to his 
 feet, and glaring at me like a wild beast, 
 cried out with a terrible oath that his son 
 was dead, and for me to be gone before he 
 killed me for intruding on his misery. In- 
 stead of obeying him I stepped to the bed- 
 side. The boy was to all appearance lifeless. 
 
THE BUSHWHACKER'S GRATITUDE. 203 
 
 but disregarding the father's protest, and 
 making a careful examination of the body, I 
 became convinced that the vital spark had 
 not yet fled. He had been stricken with one 
 of the quick fevers of that country and had 
 apparently succumbed to it. With a slight 
 medical knowledge gained in the army, I 
 saw that there was still a chance of saving 
 him. Csesar was at once dispatched to fetch 
 my traveling medicine case, while I heated 
 a kettle of water. Case Haffner meantime 
 regarding my movements with an apathetic 
 indifference. To make a long story short, I 
 succeeded before morning in restoring the 
 boy to life and a healthful sleep. At the 
 end of a week, during which I visited him 
 daily, his recovery was assured. 
 
 "In all this time, though the father 
 watched my every movement with a catlike 
 intentness, he never spoke to me if he could 
 help it nor did he express the slightest grat- 
 itude for the service I had rendered him. 
 Thus, when the boy was so far recovered 
 that I had no longer an excuse for visiting 
 the Haffners' cabin, I was apparently as far 
 from gaining their friendship or confidence 
 as I had been before the night of the 
 storm. 
 
 *' This state of affairs continued unchanged 
 when at the end of three months from my 
 arrival in that place I found my business 
 
204 THE BUSHWHACKER'S GRATITUDE, 
 
 there nearly concluded. I had established 
 the validity of the claims I had been sent to 
 investigate, had reported upon them, and 
 had been ordered to settle them with the 
 money that would be forwarded to me for 
 that purpose. At the same time I imagined 
 that all this business had been conducted 
 with such secrecy as to be unsuspected by a 
 human being beside myself and my princi- 
 pals in the matter. Thus thinking, I went 
 alone, and without a feeling of insecurity, to 
 the nearest railway station, where I expected 
 to receive the money. It did not arrive on 
 that day ; but instead I found a cipher dis- 
 patch stating that it would be sent a week 
 later. Accepting the situation with as good 
 grace as possible, I purchased some provis- 
 ions, placed them in the canvas bag that I 
 had provided for the money and returned to 
 my temporary forest home. 
 
 ''Late that night I was awakened from a 
 sound sleep by a knock at the door of my 
 room. In answer to my inquiry of * Who's 
 there ? ' came a request in the voice of my 
 negro man, that I would give him some med- 
 icine to relieve ' de colic misery dat was like 
 to kill him.' As he had made similar re- 
 quests, with which I had complied, several 
 times before, I unsuspiciously opened the 
 door. 
 
 *' The candle that I had just lighted gave 
 
THE BUSHWHACKER'S GRATITUDE. 205 
 
 me a glimpse of Csesar, with ashen face and 
 the muzzle of a revolver pressed against his 
 head. At the same moment a pistol was 
 leveled at my own face and I was seized and 
 bound by two masked men. In vain did I 
 demand the meaning of this outrage. No 
 answer was given, and I was led outside, 
 while a hasty but thorough search was made 
 of every portion of the cabin. It was, of 
 course, a fruitless one, and after a while the 
 two men who made it rejoined the one who 
 was guarding me. 
 
 ''Now one of them spoke, and in a voice 
 which in spite of its disguised tone I at once 
 recognized as that of Case Half ner said, ' You 
 mought as well give us that money. Major, 
 fer we're bound to have it, and the quicker 
 you surrender it the easier we'll let you 
 off.' 
 
 *' I answered that I had no money ; that it 
 had not arrived. Tiiey replied that they 
 knew all about my business, and that being 
 closely watched I had been seen to bring 
 that money, which they knew I expected to 
 receive, home from the railway station the 
 evening before. 
 
 "Finally their leader said : ' Well, Major, 
 ef you are bound not to own up till we force 
 you to, we'll have to try a dose of the Black 
 Hole, and I reckon that'll fetch you to terms 
 quicker' n most anything.' 
 
206 THE BUSHWHACKER'S GRATITUDE. 
 
 "I had heard of the Black Hole, and the 
 suggestion fclirilled me with horror. It was 
 a pit in the lime rock reputed to be of fabu- 
 lous depth and w^as located at some distance 
 from my cabin in one of the most impen- 
 etrable of the forest recesses. From it, so 
 the negroes had told me, issued uncanny 
 moanings and groans which they attributed 
 to the ghosts of those who they declared had 
 been flung into it by the bushwhackers when 
 they wished to effectually remove all traces 
 of some of theirnumerous deeds of blood. 
 
 *' I protested and made promises, but to 
 no purpose. My money or the Black Hole 
 was the only answer I received, as I was 
 hurried away through the forest. No other 
 word was spoken, and, left to my own bitter 
 reflections, I took no note of the direction in 
 which we were going, nor of the distance 
 traversed. When we at length halted I be- 
 came conscious of a hollow moanino: sound 
 that seemed to come from the earth at my 
 feet. 
 
 "Once more the question was asked, 
 * Will you give in, Major, and tell us where 
 the money is, or shall we drop you into the 
 back door of hell ? ' 
 
 " I answered, * For God's sake, gentlemen, 
 believe me when I say that I have received 
 no money. If I had I would gladly give it 
 as the price of my life.' 
 
THE BUSHWHACKER'S GRATITUDE, 207 
 
 ''A mocking laugh was their only reply. 
 In another moment a slender rope was knotted 
 under my pinioned arms and a sudden push 
 left me swinging helplessly in the mouth of 
 the awful pit beside which we had halted. 
 
 '' ' We'll wait here just one hour, Major,' 
 came to me in Case Haffner's voice, ' and give 
 you a chance to consider the situation. If 
 you decide to let us have the money inside 
 of that time, jest holler, and we'll pull you 
 up. If you decide to go to hell and take the 
 greenbacks with you, why, we'll jest have 
 ter bid you good-by, that's all.' 
 
 ''Then I was slowly lowered down, down, 
 down, through the blackness. So slow was 
 my descent that I seemed to be suspended 
 for hours and to sink miles into the heart of 
 the earth. The pain of the slender cord cut- 
 ting into my flesh was well-nigh intolerable, 
 and I bear livid evidences of it to this day ; 
 with each moment the moaning, gurgling, 
 and groaning from the unknown depths into 
 which I was sinking became more distinct 
 and horrible. 
 
 " Suddenly, those above let go of the rope 
 and with a yell of despair I dropped, I do not 
 know how far, into water that closed above 
 my head. As I rose to the surface, choking 
 and gasping for breath, I felt that I was 
 being swept forward by a powerful current, 
 and as I again sank my feet touched bottom. 
 
208 THE BUSHWHACKER'S GRATITUDE. 
 
 A moment later I stood in water \\j) to my 
 shoulders and again breathed freely. For 
 some time I was confused beyond the power 
 of thought by the hollow roar of the black 
 waters rushing through those awful caverns. 
 All surrounding space seemed tilled with snarl- 
 ing, formless monsters, cautiously advancing 
 and making ready to spring at me. Even now 
 I often awake at night with the horror of that 
 moment strong upon me. It was so unen- 
 durable that I resolved to end it. It was 
 with great difficulty that I maintained my 
 footing. I could not do so much longer. 
 Why should I attempt to ? There was abso- 
 lutely no hope of escape. I tried to pray 
 ' Oh, Lord Jesus, receive my soul.' Then 
 my muscles relaxed and I was swept away 
 by the rushing torrent. 
 
 '' I have no idea how far I was carried be- 
 fore my feet again touched bottom, this time 
 in water that was not above my waist. I had 
 closed my eyes. Now I opened them. A 
 bright light was swinging to and fro not a 
 hundred feet from me. I stared at it blankly 
 and with little interest, only wondering with 
 a languid curiosity what sort of a subter- 
 ranean ignis fatuus it might be, when sud- 
 denly my bewildered senses were startled 
 into renewed activity by the sound of a 
 shout. It was a human voice uttering a 
 long-drawn 'Hello-o-o ! ' that echoed and re- 
 
THE BUSHWHACKER'S OBATITUDE. 209 
 
 echoed weirdly through the cavernous depths 
 about me. I essayed to answer, but could 
 not. Then I slowly made my way through 
 the shoaling water toward the light. 
 
 *' In another minute I stood beside a boy, 
 the one whose life I had saved two months 
 before, and as he cut the thongs that bound 
 my arms he said cheerily : 
 
 " ' It's all right. Major. Paw 'lowed you'd 
 be coming along this yere way 'bout this 
 time o' night, en' telled me to shorely be on 
 hand to meet up with yer. Now, ef yo'll 
 f oiler me, we'll be outen this direckly.' 
 
 *'The boy was standing in the mouth of 
 a narrow passage, that, free from water, led 
 away almost at right angles to the main 
 channel of the underground river. It ended 
 at a well-like opening in which stood a rude 
 ladder, climbing this, we emerged through 
 a well concealed trap door into the ver\^ room 
 where Abner Haffner had laid at the point 
 of death two months before." 
 
 "Is that all?" I asked, as the major 
 paused and lighted a fresh cigar. 
 
 ''Yes, it's all of that story. I could not 
 cause the arrest of the gang, even had I 
 known who composed it, without causing 
 that of their leader, and from the moment 
 that blessed light illumined the black waters 
 of that underground river I would not have 
 harmed Case Haffner for anything the world 
 
210 THE BUSHWHACKER'S GRATITUDE. 
 
 holds best worth having. No ; by daylight 
 I was well out of that section of country, 
 nor have I ever since set foot in it." 
 
 ''Have you ever heard again from that 
 boy?" 
 
 ''Who, Abner? Well, I should say I 
 had. I put him through college, and he is 
 in Congress to-day. If I should tell you his 
 real name you would instantly recognize it 
 as that of one of the smartest men ever sent 
 to Washington from the far South." 
 
THE END OF ALL. 
 
 BY NYM CRINKLE. 
 
 THE difficulty that I experience in com- 
 plying with your request, dear spirit, 
 springs from the terrestrial limitations of 
 thought and expression, from which, as you 
 may well know, I have not been long enough 
 with you to free myself. 
 
 I shall, however, give you a plain narra- 
 tive of the events attending the extinction 
 of life on our planet, asking you only to 
 remember that I am doing it just as I would 
 have done it, were it possible, for a fellow 
 human being while on earth, using the 
 phraseology and the terrestrial time divi- 
 sions with which I am most familiar. 
 
 The circumstance which at our last inter- 
 course I was trying to explain to you was 
 simply this : In the early summer of the 
 year 1892 a sudden interruption of naviga- 
 tion occurred on the Pacific coast, which, 
 curiously enough, attracted very little atten- 
 tion outside of scientific circles. I was living 
 
 211 
 
212 THE END OF ALL. 
 
 at the house of my wealthy friend, Judge 
 Brisbane, in Graniercy Park. To tell you 
 the truth, I was in love with his beautiful 
 daughter, of whom I shall have to speak 
 more fully to you, for she was intimately 
 associated with me in the appalling scenes 
 which you desire me to describe. 
 
