Pittsburg dispatch. [volume] (Pittsburg [Pa.]) 1880-1923, 1891-01-18

making effort to read his thoughts. but
| of his story upon her mind. When he had done.
there was silence for a time. broken only by the
plash and ripple OF the falling water.
''She is not here" said Unorna at last "You
| shall see for yourself. There is, indeed in this
house. young girl to whom 1 am deeply at
tached, who has grown up at my my side and has
always lived under my roof. She IS very pale
| and dark. and is dressed always in black"
| Like her saw"
| "You shall see her again. 1 will send for
| ball which lay beside her attached to thick
| cord OF white silk. ASK Sletchna Axneia to
come to me-" she said to the servant who
| opened the door IN the distance, out OF sight
| behind the forest of plants.
| Amid less unusual surroundings the Wan
| derer would have rejected with contempt the
| last remnants of his belief in the identity of
! Unorna's companion with Beatrice. But, being
| where he was, he felt unable to decide be-
tween the possible and the impossible, be-
| tween what he might reasonably expect and
| what lay beyond the bounds of reason itself.
| The air he breathed was so loaded with rich
exotic perfume the woman before him was SO
| little like other women, her strangely mis-
matched eyes, had for his own such dsQuiet-
| ing attraction, all that be saw and felt and
| heard was SO far removed from the common
| place of daily life as to make him feel that he
| himself was becoming n part of some other
| persons existence, that he was being gradually
| drawn away from his identity, and was losing
the power of thinking his own thoughts He
| reasoned as the shadows reason in dreamland
| the boundaries of common probability receded
| to an lmmcaSurable distance, and he almost
| ceased to know where reality ended and where
| Imagination took up the sequence of events.
| Who was this woman who called herself
| Unornaf He tried to consider the question
| and to bring his intelligence to bear upon it,
| Was she a great lady of Prague, rich, caprici-
| ous creating mysterious existence for her
| self, merely for her own good pleasure: Her
| language, her voice, her evident refinement
gave color to the idea, which was in itself at
| tractive to man who had long ceased to expect
| novelty in this working-day world. He glanced
4, slrn md dnrtn frtNo linz
| the sweet, Intoxicating odors OF the flowers and
listening to the tinkling of the hidden fountain.
Her eyes were gazing into h1s. and again, as II
| by magic, the curtain of life's stage was drawn
| together in misty folds, shutting out the past.
| the present ana the future. the fact, the doubt
and the hope III an interval of perfect trance.
| He was reused by the sound of light foot
| fall upon the marble pavement. Unornas eyes
| were turned from his and with something like
a movement of surprise he himself looked
| toward the newcomer. A young girl was
| standing under the shadow of great letonia
| at a short distance from him. She was very
| pale. indeed. but not with that deathlike,
| waxen pallor which had chilled him when he
| had looked upon that other face. There
| faint resemblance in the delicate acquiline
| features the dress was black, and the figure of
| the girl before him was assuredly neither much
/ taller nor much shorter than that of the woman
| he loved and sought But the likeness went
| further. and he knew that he had been utterly
| mistaken.
| Unorna exchanged. few indifferent words
| with Axnea and dismissed her.
| you have seen." she said, when the young
| girl was gone. WAS it she who entered the
| house just now?
"Yes. l was misled by mere resemblance.
| Forgive me for my importunity-et me thank
you most sincerely for your great Kindness"
He rose as he spoke.
do not CO." said Unorna, looking at him
| earnestly.
