The Arkansaw traveler., 1888-03-03
VOL. l2. NO. l5.
THE BLEEDING NUN.

was living in New Orleans roomed on Royal street with quiet musician A quiet musician is doubt less a misnomer, when viewed in a real-life light, but this man was re- ally a quiet individual, for I had never heard the melancholy vail of his flute nor the nervous twang of his fiddle-strings. Professor Ma rico. my room- mate, was such a shy man about his music that he never bored me with practice; and in tact, another incredible statement-never told me of his love of the sweet sound art. But of the professor l have little to say, and really should not have introduced hlm at such length.
 One night I was sitting alone in our room. It was one of those April nights so we'll known in New Orleans, night when the air breathed soft sentiment and when the moon had drawn bridal veil, of finest gauge, down over her face. The street was perfectly quiet. The lottery ticket man had gone to bed, and the southern bird, with & deep-throated and shy song ,-rehearsed with shy ness in the trees. l had begun to wonder if it were the magnolia trees with their cool, inviting refuge, that kept the birds awake so long, and had really begun to doze in that list less manner which is almost so senti- mentally irresistible in that old city, when book lying on the table at tracted my attention. I took it up. It was that horrible novel, ''The Monk," written many years ago by parliament man named Lewis. I had read the book-had shud- dered over the scene of the spectral appearance of the bleeding nun. turned leaf or two and my eyes fell upon that annoying stanza-
 Raymond, Raymond thou art mine;
 Raymond, Raymond. am thine-
 In thy veins while blood shall roll,
 Thne my body; thine my soul"
 I read il over and over again, and even now-though perhaps 1 do not quote it rightly-shudder when quote the lines. say that had read the lines over and over again, had nervously thought of tine ghost whom the ardent lover had taken to his breast, when there came gentle tap at my door. I was startled. The clock had struck twelve. "Come in," I called.
 "Tap, tap"
 got up and opened the door. My blood stood still. A woman, dressed in white and wearing a lovely cream colored veil stood in the passage. There was blood spot on her bosom. ''Come in" gasped as held the door open.
 She entered the room and sat down.
 
 I have never seen a more graceful form, and I have never seen figure 30 tall and impressive.
 "I think that you must have made a mistake" faltered.
 She did not reply, but throwing aside her veil, revealed a pale, strik ingly handsome face.
 "M-m- miss," stammered, "you re- ally must have made mistake. f-' Here she cast upon me strange glance, and, holding up her hands, said:
 'rRaymond, Raymond am thine.
 Raymond. Raymond thou art mine;-
 In thy veins while blood shall roll.
 Thine my body, thine my soul"
 aGreat God P exclaimed, spring ing to my feet. "She is the bleeding num-
 Iwould have rushed from the room, but she was between me and the door. Pale, she sat there-pale, and with spectral eyes. I steadied myself against a table and tremblingly gazed upon her. She stretched out her feet, en- cased in white satin slippers, and when she smoothed out her skirts, to hide, it seemed to me, her ankles, she suggested the lining of coffin, so spotiess, 90 ghastly serene she was.