 I was sitting in the Judge's library on the 
 night of June 25. His daughter was pres- 
 ent, and I had been conversing with her in 
 an undertone while the Judge read the 
 evening papers. He suddenly laid down 
 the paper, took off his spectacles, and, turn- 
 ing round in his chair, said to me: "Did 
 you see the brief dispatch in the morning 
 papers two days ago from San Francisco, 
 saying that all the eastern-bound vessels 
 Avere overdue on that coast?" 
 
 I replied at once that I had not noticed it. 
 
 " It is astonishing," he said, '' that in our 
 present system of journalism the most im- 
 portant events connected with the welfare of 
 mankind receive the slightest attention from 
 the newspapers, and the trivialities of life are 
 most voluminously treated. A movement in 
 the iron trade that affects millions of homes 
 gets a brief paragraph in small type, and the 
 quarrel of a ballet girl with her paramour 
 receives illuminated attention down whole 
 columns. Here is something taking place in 
 the Paciiic Ocean of surpassing interest to 
 
TEE END OF ALL. 213 
 
 the race, and nobody pays the slightest at- 
 tention to it except, perhaps, the consignees 
 and shipping clerks." 
 
 ''What is it?" we both asked, with the 
 languid interest that young people, having 
 an overmastering personal affair on hand, 
 would be apt to take in matters of national 
 or universal importance. 
 
 The Judge got up, and going to a side 
 table, where he kept his papers piled in 
 chronological order, pulled out a recent issue 
 of a morning journal, and after looking it 
 over searching] y a moment, said : 
 
 " Here. I should think you would notice 
 such a paragraph as this." Then he read, as 
 I recollect, a telegraphic dispatch to this 
 effect : 
 
 "San Francisco, June 23.— Considerable anxiety- 
 is felt here in commercial circles by the non-arrival 
 of any eastward-bound vessels for a week. The steam- 
 ship Cathay of the Occidental Line is overdue four 
 days. An unusual easterly wind has been blowing 
 for twenty-four hours. Weather mild. 
 
 "That dispatch, you will perceive," said 
 the Judge, "was sent two days ago. !N"ow 
 here, on the 25th, I read in the evening paper 
 another dispatch from San Francisco, hid- 
 den away at the bottom of a column of com- 
 mercial news. Listen to this : 
 
 "San Francisco, June 25. — The entire suspen- 
 sion of travel from the West continues to excite the 
 gravest apprehensions. Nothing but coastwise ves- 
 
214 THE END OF ALL. 
 
 sels have come in during the past eight days. The 
 U. S. cruiser Mobile left Honolulu three weeks ago 
 for this coast. There is no oflBcial intimation of a 
 storm in the Chinese seas." 
 
 The Judge laid the paper down, and re- 
 garded us both a moment in silence, as if ex- 
 pecting to hear some remark that indicated 
 our suddenly awakened curiosity. 
 
 I don't think we responded with any 
 adequate interest to the occasion. Miss 
 Brisbane did, indeed, stare at her father 
 in her dreamy, abstracted way a moment, 
 and then got up, and, going to the open 
 window, began to arrange the curtains, as 
 if relinquishing whatever problem there 
 was to the superior acumen of the masculine 
 mind. 
 
 I think I said that it looked as if there had 
 been a cyclone somewhere, and if there had 
 we should in all probability get the accounts 
 of it soon enough. 
 
 ''But, young man," replied the Judge, 
 with his majesterial emphasis, ''cyclones do 
 not extend from the fiftieth degree of north 
 latitude to the fortieth degree of south lati- 
 tude, and vessels are due at San Francisco 
 from Melbourne and Japan." 
 
 "What, then, other than a storm at sea 
 could have caused a detention of all these 
 vessels ? " I asked, and I must have unwit- 
 tingly betrayed in the tone of my voice, or 
 
THE END OF ALL. 215 
 
 the expression of my face, that considerate 
 superciliousness with which youth regards 
 the serious notions of mature philosophers, 
 for the Judge, putting his gold spectacles 
 upon his nose, and regarding me over the 
 top of them a moment, said rather severely : 
 
 " Other than the known and regular phe- 
 nomena of this planet do not interest young 
 men. If I could answer your question 
 there would be no special interest in the 
 matter." 
 
 I mention these trivial incidents because, 
 insignificant as they may seem, they were 
 the first ripples of that disaster which was 
 soon enough to overwhelm us all, and to 
 show you what were the only premonitions 
 the world had of the events which were to 
 follow. 
 
 On June 26> the subject did not occur to 
 me. A hundred other things of far more 
 immediate consequence to me occupied my 
 attention. A young man who is preparing 
 to get married is not apt to take somber 
 views of anything. Nor is he very apt to 
 allow the contumacy of age in his prospec- 
 tive father-in-law to aggravate him. It was 
 a pardonable freak, I thought, in a man who 
 had retired in most respects from the active 
 world, to dogmatize a little about that world 
 now that he judged it through his favorite 
 evening paper. When, therefore, on the 
 
216 THE END OF ALL. 
 
 night of the 26th, while at the tea-table, the 
 Judge broke out again about the meteoro- 
 logical wave on the Pacihc coast, his daugh- 
 ter Kate and I exchanged a rapid but fur- 
 tive glance which said, in the perfect under- 
 standing of lovers, "There comes the old 
 gentleman's new hobby again, and we can 
 well afford to treat it leniently." 
 
 The Judge had the damp evening paper in 
 his hand, and he disregarded the steaming 
 cup of tea which his daughter had poured 
 for him. 
 
 *' Well," he said, with a toss of self- 
 satisfied import. " Now the newspapers are 
 waking up to the significance of the Cali- 
 fornia news." He then read from the paper, 
 as nearly as I can recollect, something like 
 the following : 
 
 San Francisco, June 26.— There is an intense and 
 growing anxiety on this coast with respect to the 
 non appearance of any eastward-bound vessels. The 
 breeze from the east continues, and is unprece- 
 dented. 
 
 "Now, I should like to know," said the 
 Judge, as he laid down the paper and took 
 up his tea-cup, " why a breeze from the east 
 in California should be unprecedented." 
 
 "Because," I ventured to remark, ''it 
 usually blows from the sea at this season." 
 
 " Nonsense," exclaimed the Judge with 
 vigor. " A variation for a few days in wind 
 
THE END OF ALL. 217 
 
 or weather is a common occurrence every- 
 where. Fancy a message sent all over the 
 world from the West Indies that the trade 
 winds were six days lafce, or a telegram from 
 Minnesota that the winter frosts had been 
 interfered with for a week by pleasant sun- 
 shine. No, sir. The event of importance to 
 the Californian at this moment is the mys- 
 terious something that has happened out at 
 sea, and there is no excuse for his associating 
 a summer breeze from the east with it, ex- 
 cept that there is something peculiar about 
 that breeze that associates it in the mind 
 with the predominant mystery." 
 
 I smiled. ''You will pardon me. Judge, 
 but it seems to me," I said, "that you are 
 trying to invest the whole affair with an 
 occult significance that is subjective. I sup- 
 pose that in a few hours the matter will be 
 explained and forgotten." 
 
 In a moment we were in one of those 
 foolish little wrangles in which, so far as 
 argument is concerned, the younger man is 
 at a great disadvantage, when the elder, 
 however unreasonable his claims, enforces 
 them with the advantage of age and posi- 
 tion. I remember that the desire to con- 
 vince Kate on the one hand that I was free 
 from what I conceived to be her fa therms un- 
 reasonableness, and sustain my independence 
 of views on the other hand, led me to say 
 
218 THE END OF ALL. 
 
 much more than Avas polite, for I exasper- 
 ated the old gentleinan, and with a curt and 
 not altogether complimentary remark he 
 got up and left the room. 
 
 The moment he was gone I turned to the 
 daughter and laughingly said : *'Well, my 
 dear, I am afraid I have offended your father 
 without intending it, but you at least un- 
 derstand me, and are free from his super- 
 stition." 
 
 To my surprise she regarded me with a 
 serious air, and replied: *'I do not know 
 what you mean by superstition. My father 
 believes that something has happened, and I 
 feel that he is right." 
 
 *'You do not mean to tell me," I said, 
 *'that you believe anything has happened 
 that can concern us ?" 
 
 She made no reply. I looked at her with 
 some astonishment, and wondered if I had 
 offended her by opposing her father's child- 
 ish views. 
 
 "Perhaps," I persisted, "you, too, think 
 I am stupidly unreasonable because I will 
 not consent to be dishonestly chimerical." 
 
 I well remember the look of sad reproach 
 with which she silently regarded me, and I 
 well remember, too, the thought that came 
 into my mind. I said to myself: "This 
 is the same obduracy that her father has 
 shown. Odd it is that I never noticed the 
 
THE END OF ALL. 219 
 
 trait in her before." Then I added, with an 
 equal obduracy that I was not conscious of : 
 
 *'Perliaps you, too, have discovered some 
 peculiarity of good sense in me that is offen- 
 sive, and you are afraid tliat something will 
 happen if we " 
 
 Here she interrupted me in her quiet, 
 resolute, and reproachful way. 
 
 " Something has happened," she said. 
 
 I was amazed. If I had suddenly discov- 
 ered that the woman I loved was unfaithful 
 to me it could not have produced, in my 
 frame of mind at that moment, a greater 
 shock. It seemed to me then that the woo- 
 ing of months, the confidence and affection 
 of a year, were to be sacrificed in a moment of 
 infatuated stubbornness. The very thought 
 was so unnatural that it produced a revul- 
 sion in my own feelings. 
 
 *' My darling," I said, as I went toward 
 her impulsively, '^we are playing the un- 
 worthy part of fools. Nothing can ever 
 happen that will make us love each other 
 less, or prevent you from being my wife." 
 
 I put my arm around her in the old famil- 
 iar way. She was passive and irresponsive. 
 She stood there, limply holding the curtain, 
 witli one white arm upraised, her beautiful 
 head bent over and her eyes cast down so 
 that I could not look into her face. This 
 stony obduracy was so new and unlike her 
 
220 THE END OF ALL. 
 
 that I withdrew my arm and stepped back 
 a little to regard her with astonishment, not 
 unmingled with pique. At that moment 
 she lifted her head slowly, and as she looked 
 at me with a dreamy and far-away pathos I 
 saw that her eyes were tilled with tears. 
 
 ''It seems to me," she said, with a voice 
 that sounded as if it was addressed to an 
 invisible phantom way beyond me. ''It 
 seems to me that I shall never be your 
 wife ! " 
 
 I must have stared at her several seconds 
 in silence. Then I said : 
 
 "You are ill. You are not yourself. 
 When you have recovered your normal con- 
 dition I will come back." 
 