He stood still, silent as though his attitude
| should explain itself, and yet expecting that
| she would say something further. He felt that
her eyes were upon him, and he raised his own
to meet the look frankly, as was his wont. For
| the first time since he had entered her pres
| erce, he felt that there was more than a mere
| disquieting attraction in her steady gaze; there
was strong, resIstless fascination, from which
| he had no power to withdraw himself. Almost
unconsciously he resumed his seat still look
ing at her, while telling himself with severe
| effort, that he would look but one instant
| longer, and then turn away. Ten seconds
passed, 20. half minute. in total silence. He
was confused. disturbed, and yet wholly
unable to shut out her penetrating
| glance. His fast ebhing Consciousness barely
allowed him to wonder whether he were
| weakened by the strong emotions he had felt in
the church, or by the first beginning of some
t.an,r unhnown ma. ana 9 dne1pected expected malady: He was
| rise from his seat nor lift his hand nor close
| the lids of his eyes. 1t was as though an ire
sistible force were drawing him into the depths
| of fathomless whirlpool, down, down, by its
| endless giddy spirals. robbing him of portion
| of his consciousness at every gyration, SO that
he left behind him at every instant something
| faculty of self-recogntion. He felt no pain,
but he did not feel th :: inexpressible delight of
peac. which alread. twice had descended upon
him. He experienced rapid diminution of
all perception, of all feeling, of all intelligence.
| Thought and the memory of thought, ebbed
from his brain and left it vacant, as the waters
| of a lock subSide when the yates are opened
| leaving emptiness in their place.
| Unornas eyes turned from him, and she
raised her hand a moment letting it fall again
upon her knee. Instantly the strong man
| restored to himself; his weakness vanished, his
| sight was clear, his intelligence was awake.
Instantly the certainty flashed upon him that
| Unorna possessed the power of imposing the
| hypnotic sleep and had exercised that gift upon
| him. Unexpectedly and against his will. He
| would have more willingly supposed that he
| had been the victim of momentary physical
| faintness, for the idea of having been thus sub
| jected to the influence of a woman. and of
| woman he hardly knew, was repuGnant to him,
| and had in it something humillating to his
| pride or at least to his vanity. But he could
| not escape the conviction forced upon him by
| the circumstances.
"Do not GO, for may yet help you" said
| Unorna quietly. Let US talk of this matter
| and consult what is best to be done. Will you
| accept woman's helpr'
| Readily. But l cannot accept her will as
mine, nor resign my consciousness into her
keeping"
| say you loye?'
| The Wanderer was silent, being yet undeter-
| mined how to act. and still unsteadied by what
| he had experienced. But he was able to
reason,
should do. wondering what manner of woman
| Unorna might prove to be, and whether she
| were anything more than one of those who live
| and even enrich themselves by the exercise of
the unusual faculties or powers. nature has
| given them. He had seen many of that class,
| and he considered most of chem to be but half
fanatics, half charlatans worshiping In them
selves as something almost divine that which
| was but physical power. or weakness. beyond
their own limited comprehension. Though
| whole school of wise and thoughtful men had
| already produced remarkable results and
elected astounding facts by sitting the truth
| through fine web of closely logical
| experiment., it did not follow that either
| Unorna or any other self-convinced, self
| taught operator could do more than grope
| bindly toward the light, guided by intuition
| alone, among the varied and misleading phe-
I nomena of hypnoiism. The thought of accept
| of her kind dccelver of herself. and therefore
and thereby of Others, was an affront to the Dig
| nifty of his distress, desecration of his loves
sanctity, frivolous invasion OF loves holiest
| ground. But, on the other hand, he was stmu-
| lated to catch at the veriest shadows of possi-
bility by the certainty that he was at last with
| in the same city with her he loved, and he knew
that hypnotic subjects are sometimes able to
| determine the abode of persons whom no one
| else can find. Tomorrow it might be too late.
| Even before to-days sun had set Beatrice
| might be once more taken from him, snatched
away to the ends of tho earth by her fathers
| eyer-changing caprice. To lose moment now
| might be to lose ALL
! He was tempted to yield. to resign his Will into
Uporna's hands, and his sight to her leading,
tn let her bid him sleep and see the truth. But
then with asudden reaction of his individual
ity. he realized that he had another course,
surer simpler, more dignified. Beatrice was in
Prague. 1t was little probable that she was
permanently established i'll the city, and In all
likelihood she and her father were lodged in
one Of the two or three great hotels. To be
driven from one to the other of these would be