Pittsburg dispatch. [volume] (Pittsburg [Pa.]) 1880-1923, 1891-04-12

| step had been made Unexpectedly and with
out her will, she did notregret it.
She leaned back and looked at Beatrice
during several minutes, smiling to herself
from time to time, scornfully and cruelty.
Then she rose and locked the outer door and
closed the inner one carefully. She knew
from long ago that no sound could then find
its way to the corridor without. She came
back and sat down again, and again looked
at the sleeping face, and she admitted for
the hundredth time that evening, that
Beatrice was very beautiful.
"If he could see US nowr" she exclaimed
aloud.
The thought suggested something to her.
She would like to see herself beside the
other woman, and compare the beauty be
| loved with the beauty that could not touch
| him. 1t was very easy. She found a small
mirror, and set it up on the back of the
sofa, on level with Beatrice's head. Then
she changed the position of the lamp and
looked at herself, and touched her hair and
| smoothed her brow, and looseDed the black
| lace about her white throat. And she looked
from herself to Beatrice, and back to herself
again, many times.
| SIT Is strange that black should suit us
| both so well-she so dark and 1 so fairl''
she said "She will look well when she is
dead"
She gazed again for many seconds at the
| sleeping woman.
"But he will not see her them" she added.
rising to her feet and laying the mirror on
the table.
She began to walk up and down the room
as was her habit when in deep thought, turn
ing over in her mind the deed to be done
and the surest and best way of doing it. 1t
never occurred to her that Beatrice could be
allowed to live beyond that night. If the
woman had been but an unconscious OBJ
stacle in her path, Unorna would have
spared her life, but, as matters stood, she
had no inclination to be merciful.
There was nothing to prevent the possl-
bility of meeting between Beatrice and
the Wanderer, if Beatrice remained alive.
They were in the same city together and
their paths might cross at any moment. The
Wanderer had forgotten, but it was not
sure that the artificial forgetfulness would
be proof against an actual sight of the
woman once SO dearly loved. The same
consideration was true of Beatrice. She,
too, might be made to forget, though IL was
always an experiment of uncertain issue and
of more than uncertain result, even when
successful, so far as duration was concerned.
Unorna reasoned coldly with herself, re-
calling all that Keyork Arabian had told
her and sill that she had read. She tried to
admit that Beatrice might be disposed of
in some other way, but the difficulties seemed
to be insurmountable. To effect such
disappearance Unorna must dispose OF some
safe place in which the wretched woman |
might drag out her existence undis-
covered. But Beatrice was not like the |
old beggar,, who, in his hundredth year,
had leaned against Unorna's door, un-
noticed and uncared for, and had been
taken and had never been seen again. The |
case was different. The aged scholar, too,
had been cared for as he could not have
been cared for elsewhere, and, in the event
of an inquiry being made, he could be pro-
duced at any moment, and would even az |
ford brilliant example of Unorna's char
liable doings. But Beatrice was stranger
and person of some importance in the |
world. The Cardinal Archbishop himself
had directed the nuns to receive her, and |
they were responsible for her safety. To
spirit her away in the night would be a
dangerous thing. Wherever she was to be !