 I snatched a kiss from her lips, that were 
 strangely cold, and rushed from the house. 
 
 It was not till the next morning, when I 
 woke up after a short and disturbed sleep, 
 that my mind reverted to the cause of all 
 this purely sentimental disagreement, and I 
 felt a strong desire to have events prove that 
 the Judge was slightly monomanical, and 
 that I was right. I went to Riccadonnas' 
 for my breakfast and got all the morning 
 papers, as usual, but this time with a dis- 
 tinct confidence that the news would be the 
 best vindication of my good sense, and that 
 I should yet have a good laugh at the 
 Judge. 
 
THE END OF ALL. 221 
 
 I opened the paper as I sipped my coffee, 
 and the first thing my eyes fell on were the 
 headlines of a dispatch from St. Louis. I 
 read them with an inexplicable sense of 
 something sinking in me. As I recall them 
 they ran as follows : 
 
 " Strange news from the West. All com- 
 munication west of Salt Lake City ceases. 
 Meteorological puzzle. What is the matter 
 with the wires?" 
 
 Then followed the dispatch, which I have 
 not forgotten : 
 
 St. Louis, June 26, 8 p. m.— A dispatch received 
 here from Yuma on the Texas Pacific announces that 
 no eastern-bound train has come in since morning, 
 and all attempts to open communication by telegraph 
 with points west of that place have failed. It is the 
 opinion of railroad men that a great storm is raging 
 in California. Weather here pleasant, with a steady, 
 dry wind from the east blowing. 
 
 Immediately following this was another 
 news item which I can quote from memory : 
 
 Denver, June 2Q, 9 p. m.— Intelligence from Chey- 
 enne is to the effect that railway travel and tele- 
 graphic communication west of Pocatello on the 
 Union Pacific and Ogden and on the Central Pacific 
 have been interrupted by a storm. The telegraph 
 wires are believed to be in good condition, but up to 
 nine o'clock there has been no return current. 
 
 I read these paragraphs over three or four 
 times. Ordinarily I should have passed 
 them by and given my attention to other 
 
222 THE END OF ALL. 
 
 and more congenial news. But now a dull 
 fear that events were conspiring to widen 
 the breach between myself and the Brisbanes 
 focussed my interest on them. There was 
 that easterly wind blowing again ; was I, 
 too, growing superstitious? I turned over 
 all the papers. The news was the same in 
 all, but there was not an editorial paragraph 
 of comment in any of the sheets, which, in- 
 deed, teamed with all the details of active 
 commercial, political, and social life. 
 
 I went down town after eating my break- 
 fast and found that the intelligence had not 
 awakened any public attention that was ob- 
 servable. The two or three persons to whom 
 I spoke with regard to it treated it as one of 
 the passing sensations of the hour that would 
 be explained sooner or later. It was not till 
 the evening papers of the 27th came out that 
 the matter began to be discussed. The dis- 
 patches in these papers were of a nature to 
 arouse widespread anxiety. It was very ob- 
 vious from their construction and import 
 that the feeling west of the Mississippi was 
 more intense than had up to this time been 
 suspected. The columns of the papers were 
 filled with brief but rather startling tele- 
 grams from various points. Denver, El 
 Paso, Salt Lake City, Cheyenne, St. Paul, 
 St. Louis, and Chicago sent anxious sen- 
 tences w^hich had a thrill of trepidation in 
 
THE END OF ALL. 228 
 
 their broken phrases. And it was easy to 
 see that this feeling of deep concern increased 
 with each dispatch from a point further 
 west. 
 
 Telegrams sent to St. Louis, Chicago, and 
 St. Paul represented the condition of anxi- 
 ety in Ogden and Pocatello to be bordering 
 on excitement. Fears were entertained, the 
 dispatches said, of a "meteorological cata- 
 clysm," and thousands who had friends 
 either on the coast or in transit were be- 
 sieging the telegraph offices in vain. 
 
 The hurried comments of the evening 
 papers on the news were singularly unsatis- 
 factory and non-committal. "The unprece- 
 dented storm that is now raging on the Pa- 
 cific slope," I read, "and which has tem- 
 porarily cut off communications with the far 
 West, will by its magnitude fill the coun- 
 try with the most serious apprehensions." 
 "The earliest news from California, which 
 shall give us the details of the storm," said 
 another paper, " will be looked for with 
 eagerness, and will be promptly and fully 
 furnished to our readers." 
 
 As curious as anybody could be to know 
 what kind of a storm it was that had stopped 
 railroad travel from Idaho to Mexico, and 
 remarking with surprise that the Signal 
 Office utterly refused to recognize a great 
 storm anywhere, I dismissed the subject 
 
224 THE END OF ALL. 
 
 from my mind with the reflection that there 
 would in all jjrobability be explanatory news 
 in the morning, and resolved to make my 
 usual visit to the Brisbane family. 
 
 To my surprise, Kate received me cordi- 
 ally, and with no other allusion to the un- 
 j)leasantness of the night before than a de- 
 mure remark that she was afraid she had 
 offended me. 
 
 "Let us not refer to it at all," I said, 
 "and thus avoid making idiots of our- 
 selves." 
 
 "lam glad you came to-night," she re- 
 marked, after a moment's silence, "for I 
 wanted to tell you of the change we are 
 going to make." 
 
 A little pang darted through me. It was 
 said so seriously. 
 
 "What is it, my dear," I asked, trying 
 to be as affectionate as if the conditions had 
 not changed. 
 
 "My father and I have determined to go to 
 Europe." 
 
 ' ' To Europe ! " I repeated, aghast. ' ' You 
 surely do not mean it ? " 
 
 "Yes," resolutely. " He wanted to con- 
 sult you about it, but was afraid you would 
 disagree with his plans." 
 
 "And when did he make up his mind to 
 take this sudden move ? " 
 
 "This morning." 
 
TEE END OF ALL. 225 
 
 " And you intend to go with him ?" 
 
 '' Yes, and I was going to ask you to go, 
 too." 
 
 *' When do you propose to go ?" 
 
 '' Immediately." 
 
 It was evident to my mind now that this 
 old man was a panic-stricken monomaniac, 
 and had infected his daughter with his 
 fears. 
 
 '* Kate," I said, as I took her by her hands 
 and pulled her to the sofa beside me, " you 
 are running away from something ; it is not 
 from me, is it ? " 
 
 ''I want you to go with us," she an- 
 swered. 
 
 ''But you knew when you asked me that 
 I could not go so suddenly. You expected 
 me to refuse." 
 
 "No," she said, ''I expect you to con- 
 sent." 
 
 "Be careful. In a moment of bravado 
 I may take you at your word, at any 
 cost!" 
 
 She caught hold of me. "Do," she said, 
 tremulously, and I felt a little shiver in her 
 hand. "Do, do." 
 
 "I would rather go with you than lose 
 you," I said at a hazard, "and if you are de- 
 termined to go, I believe I will accompany 
 you if your father will consent." 
 
 " We are determined," she calmly replied. 
 
226 THE END OF ALL. 
 
 *'But I must put my affairs in order," I 
 suggested. 
 
 '' How many hours will it take you ? " 
 
 '' Hours ?" I repeated. '' You Avould not 
 like to start to-night, surely ? " 
 
 "Yes," she answered, "I would gladly 
 start to-night." 
 
 My patience was giving way very fast at 
 this imperturable obduracy. "Perhaps," 
 I said, "you will give me some adequate 
 reason for a haste that I cannot compre- 
 hend." 
 
 She did not answer. She was listening, 
 with her head averted, and she held up her 
 hand for me to listen also, as if that were her 
 answer. Then there came tlirough the open 
 window the hoarse cry of a distant newsboy 
 who was bellowing an " extra." 
 
 There was something weird in her attitude 
 and action, connecting, as tliey did, her 
 motives with that discordant, ominous cry. 
 
 "It's an extra," I said, as unconcernedly 
 as possible. "I'll get a copy. There may 
 be some good news for you," and I made a 
 move toward the window. 
 
 "Don't," she said, quieth^ "We were 
 talking about going to Europe. Pa is not 
 familiar with the business of securing pas- 
 sages, and you are. You could relieve him 
 of a great deal of worry, and if you would go 
 wdth us " 
 
THE END OF ALL. 227 
 
 "Kate," I said, ''do you want me to 
 go?" 
 
 "Yes, I do," she replied. "I do not 
 want to leave you here." 
 
 "Then," I said, "I will go. I will see 
 your father in the morning and tell him that 
 I will attend to the whole business of secur- 
 ing passages. I will set about arranging my 
 affairs at once." 
 
 She then let me plague her a little about 
 her timidity, and after a half hour of play- 
 ful badinage on my part I came away, with 
 a parting promise on my lips to lose no de- 
 lay in making the arrangements for our 
 departure. 
 
 Such, however, was not my intention. I 
 felt sure that the Judge and his daugh- 
 ter would change their minds if I could only 
 manage to delay matters a few days. To go 
 running off to Europe at a moment's notice 
 would be utter folly for me. 
 
 As I left the house I heard the voices of 
 the newsboys in various keys still calling 
 the extras. I bought a paper and read it 
 under the gaslight of the church on Twen- 
 tieth Street. " Displaj^ " headlines an- 
 nounced, "As Silent as the Grave ; Nothing 
 Heard from the Pacific. Great Excitement 
 in Chicago and St. Louis." I must have 
 stood there ten minutes poring over the 
 strange news. An expedition in a special 
 
228 THE END OF ALL, 
 
 train had been sent west from Yuma that 
 day, with railroad men and doctors. It had 
 left at 3 p. M. The train reached Mesquite 
 in less than an hour, and word was sent 
 back from that station, ''All right here ; 
 track clear ; will reach the springs at 9 P. m." 
 A dispatch from Yuma sent at 10 o'clock 
 and received at St. Louis said, "Nothing 
 further heard from the special." News from 
 Chicago, where the excitement appeared to 
 be momentarily growing, reflected intelli- 
 gence from Denver, St. Paul, and Kansas 
 City, and it was vain to ignore the fact that 
 the entire West was in an alarming condi- 
 tion of anxiety. A special train was fitting 
 out at Cheyenne under Government orders 
 to start in the morning with a corps of Signal 
 Service men, army officers, and electricians. 
 It was to go provided with every scientific 
 appliance, and to carry an insulated cable 
 to be paid out from the car. The accounts 
 said that the people were all on the streets 
 in Cheyenne, and an enormous mob sur- 
 rounded the station where the preparations 
 were making. 
 
