Waterbury evening Democrat., 1888-04-24


 without so much as a parting glance at Granit Boyle.
 CHAPTER VII.
 It is midnight. Twelve hours have been chimed by some great clock mile away, the strokes falling solemnly on the still air of the summer night Traffic has ceased, and only the sound of an oc- casional carriage may be heard, the red lights from it's lamps flaming upward and sometimes casting lurid shadow upon the bed where Millicent lies sleep ing.
 The girl had appeared little tired, 8 little ennuyee for the last day or two, and Mrs. Brand had decided upon her refus- ing any invitation for this one night at least. She should go to bed early, so would Mrs. Brand-the whole household, indeed, should retire at an abnormally early hour, and Granit, who was ac- quainted with all these circumstances and arrangements, was forbidden to call after six o'clock.
 Boom - boom boom goes the big clock somewhere. Millicent, as though disturbed by it, turns uneasily in her bed, and, as growing consciousness gains on her, sighs deeply Alas! there are many reasons why she, the petted debutante of the year, should sigh profoundly. Her body, indeed, is well this seems rather a grievance than otherwise), but her heart is sick and sore within her. Oh! the horror of having to marry Granit while her affection is all concentrated on another! And yet, to lose her inherit ance! To a girl trained as she has been as hundreds of others are trained such consideration is paramount. To be cast from her throne, to be discarded by her world, to sink from a comparative supremacy to a sure mediocrity lin that lies the sting.
 If only the matter could be altered, and arranged for her on lines according to her own liking! She had thought of appealing to her aunt-had even hinted to her that Boyle was not altogether so dear to her as he should be. But Mrs. Brand had pooh-poohed all such hints as being mere girlish folly, and had told her that in time she would find her cousin was far above the average of the young men she met, and that they had good reason to believe a defunct title, that had once belonged to branch of the cir fam fly, would be revived in his favor.
 How quiet the night has grownl Even in the heart of this surging London, it seems as though time of rest can reign; the stir, the roll of the odd carriage or two only enhances the extreme deadness of the calm. Millicent turns wearily upon her pillow, and tries with passionate anxiety to forget her woes in sleep. In vain she courts the wished for slumber; in vain she seeks to kill her cruel thoughts. Still they remain with her, growing ever more persistent as wake fulness grows upon her. Impatient, and angry with herself, and finding the night insufferably warm, she half pushes the bedclothes from her, with the intention of rising and finging wide her window, when slight noise in the adjoining room arrests her attention.
 Is it a footstep? or one of those strange sounds that break the stiffness of the night?-ghostly sounds that we all know, coming from nowhere apparently, yet loud enough to make the pulses beat and suggest covering of the head with the friendly bedclothes.
 Millicent, wide awake now, but uncer- tain, listens intently. She has indeed drawn back her foot into the shelter of the bed, but otherwise has shown no fear. Is it step? It has stopped now. After all, it might have been auntie coming for her cologne water, or one of the maids for the neuralgia cure that lies on the nantelpiece in her boudoir. In spite of these consolatory reflections. however, she cannot conceal from her self that she is growing frightened, and is regretting with ever increasing earn estness the fact that she is sleeping alone, in corridor cut off from the rest of the house.
 Pshaw! after all, it was nothing-a silly scare. Silence once more reigns su- preme. Not even the indomitable mouse is to be heard. No scratchings, no squeaks anywhere. Not even a-
 Good heavens! what was that? That horrible stealing sound in the room be- yond. It is coming nearer and nearer!
 Of that some horrible inner sense as- sures her, though now she can hear noth- ing. Oh, how the minutes drag! The knowledge that even if she screamed until life left her she could not be heard by any one member of the household adds ten thousand terrors to her already miserable situation.
 An, there! There it is again-that stealthy footstep; more distinct now more real. All in one moment every dered, every ghastly detail that she has ever read or heard recurs to her, and makes the blood freeze within her veins. Soon, perhaps, that blood will be frozen eternally.
 And now a maddening regret occurs to her. The bell! why had she not thought of that sooner? To cross the room, to pull violently at it-even if her effort failed to bring one of the servants Ca most likely thing, as all the servants sleep at the very top of the house)- lat least she might have alarmed this mid night assassin, and sent him flying from l the scene of his unlawful 1abors. But | now! Is it too late yet?
 Almost paralyzed by fear as she is, she 1 rises cautiously upon her elbow, and is I just about to make rush for the bell, 1 when