The McCook tribune. (McCook, Neb.) 1886-1936, 1893-06-30

Very slowly she raised her head.
She knew that his hand was close to
hers, held there that she might fulfill
Beatrice's promise. Was she not
free? Could she not give him what
he asked? No matter how-she tried
to say it to herself and could not. She
felt his breath upon her hair. He
was waiting. If she did not act soon
or speak he would wonder what held
her Observation-Disclosures next
and then? She put out her hand to
touch his fingers, half-blinded, CROP
ing as though she could o see. He
made it easy for her. He iancied she
was trembling, as she was weeping,
with the JOY of it all.
She felt the ring, though she dared
not look at it. She drew it "a little,
and felt that it would come off easily.
She felt the fingers she loved so well.
straight, strong and nervous. and she
touched them lovingly. The ring
was not tight. it would pass easily
over the joint that alone kept it in its
place.
Take it, D-loved,' he said, sit
has waited long enough"
He was beginning to wonder at her
hesitation, as she knew he would. Al
ter wonder would come suspicion-and
then? Very slowly-it was just upon
the joint of his finger now. Should
she do it? What would happen? He
would have broken his vow unwit-
tingly. How quickly and gladly
Beatrice would have taken it. What
would she say, if they lived and met
why should they not meet? Would
the spell endure the shock-who
would Beatrice be then? The woman
who had given him this ring? Or an
other, whom he would no longer
know. But she must be quick. He
was waiting, and Beatrice would not
have made him wait.
Her hand was like stone, numb,
mOtionless, immovable as though
some nseen being had taken it in an
iron grasp and held it there, in midair,
just touching his. Yes-no-yes-
she could not move-a hand was
clasped upon her wrist, a hand
smaller than his, but strong as fate,
fixed in its grasp as an iron vice.
Unorna felt a cold breath, that was
not his, upon her forehead, and she
felt as though her heavy hair was
rising of itself upon her head. She
knew that horror Tor she had been
overtaken by it once before. She was
not afraid, but she knew what it was.
There was a shadow, too, and a dark
woman. tall, lueenly, with deep, fash
ing eyes, was standing beside her.
She knew before she looked; she
looked, and it was there. Her own
face vas whittier than that other wo-
mans.
''Have you come already?n she
asked of the shadow, in a low despair
ing tone.
''Beatrice-what has happeuedP"
cried the Wanderer. To him she
seemed to be speaking to the empty
air. and her white face startled him.
Yes" she said, staring still, in the
same hopeless voice. ut is Beatrice.
She has come for you"
Observation-Disclosures not speak
like that! For Gods sake what do
you see?: There is nothing there
Beatrice is there. l am Unorna."
''Unorna, Beatrice-have we not
said it should be all the same? Sweet.
heart, look at me! Rest here-shut
those dear eyes of yours. 1t is gone
now, whatever it was. You are tired,
dear; you must rest"
Her eyes closed and her head
sank. 1t was gone, as he said, and she
knew what it had been-a mere vision
called up by her own ~overtortured
brain. Keyork Arabian had a name
for it.
frightened by your own nerves,
laughed the voice, when if o had
not been a coward, you might have
faced it down and lied again, and all
would have been well. But you shall
have another chance, and lying is
very easy, eve when the nerves are
overweight. You will do better the
next time.
The voice was like Keyork Arab
ans. Unstrung, almost forgetting all,
she wondered vaguely at the sound,
for 1t was a real sound and a real
voice to her. Was her soul his, in
deed, and was he drawing it on slow
ly, surely, to the endP Had he been
behind her last night? Had he felt
an hours liberty only to come back
and take at last what was his?
There is time yet; you have not lost
him, for he thinks you mad. The
voice spoke once more.
And at the same moment the strong,
dear arms were again around her,
again her head was on that restful
shoulder of his, again her pale face
was turned up to his, and kisses were
raining on her tired eyes, while broken
words OF love and tenderness made
music through the tempest.
Again the vast temptation rose.
How could he ever know? Who was
to undeceive him, if he was not vet
undeceivedp Who should ever make
him understand the truth so long as
the spell lasted? Why not then take
what was given her, and when the
end came, if it came, then tell all