 For the first time I felt, as I threw the 
 paper away, what I can only call a sense of 
 misgiving. As I walked up the deserted 
 avenue this feeling grew upon me, and when 
 I reached Twenty- third Street, on my way 
 to the Fifth Avenue Hotel, a sudden and 
 
THE END OF ALL. 229 
 
 entirely new reflection made me stop uncon- 
 sciously as I turned it over in my mind. 
 ''If this strange news lias affected Judge 
 Brisbane and his daughter so seriously, why 
 may it not be affecting millions of other 
 people similarly ? If there is at this moment 
 a panic in the West, how long will it take 
 the reflex wave to reach New York ? " 
 
 The next morning events, or at least the 
 publication of them, had reached that con- 
 dition which arrests public attention every- 
 where. The news from the West swamped 
 all else in the morning journals. The edi- 
 tors, by their work, now acknowledged that 
 the mysterious silence on the Pacific Slope 
 was by far the most important subject for 
 consideration before the world. The moment 
 I glanced at the sheets I saw that there was 
 but one theme in the journalistic mind. 
 
 Two days had passed, and the silence was 
 unbroken. Never before in the history of 
 the world had the absence of news be- 
 come such important news. Public atten- 
 tion was now mainly centered on the attempt 
 to get a train of observation through from 
 Cheyenne. 
 
 There was a hopeful spirit to most of the 
 accounts, as if it was believed that science 
 would unravel the mystery. But there was 
 nothing from any quarter of the globe that 
 as yet afforded the feeblest gleam of com- 
 
230 THE END OF ALL. 
 
 forfc. The Government train was to start 
 early on this, the morning of the 28th, and 
 the papers were only able to furnish details 
 of the preparation and reports of the public 
 excitement in Cheyenne and Denver. The 
 officers on the train were to send dispatches 
 from every station west of Pocatello. They 
 were sagacious, experienced men, and the 
 expedition was under the direction of the 
 well-known engineer. General Albert Carrall. 
 
 I felt as I read the accounts that these men 
 would probably clear up the mystery, and I 
 resolved to delay engaging the passages on 
 the ocean steamer until the next day. So I 
 wrote a carefully worded note to Judge 
 Brisbane, informing him that I would at- 
 tend to the matter immediately. Had I then 
 had the slightest knowledge of the cumula- 
 tive rapidity with which a panic moves I 
 would not have taken this risk. But my 
 whole object was to gain time, with the hope 
 that something would occur to change the 
 minds of my two timid friends. 
 
 On the night of the 28th I avoided the 
 Brisbane establishment, although my desire 
 drew me in that direction. I resolved to 
 wait until the morrow, and if nothing hap- 
 pened to change the determination of the 
 Judge to go to Europe, to then make my ar- 
 rangements to go with him and Kate. That 
 night there was a visible change in the 
 
THE END OF ALL. 231 
 
 metropolis. The theaters were deserted, 
 men and women were congregated at the 
 corners and were walking in the roadways — 
 a sure indication in a great city of some 
 popular disturbance. The bulletins and 
 news centers were crowded, and the mj^stery 
 of the great silence was being discussed by 
 everybody. One thing struck everybody 
 with a vague terror, and it was the accounts 
 of the strange wind that was now blowing at 
 Cheyenne and Denver. One special corre- 
 spondent at Cheyenne said '' that it seemed 
 to him that the atmosphere of the earth, 
 influenced by some incomprehensible suc- 
 tion, was all rushing to an unseen vortex. 
 It was not in any sense a disturbance of the 
 atmosphere that we usually call a wind, but 
 a steady, silent draught. And the spectacle 
 of trees bent over and held all day by the 
 pressure, but unfluttered and unrelieved by 
 fluctuant variations, filled them with wonder 
 and dread." 
 
 I got up early on the morning of the 29th, 
 for I had slept lightly and fitfully. To my 
 surprise I found tliat almost everybody else 
 was up. It made me realize, as I had not 
 done before, the feverish tension of public 
 expectation. The news, if news it can be 
 called, was startling. Let me try and repeat 
 it to you just as it was presented to my 
 sense. The special train, upon which the 
 
232 THE END OF ALL. 
 
 eyes of the whole country were fixed, had 
 been heard from. It had gone west from 
 Cheyenne and passed through Pocatello 
 without interruption. Then followed the 
 dispatches received from it at Cheyenne as 
 it passed the stations beyond Pocatello. 
 They were in this order and to this effect : 
 
 MiCHANO, 10 A. M.— All right. Instruments work- 
 ing well. Track clear. Inhabitants appear to be 
 moving east. No intelligence of a definite character 
 obtained. Shoshone 108 miles west. Expect to make 
 it in four hours. 
 
 Bannock, 2:30 p. m. — Conditions unchanged. 
 Passed moving settlers all the way. They are going 
 east with chattels. Wind from the east has the 
 pressure without the violence of a gale. Party in 
 good spirits. 
 
 SuNsmNE, 3:15.— Vast herds of wild cattle now im- 
 peding progress. Wind increasing. Road otherwise 
 clear. 
 
 American Falls, 4:40.— Signs of the exodus de- 
 creasing. Country strewn with household goods. 
 Reports here that all the teams that went out on the 
 roads west have not returned. Expect to hear some- 
 thing definite from Minidoka. 
 
 Minidoka, 6:10. — Electrical and barometrical in- 
 dications unchanged. Signs of life disappearing. 
 Party in excellent spirits, and eager to reach the 
 facts. 
 
 The next dispatch was from Cheyenne, 
 and was sent at eight o'clock. It simply 
 said, '* Nothing further heard from Govern- 
 ment party. Wire in good order." 
 
THE END OF ALL. 233 
 
 Then followed two telegrams of gruesome 
 brevity and significance : 
 
 PocATELLO, 9 p. M. — Nothing here. 
 
 Cheyenne, 10 p. m.— Nothing has come over the 
 special wire up to this hour. Microphonic tests at 
 Pocatello indicate that the train is still moving. 
 Electrical tests indicate that the current is unbroken. 
 
 Finally there was a special message from 
 the l!^ew York Starts correspondent at Chey- 
 enne, dated 11 p. m. It was about to this 
 effect : 
 
 The current on the Government wire was broken 
 at 10 :40. Delicate tests show that the wire is now 
 grounded. The dire conclusion of experts here is 
 that the train ran from some point west of Minidoka 
 from about 6:15 to 10:40 without human control, and 
 then met with an accident. At the rate at whicli it 
 was moving the train must have reached Shoshone. 
 Terrible excitement here. 
 
 My keen sense detected in the newspaper 
 itself certain infallible little signs that the 
 news had disturbed the precision and routine 
 of the office. Lines of type were in the 
 wrong place, and typographical errors made 
 it difficult to get the exact sense. Dispatch 
 after dispatch, all bearing the same import 
 of panic, was huddled into the column. 
 From St. Louis the announcement was : 
 
 An unprecedented excitement here over the news 
 from Cheyenne. The authorities appear to have lost 
 their heads, and are unable to preserve order. East- 
 ward-bound trains are carrying away people at a mob 
 rate. We are in the midst of chaos. 
 
234 THE END OF ALL. 
 
 From Chicago the intelligence was simil- 
 arly appalling. *'A panic prevails here," 
 said the dispatch. " Impelled by a sense- 
 less apprehension of disaster, people have 
 lost their reason. The Mayor has just issued 
 a call upon the best citizens to assist him in 
 preserving order." 
 
 It required no news expert to see that all 
 the issues of life were temporarily suspended 
 by the tremendous and growing interest in 
 this stupendous mystery. Channels of news 
 worn smooth by the placid streams of every- 
 day platitudes began to show the roll of this 
 new freshet. A dispatch from Washington 
 was unintentionally significant. It read like 
 this: ''The only explanation forwarded by 
 Colonel Sandford of the abandonment of the 
 Pike's Peak signal station by himself and 
 party is that of a coward. He says the wind 
 pressure indicated that the place would 
 speedily become untenable." 
 
 I turned over the sheet in which these dis- 
 heartening facts were presented and looked 
 at the editorial page. There was a double- 
 leaded leader, evidently written late at night, 
 and its conclusions were more gruesome than 
 the facts, for while the facts could be in- 
 terpreted in various ways according to the 
 reader's condition of mind, there Avas no 
 mistaking the official tone of the editor 
 whose business it was to weigh and estimate 
 
THE END OF ALL, 235 
 
 the public value of news. It seemed to me 
 that this umpire to whom we instinctively 
 looked for opinions had thrown up the 
 sponge, so to speak. Let me recall his 
 words as they were impressed upon me that 
 morning : 
 
 That a grave crisis has arrived in the conditions of 
 life on this planet, it would be folly and is impossi- 
 ble any longer to deny. It is not our province nor is 
 it within our power to offer any solution of the stu- 
 pendous mystery that is now enveloi)ing a part of 
 our continent. It is only imperative upon us, as brave 
 agents in the dispensing of truth, to say, with all the 
 candor tliat we can summon, that the effort of the 
 Government to open communication with the vast 
 region west of what must now be known as the Me- 
 ridian of Silence has dismally failed, and it is the con- 
 viction of the maturest judgment, based upon all the 
 facts of the attempt that are obtainable, that it failed 
 because the explorers themselves ceased to exist when 
 they had passed a certain pretty well-defined line 
 which we now know extends north and south from 
 Helena in Montana to Yuma on the borders of Mexico. 
 
 I found myself standing by my breakfast 
 table reading this. I had risen unconsciously. 
 My breakfast was unheeded. An ungoverna- 
 ble impulse to go anywhere seized me. To 
 sit still with this crushing uncertainty was 
 impossible. I found myself in a coupe. 
 Where I got it I do not distinctly remember. 
 But I do remember that it was by means of 
 an extraordinary offer to the driver, who, 
 like all his fellows, was dashing through the 
 
236 THE END OF ALL. 
 
 streets at a headlong pace. And I also have 
 a very clear recollection of the strange nerv- 
 ous effect produced upon me by seeing the 
 people along the curbs on Broadway watch- 
 ing the flying vehicles with a mute terror, as 
 if the very recklessness of the drivers af- 
 forded them a palpable distraction from the 
 unintelligiblo weight of their own fears. I 
 speedily noticed that the stream of humanity 
 on the streets was tending down town, and 
 almost immediately I understood that it was 
 heading, like myself, for the news centers. 
 I could get no farther than Chambers Street, 
 owing to the block of i)eople and vehicles, 
 and the driver rudely refused to take the 
 risk of a jam. I looked at the City Hall 
 clock. It was only eight. My heart was beat- 
 ing rapidly, and I knew enough of the effect 
 of emotion on the cardiac system to under- 
 stand that it was caused by suspense. A 
 thousand new terrors were in the air of 
 which the experience and the sagacity of 
 man were ignorant. I forced my w^ay with 
 the greatest difficulty across the park, which 
 was full of restless but strangely mute peo- 
 ple, and got near enough to the newspaper 
 bulletins to read the painted lines. They 
 were feverishly indicative of the cross cur- 
 rents of excitement in the country, and were 
 in short, decisive sentences like this : " The 
 President asked to appoint a day of humil- 
 
THE END OF ALL. 237 
 
 iation and prayer immediately. The Gov- 
 ernor of Colorado, crazed by the excitement, 
 commits suicide. Mob rule in Chicago. 
 Rioting in Denver. Breakdown of the Al- 
 ton & Chicago road. Unparalleled scenes at 
 El Paso. Fanaticism in New Orleans. The 
 Christian pastors of this city w^ill meet at 
 Cooper Union at ten o'clock, irrespective of 
 sect. Panic in Milwaukee." 
 
