The Worthington advance., 1880-09-30
'ond admiration, I have never given her


by. II l had been happy before, I was
ten times happier now. I danced every
dance, and at supper Rupert contrived tG
secure secluded cerner, where he de.
tained me SO long that l morta(ly offend.
ed one partner who sought me high and
low In vain.
was to remain at Home Lodge and
60 home the next day, nurse having
brought everything requisite tor nv stay'
and placed ready before she returned.
Having exchanged my ball-dress for q
comfortable dressing gown, and my sat-
in shoes for fur-lined slippers, sat by
the fire in my bedroom, dreaming bright
dreams, and weaving fairy fancies. I
loved and was loved. Was not that the
height of human bliss2 Could any other
Joy compare with it, Truly it is written
There's nothing half SO sweet in life.
As loves young dream"
It was long ere I got into bed, but
once there I fell into deep slumber, and
neither memories of the past nor plans
for the future disturbed it.
Suddenly I awcke-awoke with a full
sure consciousness Of the presence OF
some one or some thing terrible in the
room. Who or what it was I could not
tell, and dared not attempt to find out.
lay with my face turned to the wall,
every limb stiff and still, and the blood
in my veins curdling with fear.
At last an icy finger touched me; and,
as though under some mesmeric influence
slowly moved my head.
The fire had died out, but night-lamp
was dimly burning, and by it's light /
saw saw loosely-robed figure, with
cloud of raven hair falling almost to
its knees; luridly glowing eyes, set in a
deathly pallid face; and in one appraised
hand q cleaning stilletto-jewelled han
died and finely pointed.
I could utter no cry; I could make no
movement. remained spellbound and
dumb, my eyeballs staring and my lips
blanching, knowing that was at the
mercy Of mad woman, and recognizing
in that mad woman Isabella Saloni.
Again she touched me; and, though I
shuddered could not draw away.
"You sleep soundly," she said, "but
you have awaked at last. The sleep of
death is the soundest of all sleeps. for
there is no awakening from it! Andso
he told you he loved you-you, not me !
What do you know Of love9 What does
he know of love2 It is who loves-I-
1-1!' and her voice rose shrill and high.
II am going to kill you," she continued,
after q moments pause. He cannot
love you then. He will forget you, and
then 1t will be my turn"
But the spell was broken. With one
Wild, piercing, echoing cry for help l
flung aside the bed-clothes and sprang to
the floor.
Then came sharp, fierce blow, an
agonizing pain, and then came darkness,
oblivion.
1t was twilight when I came to nv
senses. The curtains were drawn, and
bright fire crackled in the CRATE.
Vaguely wondering as to what had
happened, attem pied to sit up, but the
only result of the exertlon was q weary
moan of anguish.
A gentle voice addressed me soothing,
and Mrs. Morton leaned over me and slip
ping her arm under the pillsw lifted ME
up and gave me some cooling beverage
to drink. l fell asleep directly, and
when I awoke again gray day Ii ght was
SAooPAAS AA a. IA0 WAuuoW, ouu nurse
was sitting by my side.
"Thank Heaven" she calculated, fer
vently, as I teebly raised nv hand. "Ah!
but you are better now, my lamb"
"Have / been ill2" whispered.
"a little dearie,'' she answered, ten
derly stroking my HAIR.
"But-but what IS it? Why am 1 not
at home2''
Hush my pretty. You mustn't talk
any more now. Lie still, and another
time you shall hear all about it,
All, me what weary days, what weary
weeks, those were that I had to lie still.
Waking and sleeping, l was haunted by
half delirious visions OF that dreadful
night. could not bear to be left alone
for even a few minutes. A fitterlng
shadow in the corner, fold of drapery,
would nearly send me into Mysteries.
At last, when the birds were blythely
carolling welcome to the spring, and
trees and hedgerows wele bursting into
leaf, I was carried from my bed to a sofa
in an adjoining room, and from that
time my recovery was more rapid.
Harvest was just over when Rupert
and I were quietly married al the village
church. The winter following we spent
abroad, papa joining us at Nice in Octo-
Der, and accompanying us on the remain
der of our travels.
Isabella Saloni is in private asylum
near London. Insanity, it appeared on
inquiry, was hereditary in her family,
though the fact had always heen kept a
secret. Poor, poor girl! only think of
her with intense compassion and pity.