The St. Cloud journal. [volume] (St. Cloud, Minn.) 1866-1876, 1870-11-10

g at the miller, .fe. Jouzel, that
N !, his son -iin-law, Peter Kaunitz r,
"But, cousin Rodolpb, all this was
merely = drca, :" : - =
x drea, Karl? . dream?
Nevertheless :, q see that the dream
did not deceive me.-Dead men do
have their eyes and mouths open
No one ever told me so till last night !
Yet, as far back az can remember,
whenever the talk was of death, I al
ways seemed to see this naked body
among the brambles.-Whence came
this vision ? Was it . memory!
No!this murder to,k place before I
was born! Was it one of those mag
netic mysteries that has puzzled science
this last century ? the magic influence
Of the electric current? the odyllic
fluid the whatever you please to call
that which you cannot penetrate. I
know not, but 1 d, know that, since my
childhood, the thing has haunted me
But let me tell you something still
more wondrous and signi6eative.
Three da;s ago wandering along the
Eilbacb, and musing over this strange
phenomenon, calling myself visionary,
s1gpochondriac, suddenly an involun-
tary impulse prompted me to visit the
mill. 4 had never been there in my
life.) 1 entered it hoping thst the ar..
pearance OF the interior would dissi-
pate my illusion. But judge of my
amazement when 1 found everything
just as my vision depicted! The
wooden ladder to the left window
With the broken stanchion, clumsily
but strongly mended Couzers cham -
Der, with the little glass pane in it,
through which to watch the workmen
in The mill-everytbing the same even
to the minutest detail. While I stood
trans6xed with astonishment, q heavy
step sounded at the head of the
ladder. I trembled-I tried to escape
but an 1ndefnable emotion kept mo
rooted to the spot. The step descend
ed, and Peter Kaunits, the miller
stood before me! he was old now,
as Couzle was when he murdered him.
His head was grizzled and half bald,
his cheeks hollow, his face scanned
with burrows Of avarice, perhaps re-
m He bit his lips, and then ask:
ed in an insinu,tiug voice
"What does the gentlemen wish ?'
"Oh nothing - l replied : 81
merely stepped in from curiosity. You
have fce mill will you permit me to
go over it ?" -.
"He made no reply; but IS I
through *te roon., ,..wed
ne ~T,>: the eye fla ca: rather Of q
loo2:~d watching its prey. After 60
ing over the establishment, I crossed
the little bridge and l. wandered along
the bank Of the river. Hero vas the
path: y;'ader the n:orass. It was day,
and I eate,ed !: crushing under foot
the cracking brambles. At length 1
reached the spot so often pictured in
my dreams. There in that little hol-
low lay the corpse that clustering eve!
stood still, wrapped in melancholy re-
fections--
sYes," I exclaimed. half aloud:
"yes, here it was !" and stamped my
foot upon the spot, 'here it was !" that
I beheld him." At that instant
slight voice attracted my attention-I
turned round and there stood Peter
Kaunitz, the miller Of Felkenberg, the
assassin OF Jean Couzel He was very
pale ; his lips trembled, and his eyes
emitted deadly CLEAN. He had fol
owed me, then, even here.
"What are 700 doing here ? asked he
in rough voice.
M-nothing particular-I was mere
ly looking = II
"Looking? What are you looking
at ?"
"'Oh, nothing! I only wish to see
-"You have nothing here, to see
he said, rudely and as was about to
reply, he added, IN stern, meuaeing
voice, Pass on your way I" = sss.sszs,.1.
The mans face had something sinis-
Ter and appalling in its expfession-
we were alone--nigat Was approaching
IL hsstened to comply, and walked
swiftly away. ;SSS
'This is the exact truth, Karl! Now
tell me, if you like, that my dream is
absurd-that it lacks common sense.
All that will not prevent my firm con-
viction that Peter Kaunitz szep his
father-in-lo,o, the old HITLER Of F7ekes-
burg"
eBut," cried I starting up, Tin this
case he should be denounced! Let US
tear the mask from this atrocious vii
lain ~ - 2.z~E $40
"Denounce himp said Rodolph !;
"Can you think Of it, Karll In order
to denounce bin We must produce sub
stantial proofs. Suppose; should 70
to the old Procureur, Won Schwalden,
and tell him my dream-he would
laugh in my face; nay, perhaps ha
would have me placsd III mad house.
| What is = dream to men who steer
only by the compass Of reason !? Moth
ing! A wandering Of the brain during
sleep" 49, .-.r. ...5s =, :
| "You are right, Rodolph," said Il,
mournfo''Y.. "When We do not: com
prehend a thing We deny it and seoff at