 Held by a numbing sort of fascination, I 
 read these sentences over and over. Across 
 Printing House Square, on another bulletin, 
 in big black letters I saw the line, "' It baf- 
 fles the world. Has annihilation set in ! " 
 There was something weird in the use of the 
 pronoun IT. It seemed to be man's last 
 effort in language to express a mystery 
 that was specific and yet incomprehensible, 
 and I found that by the common consent of 
 ignorance men were referring to the phenom- 
 enon as IT. I looked at the strained, anx- 
 ious faces of the mob, and a great fear fell 
 upon me. With it came an awful reproach. 
 I would go instantly and redeem my word 
 to Kate by securing passages to Europe. I 
 had to fight my way by inches out of the 
 stolid and frightened crowd to the steam- 
 ship office on lower Broadway, and there I 
 found another jam. The street was full of 
 private carriages, and it was impossible to 
 get anywhere near the entrance to the office. 
 
238 THE END OF ALL. 
 
 I saw a policeman who was on the outside 
 of the press, and who was walking up and 
 down in a restless and unofficial manner. 
 ''What is the matter here?" I asl^ed him. 
 He looked me all over, as if he suspected 
 that I had fallen out of the clouds. Then 
 he said : " Tryin' to get tickets for Eui-ope ! 
 Where d' you come frum ?" and then, after 
 a restless turn or two he added as he passed 
 me, "But it ain't no use, 'cause there ain't 
 steamships enough in the world ! " 
 
 Then it was, I think, that the whole terri- 
 ble trutli first lit my consciousness like the 
 sudden upfiaring of a bale fire. The inhabi- 
 tants were fleeing from the country. They 
 were all affected as had been the Brisbanes. 
 I was the only dolt and idiot and liar who 
 had no instincts of danger, and who had 
 failed to rescue the woman I loved when she 
 had appealed to me. 
 
 Then I plunged wildly out into the street 
 with a feeling of desperation and that sink- 
 ing of the spirits that comes only in the 
 worst crises and when one begins to compre- 
 hend how helpless man is. I saw that in the 
 brief time that had elapsed a change had 
 taken place in the aspect of the crowds. 
 When I got to Broadway again it was with 
 the utmost difficulty that I could make my 
 way at all against the surging mass of peo- 
 ple that seemed momentarily to swell. It 
 
THE END OF ALL. 239 
 
 was utterly unlike any crowd in numbers 
 and disposition that I had ever encountered. 
 It was made up of all classes. It had lost 
 that American characteristic of good-humor, 
 which had been swallowed up in a dire per- 
 sonal and selfish instinct of self-preserva- 
 tion. It was animated by a vague terror, 
 and disregarded every consideration but 
 that of personal safety. A horrible convic- 
 tion seized me that the ordinary restraints 
 of society were breaking down, and that 
 speedily panic would mount to chaos. I 
 saw that this dread was adding to the terror 
 of everybody, aside from the fear of IT. 
 Like an assemblage in a burning building, 
 the fear of each other was more subtile and 
 operative than the fear of the elements. By 
 indefatigable labor I got off the main thor- 
 oughfare and reached Hudson Street, and 
 here in the crowd I learned the latest news 
 and discovered the cause of the rapidly in- 
 creasing excitement. I had run against an 
 intimate friend and associate, by accident. 
 His first words were, as he wiped the per- 
 spiration out of his eyes, "Well, this is 
 awful, eh?" 
 
 " What's the news ? " I asked. 
 
 "The latest is that The Death Line has 
 moved. The Thurbers have a private wire, 
 and I just heard that Denver is cut off now ! 
 It looks as if it was ' every man for himself." 
 
240 THE END OF ALL. 
 
 So terrible was this announcement, and 
 so engrossed was I with the despairing 
 thoughts that it gave rise to, that I took 
 little heed of what was going on about me 
 until I reached Canal Street. The one dull 
 conviction that it was useless to fight 
 against now was that annihilation had set 
 in ; that some destroying wave had started 
 out to encircle the globe and that the race 
 was doomed. Something, God alone knew 
 what, had happened to our planet, and 
 humanity was to be swept away in one of 
 those cataclysms with which soulless Nature 
 prepares for a new order of existence. 
 
 I was rudely awakened from this reverie 
 of wretchedness by the crowd which surged 
 against me with a blind, unvindictive vio- 
 lence. My one desire was to get uptown to 
 the woman I loved and had neglected, and I 
 saw that every minute was adding to the 
 difficulty. 
 
 How I reached the Brevoort House I do 
 not know. But there T found a number of 
 citizens who had not utterly lost their heads, 
 and who had come together for counsel. 
 There was a private wire in the house, and 
 they were receiving intelligence from several 
 central points in the city. The looks of 
 these men, who were huddled into the par- 
 lor, were enough to dismay the most reso- 
 lute observer. Their pale faces and painfully 
 
THE EI^D OF ALL. 241 
 
 set mouths indicated the sense of an awful 
 crisis which wisdom did not know how to 
 meet or avoid. A well-known citizen read 
 the dispatches to them as they were received, 
 and torn as I was by impatience, my curios- 
 ity held me there to hear. It was now 
 about half -past eleven in the morning. The 
 rapidity with which events had moved since 
 I got up was made startlingly apparent by 
 the information here furnished. The au- 
 thorities, together with a number of influen- 
 tial citizens, had come together as if by a 
 common instinct at the Fifth Avenue Hotel. 
 The Mayor, the Police and Fire Commission- 
 ers, several wealthy bankers, and a number 
 of prominent clergymen were holding some 
 kind of council and sending out appeals for 
 co-operation and addresses to the public, 
 which latter were entirely unheeded. As I 
 forced myself into the room I saw and heard 
 a venerable and majestic gentleman, evi- 
 dently a clergyman, addressing those pres- 
 ent in an impassioned manner. There were 
 tears in his eyes and an awful sadness in his 
 voice. " Men and brethren," he said, *Mt is 
 appointed unto all men once to die. If it be 
 appointed unto us who remain to die to- 
 gether, let us die like Christians who still 
 retain our faith in eternal justice and eter- 
 nal mercy, and not like wild beasts that 
 devour each other." 
 Q 
 
242 THE EJND OF ALL. 
 
 A report came that the fatal east wind was 
 blowing. And at this there was a general 
 movement of those present, as if the time 
 were too short to waste in longer listening. 
 I came up Lafayette Place to Astor Place 
 with the intention of reaching Fourth Avenue. 
 Both spaces were choked with peojjle, and 
 on Eighth Street I saw a woman on the steps 
 of a private residence, wildly calling on the 
 mob, which paid no attention to her, to re- 
 pent, for the day of judgment was at hand. 
 Her w^hite hair was blown over her face and 
 her arms were frantically gesticulating. 
 Into the great hall of the Cooper Union a 
 mass of religious people had flocked, and a 
 number of speakers were making addresses 
 and offering up prayers. When I passed the 
 woman who was exhorting the crowd I had 
 noticed the manner in which her hair, which 
 was of soft, flossy white, streamed out 
 straight in front of her, but it did not occur 
 to me until I reached the square in front of 
 the Cooper Union that this w^as caused by 
 the peculiar and ominous draft of wind from 
 the east of which I had heard so much, for 
 it was there that I saw a crowd pointing up 
 to the roof of the vast building known as the 
 Bible House, which appeared to be covered 
 with people. Some of them were holding 
 flags and drapery, and the material floated 
 out westward without any of the undulating 
 
THE END OF ALL. 243 
 
 motion which always marks a flag in a dis- 
 turbed current. These extemporized pen- 
 nants stood out as if they were starched. I 
 could see that this sign produced a dumb 
 sort of terror in the crowd. It seemed to me 
 then that all emotion of which I was capable 
 was centered in the one desire to get to the 
 woman I loved and die with her. A crush- 
 ing and at the same time an animating re- 
 morse, as if somehow I had been responsible 
 for her death at least, in disregarding her 
 warnings, and somehow doubly guilty in 
 mistrusting her motives, unmanned me and 
 inflamed me. It was with something of the 
 same disregard of everybody but oneself that 
 I had seen in others that I fought my way to 
 Twenty-first Street. What brutalities I com- 
 mitted need not be recounted. That hour 
 remains with me an acute and jangled mem- 
 ory of frenzy. I reached the steps of Judge 
 Brisbane's house torn and bleeding. The 
 terrible scenes were in my eyes, and the 
 dreadful, monotonous tumult of human des- 
 peration — that vast sigh of doomed human- 
 ity, pierced here and there by the wails and 
 shrieks of despair and the cries of innocence 
 for help, was in my ears. The celerity with 
 which it had all come on left no chance for 
 cool reason. An invisible phantom was at 
 the heels of the community and we were part 
 of a mighty stampede. After fumbling for 
 
244 THE END OF ALL. 
 
 an instant at the bell and pushing back 
 several ghastly creatures who were on the 
 steps, I must have applied my shoulder to 
 the door and pushed it in. Some one ap- 
 peared to be resisting on the other side, but 
 it gave way and I half fell into Judge Bris- 
 bane's vestibule. An instant later we were 
 looking into each other's faces, I, bloody 
 and soiled and ragged and wild with the 
 frenzy of fear and impatience; he, pale 
 as death, but resolute, and holding an enor- 
 mous bar over me. 
 
 " Quick ! " he said. " Help me fasten this 
 door!" 
 
 That sudden call of duty struck something 
 habitual in me, and, without knowing ex- 
 actly what I was doing, I found myself assist- 
 ing him in barricading the door. The en- 
 deavor somewhat changed the current of my 
 thoughts from the danger that was unseen to 
 the danger that was storming under our 
 windows. I must have muttered some kind 
 of excuse for my conduct to the Judge, for 
 he said : *' No time for apologies or recrimi- 
 nations now. The house is full of my neigh- 
 bors, who have come here for protection. Go 
 upstairs and look after the women. The best 
 and only thing we can do is to preserve a 
 quiet place to die in, and not be trampled to 
 pieces. Are you armed ? " 
 
 I dashed up the broad staircase, and found 
 
THE END OF ALL. 245 
 
 the upper rooms occupied by women, some 
 of whom, in morning attire hastily thrown 
 on, were sitting around with their heads in 
 their hands, while others were huddled at the 
 windows, staring with strained looks of ter- 
 ror at the crowds on the street. Walking up 
 and down the room, wringing his hands, a 
 middle-aged man was giving expression to 
 the most terrible irony and cowardice, with- 
 out reference to his listeners. 
 
