Wichita eagle. [volume] (Wichita, Kan.) 1886-1890, 1888-09-29

of ordinary conditions. And there l sat, star
| ing at Maud, and there she stood, gazing be
! fore her with that terrible, unspeakable sad
ness in her face, which, even though felt no
| fear, seemed to freeze me with kind Of I'M
| utterable pity.
81 don't know how long had sat thus, or
how long / might have continued to sit there,
almost as if in trance, when suddenly
heard the front door bell ring. It seemed to
awaken me. started up and glanced round,
half expecting that l should find the vision
dispelled But no; she was still there, and
sank back into my seat just as l heard my
brother coming quickly up stairs. He came
toward the library, and, seeing the door wide
open, walked in; and /, still gazing, saw his
| figure pass through that of the woman in the
| doorway as you may walk through a wreath
| of mist or smoke, only-dont misunderstood
me-the figure of Maud till that moment had
had nothing unsubstantial about it. She had
looked to me, as she stood there, literally and
exactly like living woman; the shade of
her dress, the color of her hair, the few orna-
ments she wore, all were as defined and clear
as yours, Nina, at the present moment, and
remained so, or perhaps became so again as
soon as my brother was well within the
room. He came forward, addressing me by
name, but answered him in whisper, beg
cling him to be silent and to sit down on the
seat opposite to me for moment or two. He
did so. though he was taken aback by my
strange manner for l still kept my eyes
fixed on the door. l had queer conscious
ness that if / looked away it would fade,
and I wanted TO keep cool and see what
would happen. 1 asked Herbert in low
voice if he saw nothing, but though he me-
chemically followed the direction of my eyes,
he shook his head in hawilderrlent. And for
q moment OF two he remained thus. Then
began to notice that the figure was growing
less clear, as if it were receding, yeti without
growing smaller to the sight; it grew fainter
and vaguer, The colors grew hazy. / rubbed
my eyes once or twice with the half idea that
my long watching was making them misty,
but it was not so. NY eyes were not at fault
slowly but surely Maud Bertram, or her
ghost, melted away, till all trace Of her had
gone saw again the familiar pattern of
the carpet where she had stood and the OBJ
jects of the room that had been hidden by
}Ier draperies-all again in the most common
place way; but she was gone, quite gone.
"Then Herbert, seeing me relax my intense
gaze, began to question me. l told him ex-
actly what have told you. He answered,
as every common sensible person, of course,
would, that it was strange, but that such things
did happen sometimes, and were classed by
the wise under the head of optical decisions
l was not well, perhaps, he suggested Been
overworiing! Had | not better see doctor.
But 1 shook my head was quite well, and
l said so. And perhaps he was right, it
might be an optical delusion only. l had
bal Of
IAN the same said, 4 shall mark down
the date
Herbert laughed and said that was what
people always did in such cases. II he knew
where Mrs. then was he would write to
her just for the fun Of the thing, and ask her
to be so good as to look up in her diary, if she
kept one, and let us know what she had been
doing on that particular day-'the 9th of
April, isn't itP he said-when would have
it her wrath had paid me a visit. let him
talk. Il seemed to remove the strange, pain
full impression-painful because Of that ter
rible sadness in the sweet face But we
neither of us knew where she was, we
scarcely remembered her married namei And
SO there was nothing to be done except-what
l did at once in spite of Herbert's rallying-
tc mark down the day and hour with scrupu
lOuS exactneSS In my diary.
''Time passed. | had not forgotten ny
strange experience, but of course the impress
sion of it lessened by degrees till it seemed
more like curious dream than anything
more real, when one day l did hear of poor
Maud again Poor Maud l cannot help
calling her. I heard of her indirectly, and
probably but for the sadness of her story /
should never have heard it at all. 1t was a
friend of her husbands family who had men
toned the circumstances in the hearing of a
friend of mine, and one day something
brought round the conversation to old times,
and he startled me by suddenly inquiring if
remembered Maud Bertram. l said, of
course | did. Did he know anything of hera
And then he told me.
''She was dead-she had died some months
ago after a long and trying illness, the result
of terrible accident. She had caught fra
one evening when dressed for some grand en-
tertainment or other, and though her inju-
ries did not seem likely to be fatal at the
time, she had never recovered the shock
"'She was so pretty my friend said and
one of the saddest parts of it was that hear
she was terribly disfigured, and she took
this most sadly to heart The right side Of
her face was utterly ruined, and the sight Of
the right eye lost, though, strange to say,
the left side entirely escaped, and seeing her
in profile one would have had no notion Of
what had happened Was it not sadi She
was such sweet, bright creatlrer
81 did not tell him my story, for l did not
want it chartered about, but strange sort
of shiver ran through me at his words. 1t
was the left side of her face only that the
wrath of my poor friend had allowed me to
see Louisa Wordsworth in Longmans