 I ran my eye over the huddled groups of 
 frightened women. The one I sought was 
 not there. I flew through the groaning fig- 
 ures on the stairway up to her chamber. I 
 knocked loudly, and called her by name 
 passionately. Then I listened. I heard noth- 
 ing but the dull sounds of the human tumult 
 that came through the open casement, and 
 the sighing tones of the telegraph wires as 
 the steady draft from the east swept through 
 them. I shook the door, and abjured her to 
 come to me. Then in my madness I burst it 
 in. She was on her knees at the bed, with 
 her hands on her ears, and her head buried 
 in the bedclothes. I fell down on my knees 
 beside her, and put my arm around her. 
 " Kate," I said, '' we will die together. Look 
 up. Love at least is eternal." She was cold. 
 I caught her head between my hands, and 
 turned her beautiful face toward me. My 
 God, she was dead ! Dead, with her star- 
 
246 THE END OF ALL. 
 
 ing eyes full of terror, and her beautiful 
 mouth set in hard and ghastly lines. Then 
 it was that I felt rise up within me for the 
 first time the rebellious bitterness of the nat- 
 ural man. Need I tell you that at such mo- 
 ments man is little better than an animal, 
 save in his free agency that enables him to 
 defy? I passed hours there — moaning, curs- 
 ing, bewailing. When at last the force of 
 the paroxysm had expended itself, I shook 
 my fist in the face of heaven, with the obdu- 
 racy of Pagan Greek, and said: "Come on 
 now, you envious Fates, and do your worst 
 speedily, or I will be too quick for you ! " 
 
 Judge Brisbane found me there, raving. 
 
 " Do you know ? " I asked. 
 
 "Yes," he answered, "and I am grateful. 
 She is spared much that we must en- 
 dure." 
 
 "And so," I said, "life, love, and the 
 vaunted future of the race end in mockery." 
 
 "It seems so," he replied. "Butwe can- 
 not be sure. Come with me." 
 
 We ascended to the roof. The spectacle 
 that greeted us was indescribable. The tops 
 of all the houses were black with people, 
 who were starino: mutely and with childish 
 terror into the West. The steady, subdued 
 organ tone of the rushing atmosphere could 
 now be heard above all else. We stood 
 there in silence a few moments, and then I 
 
THE END OF ALL. 247 
 
 said, ''It's terrible. What do you suppose 
 is taking place ? " 
 
 "I suppose," replied the Judge, "that 
 we are losing our atmosphere. Reeling it 
 off, so to speak, slowly, as we revolve. Our 
 planet has entered some portion of the ethe- 
 real space where the conditions are sucking 
 us dry of oxygen. As it recedes from the 
 earth the water disappears, and we shall be 
 left to revolve like the moon, without air 
 and without liquid, and consequently with- 
 out life." 
 
 He said this meditatively, less as if he 
 were answering my question than if he were 
 formulating his own fears. 
 
 "Then," I remarked, "if this takes place 
 gradually, the millions have got to struggle 
 and writhe and fight together in suffocation. 
 We can at least blow our brains out and 
 cheat such a fate." 
 
 "I should hate," said the Judge, "to 
 think that the man who was to marry Kate 
 had not the bravery to face his destiny." 
 
 That was all that was said. We came 
 down, and some ripples of intelligence 
 reached us during the afternoon from one or 
 two persons who made their way into the 
 house. We learned that in the frenzy of 
 fear the populace were committing the most 
 extraordinary excesses. The shore line of 
 the Atlantic was crowded with people, many 
 
248 THE END OF ALL. 
 
 of whom plunged into the ocean in the vain 
 attempt to get away. The scenes in the city 
 were too revolting to narrate, for a large 
 class of the community, released from all 
 restraint of moral and civil law, were bent on 
 securing all the lawless pleasures that force 
 could command, during the few hours that 
 was left to them. And the line Avas steadily 
 coming East. Chicago was cut off at twelve 
 o'clock. And at four intelligence had ceased 
 coming from Buffalo. At this time the sound 
 of the winds was like the roar of the sea. 1 
 had torn myself away from the window 
 where I had been staring at the now packed 
 and struggling masses of people, and had 
 locked myself in the room with the dead 
 body of Kate. There was a vial of opium on 
 her table that had been used for neuralgia ; 
 I swallowed it, and sat down by the bedside. 
 I know not how long I remained there. But 
 a loud report, as of a discharged cannon, 
 roused me. I remember staggering and 
 panting in the dark, with a semi-conscious- 
 ness that the end had come, and I now know 
 that report was occasioned by the bursting 
 of the drums of my ears. 
 
 I remember nothing more. I have given 
 you a plain statement of my experiences in 
 that crisis, and I dare say they are unevent- 
 ful enough by the side of the experiences of 
 millions. 
 
SHALL HE MARRY HER? 
 
 BY ANN^A KATIIERINE GREEN. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 TTTHEN I met Taylor at tlie clnb the 
 
 ▼V other night, he looked so cheerful I 
 scarcely knew him. 
 
 ''What is itT' cried I, advancing with 
 outstretched hand. 
 
 " I am going to be married," was his gay 
 reply. '' This is my last night at the club." 
 
 I was glad, and showed it. Taylor is a 
 man for whom domestic life is a necessity. 
 He has never been at home with us, though 
 we all liked him and he, in his way, liked us. 
 
 *' And who is the fortunate lady?" I in- 
 quired ; for I had been out of town for some 
 time and had not as yet been made ac- 
 quainted with the latest society news. 
 
 *'My intended bride is Mrs. Walworth, 
 the young widow " 
 
 He must have seen a change take place in 
 my expression, for he stopped. 
 
260 SHALL HE MAURY HER? 
 
 "You know her, of course," lie added, 
 after a short study of my face. 
 
 I had by this time regained ray self-pos- 
 session. 
 
 "Of course," I repeated, "and I have al- 
 ways thought her one of the most attractive 
 women in town. Another shake upon it, 
 old man?" 
 
 But my heart was heavy and my mind 
 perplexed, notwithstanding the forced cor- 
 diality of my tones, and I took an early op- 
 portunity to withdraw by myself and think 
 over the situation. 
 
 Mrs. Walworth ! She was a pretty woman, 
 and what was more, she was, to all appear- 
 ance, a woman whose winning manners be- 
 spoke a kindly heart. "Just the person," 
 I contemplated, " whom I would pick out 
 for the helpmate of my somewhat exacting 
 
 friend, if " I paused on that if. It was 
 
 a formidable one, and grew none the smaller 
 or less important under my broodings. In- 
 deed, it seemed to dilate until it assumed 
 gigantic proportions, worrying me and 
 weighing so lieavily upon my conscience 
 that I at last rose from the newspaper at 
 which I had been hopelessly staring, and 
 looking up Taylor again, asked him how 
 soon he expected to become a Benedict. 
 
 His answer startled me. "In a week," 
 he replied, " and if I have not asked you to 
 
SHALL HE MARRY HER? 251 
 
 the ceremony, it is because Helen is not in a 
 position to " 
 
 I supposed lie finished the sentence, but I 
 did not hear him. If the marriage was so 
 near, of course it would be folly on my part 
 to attempt to hinder it. I drew off for the 
 second time. 
 
 But I could not remain eas}^ Taylor is a 
 good fellow, and it would be a shame to al- 
 low him to marry a woman with whom he 
 could never be happy. He would feel any 
 such disappointment so keenly, so much 
 more keenly than most men. A lack of 
 principle or even of sensibility on her part, 
 would make him miserable. Anticipating 
 heaven, it would not take a hell to make him 
 wretched, a purgatory would do it. Was 1 
 right, then, in letting him proceed in his 
 intentions regarding Mrs. Walworth, when 
 
 she possibly was the woman who I 
 
 paused and tried to call up her countenance 
 before me. It was a sweet one and possibly 
 a true one. I might have trusted her for 
 myself, but I do not look for perfection and 
 Taylor does, and will certainly go to the bad 
 if he is deceived in his expectations. But in 
 a week ! It is too late for interference — only 
 it is never too late till the knot is tied. As 
 I thought of this, I decided impulsively, and 
 perhaps you may say unwisely, to give him 
 a hint of his danger, and I did it in thiswise. 
 
252 SHALL HE MARRY HERf 
 
 ''Taylor," said I, when I had him safely 
 in my own rooms, '' I am going to tell you 
 a bit of personal history, curious enough I 
 think to interest you even upon the eve of 
 your marriage. I do not know when I shall 
 see you again, and I should like you to 
 know how a lawyer and a man of the world 
 can sometimes be taken in." 
 
 He nodded, accepting the situation good- 
 humoredly, though I saw by the abstraction 
 with which he gazed into the fire, that I 
 should have to be very interesting to lure 
 him from the thoughts that engrossed him. 
 As I meant to be very interesting, this did 
 not greatly concern me. 
 
 ''One morning last spring," I began, "I 
 received in my morning mail a letter, the 
 delicate penmanship of which at once at- 
 tracted my attention and awakened my curi- 
 osity. Turning to the signature, I read the 
 name of a young lady friend of mine, and, 
 somewhat startled at the thought that this 
 was the first time I had ever seen the hand- 
 writing of one I knew so well, I perused the 
 letter with an interest that presently became 
 painful as I realized the tenor of its contents. 
 I will not quote the letter, though I could, 
 but confine myself to saying that after a 
 modest recognition of my friendship for her 
 — quite a fatherly friendship, I assure you, 
 
SHALL HE MARHT HERf 253 
 
 as she is only eighteen and I, as you know, 
 am well on toward fifty — she proceeded to 
 ask, in an humble and confiding spirit, for 
 the loan — do not start — of fifty dollars. 
 Such a request coming from a young girl, 
 well connected, and with every visible sign 
 of being generously provided for by her 
 father, was certainly startling to an old 
 bachelor of settled ways and strict notions, 
 but remembering her youth and the childish 
 innocence of her manner, I turned over the 
 page and read as her reason for proffering 
 such a request, that her heart was set upon 
 aiding a certain poor family that stood in 
 immediate need of food, clothes, and medi- 
 cines, but that she could not do what she 
 wished because she had already spent all the 
 money allowed her by her father for such 
 purposes, and dared not go to him for more, 
 as she had once before offended him by do- 
 ing this, and feared if she repeated her fault 
 he would carry out the threat he had then 
 made of stopping her allowance altogether. 
 But the family was a deserving one and she 
 could not see any member of it starve, so 
 she came to me, of whose goodness she was 
 assured, convinced I would understand her 
 perplexity and excuse her — and so forth and 
 so forth, in language quite childlike and en- 
 treating, which, if it did not satisfy my ideas 
 of propriety, at least touched my heart, and 
 
264 SHALL HE MARRY HERf 
 
 made any action which I could take in the 
 matter extremely difficult. 
 
 " To refuse her request would be at once 
 to mortify and aggrieve her ; to accede to it 
 and give her the fifty dollars she asked — a 
 sum, by the way, I could not well spare — 
 would be to encourage an action, easily par- 
 doned once, but which if repeated would 
 lead to unpleasant complications, to say the 
 least. The third course of informing her 
 father of what she needed I did not even 
 consider, for I knew him well enough to be 
 sure that nothing but pain to her would be 
 the result. I therefore compromised the 
 affair by enclosing the money in a letter in 
 which I told her that I comprehended her 
 difficulty and sent with pleasure the amount 
 she needed, but that as a friend I must add 
 that while in the present instance she had 
 run no risk of being misunderstood or un- 
 kindly censured, that such a request made 
 to another man and under other circumstan- 
 ces might provoke a surprise capable of 
 leading to the most unpleasant consequences, 
 and advised her if she ever again found her- 
 self in such a strait to appeal directly to her 
 father, or else to deny herself a charity which 
 she was in no position to bestow. 
 
 "This letter I undertook to deliver myself, 
 for one of the curious points of her commu- 
 nication had been the entreaty that I would 
 
SHALL HE MARRY HERf 255 
 
 not delay the help she needed by trusting 
 the money to any hand but my own, but 
 Would bring it to a certain hotel down town, 
 and place it at the beginning of the book of 
 Isaiah in the large Bible I would And lying 
 on a side table in the small parlor off the 
 main one. She would seek it there before 
 the morning was over, and so, without the 
 intervention of a third party, acquire the 
 means she desired for helping a poor and 
 deserving family. 
 
 '' I knew the hotel she mentioned, and I 
 remembered the room, but I did not remem- 
 ber the Bible. However, it was sure to be in 
 the place she indicated, and though I was 
 not in much sympathy with my errand, I 
 respected her whim, and carried the letter 
 down town. I had reached Main Street, 
 and was in sight of the hotel designated, 
 when suddenly, on an opposite corner of the 
 street, I saw the young girl herself. She 
 looked as fresh as the morning, and smiled 
 so gayly I felt somewhat repaid for the an- 
 noyance she had caused me ; and, gratified 
 that I could cut matters short by putting 
 the letter directly in her hand, I crossed the 
 street to her side. As soon as we were face 
 to face, I said : 
 
 '' ' How fortunate I am to meet you. Here 
 is the amount you need sealed up in this let- 
 ter. You see I had it all ready,' 
 
266 SHALL HE MARRY HERf 
 
 " The face she lifted to mine wore so blank 
 a look that I paused astonished. 
 
 '"What do you mean T she asked, her 
 eyes looking straight into mine with such 
 innocence in their clear blue depths I was at 
 once convinced she knew nothing of the 
 matter with which my thoughts were busy. 
 ' I am very glad to see you, but I do not in 
 the least understand what you mean by the 
 amount I need,' and she glanced at the letter 
 I held out with an air of distrust mingled 
 with curiosity. 
 
 ''I could not explain myself. If she had 
 been made the victim of a conspiracy to pro- 
 cure money from me, it would not help to 
 preserve that sweet innocence of hers to 
 know it. So, with a laugh, I put the letter 
 in my pocket, saying : 
 
 " ' You cut me short in my efforts to do a 
 charitable action. I heard, no matter how, 
 that you were interested just now in a desti- 
 tute family, and took this way of assisting 
 you in their behalf.' 
 
 '* Her blue eyes opened wider. ' The poor 
 are always with us,' she replied ; ' but I know 
 of no special family just now that requires 
 any such help as you intimate. If I did, papa 
 would give me what assistance I needed.' 
 
 **I was greatly pleased to hear her say 
 this, for I am very fond of my young friend, 
 but I was deeply indignant also against the 
 
SHALL HE MARRY HER? 257 
 
 unknown person who had taken advantage 
 of my regard for this young girl to force 
 money from me. I, therefore, did not linger 
 at her side, but, after due apologies, has- 
 tened immediately here, where there is a man 
 employed who, to my knowledge, had 
 once been a trusted member of the po- 
 lice. 
 
 " Telling him no more of the story than 
 was necessary to insure his co-operation in 
 the plan I had formed to discover the author 
 of this fraud, I extracted the bank-notes 
 from the letter I had written, and put in 
 their place stilf pieces of manilla paper. 
 Taking the envelope so filled to the hotel 
 already alluded to, I placed it at the open- 
 ing chapters of Isaiah in the Bible as de- 
 scribed. There was no one in either of the 
 rooms when I went in, and I encountered 
 only a bell-boy as I came out ; but at the 
 door I ran against a young man whom I 
 strictly forbore to recognize, but whom I 
 knew to be my improvised detective coming 
 to take his stand in some place where he 
 could watch the parlor, and note who went 
 into it. 
 
 '* At noon I returned to the hotel, passed 
 immediately to the small parlor, and looked 
 into the Bible. The letter was gone. Com- 
 ing out of the room, I was at once joined by 
 my detective. 
 
258 SHALL HE MAURY HER? 
 
 " ' Has the letter been taken ? ' lie eagerly 
 inquired. 
 
 '' I nodded. 
 
 '' His brows wrinkled and lie looked both 
 troubled and perj)lexed. 
 
 ''^I don't understand it,' he remarked, 
 ' I've seen every one who has gone into that 
 room since you left it, but I do not know 
 now any more than before who took the 
 letter. You see,' he continued, as I looked 
 at him sharply, ' I liad to remain out here. 
 If I had gone even into the large room the 
 Bible would not have been disturbed nor the 
 letter either, so in the hope of knowing the 
 rogue at sight, I strolled about this hall and 
 kept my eye constantly on that door, but ' 
 
 ''He looked embarrassed and stopped. 
 
 '' 'You say the letter is gone?' he sug- 
 gested, after a moment. 
 
 " 'Yes,' I returned. 
 
 " He shook his head. ' Nobody went into 
 that room or came out of it,' he went on, 
 ' whom you would have wished me to follow. 
 I should have thought myself losing time if 
 I had taken one step after any one of them.' 
 
 "'But who did go into that room?' I 
 urged, impatient at his perplexity. 
 
 "'Only three persons this morning,' he 
 returned. 'You know them all.' And he 
 mentioned first Mrs. Couldock." 
 
 Taylor, who was lending me the super- 
 
SHALL HE MARRT UER? 259 
 
 ficial attention of a preoccupied man, smiled 
 frankly at the utterance of this name. " Of 
 course she had nothing to do with such a 
 debasing piece of business," he observed. 
 
 *'' Of course not," I repeated. *' Nor does 
 it seem likely that Miss Dawes could have 
 been concerned in it either. Yet my detec- 
 tive told me that she was the next i)erson 
 who went into the parlor." 
 
 *^I do not know Miss Dawes so well," re- 
 marked Taylor carelessly. 
 
 '' But I do," said I, " and I would as soon 
 suspect my sister of a dishonorable act as 
 this noble, self-sacrificing woman." 
 
 " The third person ? " suggested Taylor. 
 
 I got up and crossed the floor. When my 
 back was to him I said quietly : 
 
 ''Was Mrs. Walworth." 
 
 The silence that followed was very painful. 
 I did not dare to break it, and he doubtless 
 found himself unable to do so. It must have 
 been five minutes before either of us spoke, 
 then he suddenly cried : 
 
 " Where is that detective, as you call 
 him? I want to see him." 
 
 "Let me see him for you," said I. "I 
 should hardly wish Sudley, discreet as I 
 consider him, to know you had any interest 
 in this affair." 
 
 Taylor rose and came to where I vStood. 
 
 "You believe," said he, "that she, the 
 
260 SHALL HE MARRY HER? 
 
 woman I am about to marry, is the one 
 who wrote you that infamous letter?" 
 
 I faced him quite frankly. "I do not 
 feel ready to acknowledge that," I rejilied. 
 '' One of those three women took my letter 
 from out the Bible where I placed it ; which 
 of them wrote the lines that provoked it, I 
 do not dare conjecture. You say it was not 
 Mrs. Couldock. I say it was not Miss 
 Dawes, but " 
 
 He broke in upon me impetuously. 
 
 *' Have you the letter ? " he asked. 
 
 I had and showed it to him. 
 
 '*It is not Helen's handwriting," he 
 said. 
 
 '* Nor is it that of Mrs. Couldock or Miss 
 Dawes." 
 
 He looked at me for a moment in a wild 
 sort of way. 
 
 '' You think she got some one to write it 
 for her?" he cried. ''Helen! my Helen! 
 But it is not so ; it cannot be so. Why, 
 Huntley, to have sent such a letter as that 
 over the name of an innocent young girl, 
 who but for the happy chance of your meet- 
 ing her as you did, might never have had 
 the opportunity of righting herself in your 
 estimation, argues a cold and calculating 
 selfishness closely allied to depravity. And 
 my Helen is an angel — or so I have always 
 thought her." 
 
SHALL HE MARRY HER? 261 
 
 The depth to which his voice sank in the 
 last sentence showed that for all his seeming 
 confidence he was not without his doubts. 
 I began to feel very uncomfortable, and not 
 knowing what consolation to offer, I ven- 
 tured upon the suggestion that he should see 
 Mrs. Walworth and frankly ask her whether 
 she had been to the hotel on Main Street on 
 such a day, and if so, if she had seen a let- 
 ter addressed to Miss JN". lying on the table 
 of the small parlor. His answer showed how 
 much his confidence in her had been shaken. 
 
 ''A woman who, for the sake of paying 
 some unworthy debt, or of gratifying some 
 whim of feminine vanity, could make use of 
 a young girl's signature to obtain money, 
 would not hesitate at any denial. She 
 would not even blanch at my questions." 
 
 He was right. 
 
 '' I must be convinced in some other way," 
 he went on. ''Mrs. Couldock or Miss Dawes 
 do not either of them possess any more truth- 
 ful or ingenuous countenance than she does, 
 and though it seems madness to suspect 
 such women " 
 
 ''Wait," I broke in, "let us be sure of 
 all the facts before we go on. You lie down 
 here and close your eyes ; now pull the rug 
 up so. I will have Sudley in and question 
 him. If you do not turn toward the light 
 he will not know who you are." 
 
262 SHALL HE MARRY HERf 
 
 Taylor followed my suggestion and in a 
 few moments Sudley stood before me. I 
 opened upon him quite carelessly. 
 
 *' Sudley," said I, throwing down the 
 newspaper I liad been ostensibly reading. 
 *' You remember that little business you did 
 for me in Main Street last month ? Some- 
 thing I've been reading made me think of it 
 again.'- 
 
 *'Yes, sir." 
 
 "Have you never had a conviction your- 
 self as to which of the three ladies you saw 
 go into the parlor took the letter I left hid 
 in the Bible?" 
 
 " No, sir. You see, I could not. All of 
 them are well known in society here and all 
 of them belong to the most respectable fam- 
 ilies. I wouldn't dare to choose between 
 them, sir." 
 
 " Certainly not," I rejoined, "unless you 
 had some good reason for doing so, such as 
 having been able to account for the visits 
 of two of the ladies to the hotel and not of 
 the third." 
 
 "They all had good pretexts for being 
 there. Mrs. Couldock gave her card to the 
 boy before going into the parlor and left as 
 soon as he returned with word that the lady 
 she called to see was not in. Miss Dawes 
 gave no card but asked for a Miss Terhune, 
 I think, and did not remain a moment after 
 
SHALL HE MARRY HERf 2G3 
 
 she was informed that that lady had left the 
 hotel." 
 
 '' And Mrs. Walworth? " 
 
 ^'She came in from the street adjusting 
 her veil, and upon looking around for a mir- 
 ror, was directed to the parlor, into which 
 she at once stepped. She remained there 
 but a moment and when she came out passed 
 directly into the street." 
 
 These words disconcerted me ; the mirror 
 was just over the table in the small room, 
 but I managed to remark nonchalantly : 
 
 ''Could you not tell whether any of these 
 ladies opened the Bible ?" 
 
 '' Not without seeming intrusive," 
 
 I sighed and dismissed the man. When 
 he was gone I approached Taylor. 
 
 '* He can give us no assistance," I cried. 
 
 My friend was already on his feet, looking 
 very miserable. 
 
 "I know of but one thing to do," he re- 
 marked. "To-morrow I shall call upon 
 Mrs. Conldock and Miss Dawes and entreat 
 them to tell me if for any reason they under- 
 took to deliver a letter mysteriously left in 
 
 the Bible of the Hotel one day last 
 
 month. They may have been deputed to do 
 so, and be quite willing to acknowledge 
 it." 
 
 "And Mrs. Walworth? Will you not 
 ask her the same question ? " 
 
264 SHALL HE MARRY HER? 
 
 He shook his head and turned away. 
 ''Very well," said I to myself, ''then 
 wiU." 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Accordingly, the next day I called upon 
 Mrs. Walworth. She lived, as I already 
 knew, in a small and unpretentious house 
 just on the verge of our most fashionable 
 quarter. But there was great taste dis- 
 played in the furnishing of that house, and 
 I was not at all surprised to see evidences 
 here and there of a poverty which the gen- 
 eral effect tended to make you forget. I 
 was fortunate enough to find her in, and 
 still more fortunate to find her alone, but 
 my courage fell as I confronted her, for she 
 has one of those appealing faces that equally 
 interest and baffle you, making you feel that 
 unless your errand be one of peace and com- 
 fort, you had better not confront so tremu- 
 lous a mouth and so tender a hazel eye. 
 But I had steeled myself against too much 
 sympathy when I entered her presence, so 
 barely pausing to make my most ingratiating 
 bow, I took her by the hand, and gently 
 forcing her to stand for a moment where the 
 light from the one window fell full upon her 
 face, I said : 
 
 " You must pardon my intrusion upon 
 
SUALL HE MARRY UER? 265 
 
 you at a time when you are naturally busy, 
 but there is something you can do for me 
 that will rid me of a great anxiety. You re- 
 member being in Hotel one morning last 
 
 month?" 
 
 She was looking quietly up at me, her lips 
 parted, her eyes smiling and expectant, but 
 at tlie mention of that hotel I thought — and 
 yet I may have been mistaken — that a slight 
 change took place in her expression, if it 
 was only that the glance grew more gentle 
 and the smile more marked. 
 
 Bat her voice when she answered was the 
 same as that with which she had uttered her 
 greeting. 
 
 " I do not remember," she replied, *'yet 
 I may have been there ; I go to so many 
 places. Why do you ask?" she inquired. 
 
 '' Because if you were there on that morn- 
 ing — and I have been told you were — you 
 may be able to solve a question that is 
 greatly perplexing me." 
 
 Still the same gentle inquiring look on her 
 face, only now there was a little furrow of 
 wonder or interest between the eyes. 
 
 '' I had business in that hotel on that 
 morning," I continued. " I had left a letter 
 for a young friend of mine in the Bible that 
 lies on the small table of the inner parlor, 
 and as she never received it, I have been 
 driven into making all kinds of inquiries, in 
 
266 SHALL HE MARRT HER? 
 
 hope of finding some explanation of the fact. 
 As you were there at the time, you may have 
 seen something that would aid me. Is it 
 not possible, Mrs. Walworth ? '' 
 
 Her smile, which had faded, reappeared 
 on the lips which Taylor so much admired, 
 a little pout became visible and she looked 
 quite enchanting. 
 
 "I do not even remember being at that 
 hotel at all," she protested. " Did Mr. Tay- 
 lor say I was there ? " she inquired, with just 
 that added look of exquisite naivete which the 
 utterance of a lover's name should call up on 
 the face of a prospective bride. 
 
 '^No," I answered gravely, ''Mr. Taylor, 
 unhappily, was not with you that morn- 
 ing." 
 
 She looked startled. 
 
 '' Unhappily," she repeated. '' What do 
 you mean by that word?" And she drew 
 back looking very much displeased. 
 
 I had expected this and so was not thrown 
 off my guard. 
 
 "I mean," I proceeded calmly, ''that if 
 you had had such a companion with you 
 on that morning I should now be able to put 
 my question to him^ instead of taking up 
 your time and interrupting your affairs by 
 my importunities." 
 
 She lost her look of anger and acquired one 
 of doubt. Did she survey me so closely be- 
 
SHALL HE MARRY HER? 267 
 
 cause she was anxious to know if I had com- 
 promised her in the eyes of her intended 
 husband ? Or was her expression merely 
 that natural to innocence equally startled 
 and perplexed? I could not determine. 
 
 '* You will tell me just what you mean? " 
 said she earnestly. 
 
 I was equally emphatic in my reply. 
 **That is only just. You ought to know 
 why I trouble you with this matter. It is be- 
 cause this letter of which I speak was taken 
 from its hiding place by some one who went 
 into the hotel parlor between the hours of 
 half past ten and twelve, and to my certain 
 knowledge only three persons crossed its 
 threshold on that especial morning at that 
 especial time. I naturally appeal to each of 
 them in turn for an answer to the problem 
 that is troubling me. You know Miss N. 
 Seeing by accident a letter addressed to her 
 lying in a Bible in a strange hotel, you 
 might think it your duty to take it out 
 and carry it to her. If you did and if you 
 lost it " 
 
 *'Bafc I didn't," she interrupted warmly. 
 " I know nothing about any such letter, and 
 if you had not declared so positively that I 
 was in that hotel on that especial day, I 
 should be tempted to deny that, too, for I 
 have no recollection of going there last 
 month." 
 
268 SHALL HE MARRY HER? 
 
 " Not for the purpose of rearranging a veil 
 that had been blown off T ' 
 
 *^0h ! " she said, but as one who recalls a 
 forgotten fact, not as one who is tripped up 
 in an evasion. 
 
 I began to think her innocent and lost 
 some of the gloom which had been oppress- 
 ing me. 
 
 *' You remember now," said I. 
 
 *'0h, yes, I remember tJiaV^ 
 
 Her manner so completely declared that 
 her acknowledgments stopped there, I saw 
 it would be useless to venture further. If 
 she were innocent she could not tell more, if 
 she were guilty she would not ; so feeling 
 that the inclination of my belief was in favor 
 of the former hypothesis, I again took her 
 hand and said : 
 
 "I see that you can give me no help. I 
 am sorry, for the whole happiness of a man, 
 and perhaps that of a woman also, depends 
 upon the discovery as to who took the letter 
 from out the Bible where I had hidden it on 
 that unfortunate morning." And making 
 her another low bow, I was about to take my 
 departure when she grasped me impulsively 
 by the arm. 
 
 "What man?" she whispered, and in a 
 lower tone still, "What woman ? " 
 
 I turned and looked at her. "Great 
 heaven ! " thought I, " can such a face hide 
 
SHALL HE MAURY HERf 269 
 
 a selfish and intriguing heart?'' and in a 
 flash I summoned up in comparison before 
 me the plain, honest, and reliable counte- 
 nance of Mrs. Couldock and that of the 
 comely and unpretending Miss Dawes, and 
 knew not what to think. 
 
 "You do not mean yourself?" she con- 
 tinued as she met my look of distress. 
 
 " No," I returned ; " happily for me, my 
 welfare is not bound up in the honor of any 
 woman," and leaving that shaft to work its 
 way into her heart if that heart was vul- 
 nerable, I took my leave, more troubled and 
 less decided than when I entered. 
 
 For her manner had been absolutely that of 
 a woman surprised by insinuations she was 
 too innocent to rate at their real importance ; 
 and yet if she did not take away that letter 
 who did ? Mrs. Couldock ? Impossible. 
 Miss Dawes ? The thought was untenable 
 even for an instant. I waited in great de- 
 pression of spirits for the call which I knew 
 Taylor would not fail to make me that even- 
 ing. 
 
 When he came I saw what the result of 
 my revelations was likely to be as plainly as 
 I see it now. He had conversed frankly with 
 Mrs. Couldock and with Miss Dawes and 
 was perfectly convinced as to the utter igno- 
 rance of them both in regard to the whole 
 affair. In consequence, Mrs. Walworth was 
 
270 SHALL HE MARRT HER? 
 
 guilty in his estimation, and being lield 
 guilty could be no wife for him, much as he 
 had loved her and urgent as may have been 
 the causes for her act. 
 
 *' But," said I, in some horror of the con- 
 sequences of an interference for which I was 
 almost ready to blame myself now, ^'Mrs. 
 Couldock and Miss Dawes could have done 
 no more than deny all knowledge of this 
 letter. Now Mrs. Walworth does that, 
 and " 
 
 "You have seen her? You have asked 
 her " 
 
 " Yes, I have seen her and I have asked 
 her, and not an eyelash drooped as she 
 affirmed a complete ignorance of the whole 
 affair." 
 
 Taylor's head fell. 
 
 " I told you how that would be," he mur- 
 mured at last. " I cannot feel that it is any 
 proof of her innocence. Or rather," he 
 added, " I should always have my doubts." 
 
 " And Mrs. Couldock and Miss Dawes ? " 
 
 " Ah ! " he cried, rising and turning away. 
 ** There is no question of marriage between 
 either of them and myself." 
 
 I was therefore not nstonished when the 
 week went by and no announcement of his 
 wedding appeared. But I was troubled and 
 I am troubled still, for if mistakes are made 
 in criminal courts and the innocent sometimes 
 
SUALL HE MARRT HER? 271 
 
 through the sheer force of circumstantial evi- 
 dence are made to suffer for the guilty, might 
 it not be that in this letter question of morals, 
 Mrs. Walworth has been wronged, and that 
 when I played the part of arbitrator in her 
 fate, I only succeeded in separating two hearts 
 whose right it was to be made happy 'i It is 
 impossible to tell. Nor is time likely to 
 solve the riddle. Must I then forever blame 
 myself, or did I only do in this matter 
 what any honest man would have done in 
 my place ? Answer me, some one, for I do 
 not find my lonely bachelor life in any Avise 
 brightened by the doubt, and would be grate- 
 ful to any one who would relieve me of it. 
 
 THE END. 
 
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