The National tribune., 1894-09-13

"LET Me Go; HER LIFE IS IN THE
BALANCE"
The clank of the wheels was the last sound
that had hushed him TO sleep, and he can
hear them still, although they seem to be
chanting a different tune.
He feels gay, light hearted, triumphant
and for moment he cannot remember why
he should feel otherwise. He passes his
hand wearily across his forehead, and then
the train suddenly pulls up.
Dover at last! He looks at his watch.
The train started at o'clock and it is only
7:20 now. Something must be wrong.
A porter is calling out the name Of the
station, and he listens.
Cannes
Hume starts to his feet with cry. What
can it mean? He thinks he is dreaming at
first, but the familiar sigp-hoards On the
station walls, the voices of the porters, the
white lining of the carriage all CONVINCE
him that he is really in the south of France.
He speaks to the porter who unlocks the
carriage door and asks him the day OF the
week.
The porter says it is Thursday, but it
was on Thursday he started from London.
What can have happened? He does not
know, but time is precious, and he cannot
stop to argue with his good fortune. In an
other hall hour he will be at Maud's DEATH
bed, lerhaps in time to save her; ah! blessed
thought. -t-c
Twenty or 80 men in uniform are stand
ing outside the station, conductors OF The
busses from the various hotels, but although
they are on the look kout for passengers they
take no notice of Hume. The doctor is
rather glad than otherwise. He is in a
hurry, ard he must take a cab.
The horse in The front Victoria shes
violently as he comes up, and bolts down
the street, while the coachman, who was
standing at its head taking off the nose-bag,
tears after it, whip in hard, shouting
loudly.
!, Hume gets into the. second vehicle, and at
the same moment a lady gets in from the
other side and settles herself down without
even looking at him. Then he understands
for the first time it is only in the spirit that
he is in Cannes.
His body was still on its way to Dover-the
lifeless outer crust-but the spiritual form
had escaped its natural bonds, and in an
other moment would be at the bedside OF
his sweetheart to call her back to life
At last he reaches the hotel. He sees one
or two familiar figures among the crowd in
the hall, then he passes up stairs, fierce
excitement raging in his brain as to the Sc
quei OF his strange adventure. Would he
be in time?
He turns the handle of the sck-room
door, but before he can push it open he feels
himself unexpectedly detained from behind
He turns round with an angry exclamation
and finds himself face to face with Lady st.
Ruth.
He tries to shake her off, but it is in vain.
She holds him there fascinated by her eyes,
whicn are sparkling with an unnatural
luster.
Let me CO." he whispers hoarsely. az
will explain everything afterward, but let
NE go now; her life is in the balance"
why should l let you 20 to that wo-
man?" she says, her whole frame quivering
with passion. "Why should / let you go?
Let her die. Alb, would love to see her
die. The woman who stole yonr love from
me! No, no, You shall not go to her, for
when she dies you will be mine, mine,
minei"
Every moment seems TO confirm Hume's
impression that he is taking up every day
life again. In another minute he may find
himself back in the train half way between
London and Dover. He must get past, but
Lady st. Ruth still detains him, not by
physical force, but by the power of a
stronger will, and the fascination of her
beautiful eyes.
Never before has Hume realized the depth
of this woman's passion, nor her love
for him. Even in that supreme
moment he feels that he has treated her
badly in the past, although his love for
Maud was dictated by a power he had no
strength to resist. In loving her he had
obeyed the imperous command of Fate.
Let me CO." he pleads; for the very af-
fection that you bear toward me, let me
CO."
Within the room Hume hears the doctor
and the nurse in consultations they say
something in a low voice, and shrill, pierre
ing cry falls on the ears of those who are in
the doorway.
1t is followed by sob after sob, and each
one seems to rend some poor, tortured, suf-
fering heart. 1t is the voice of Mrs. Mon
tagu.
"Hark!" cries Lady st. Ruth, starting
back. "Hark! she is dead. o, my God, it
is 1 who have killed her"
Hume too hears those cries, and they tell
him that he has come too late. He can
enter now, for Lady ST. Ruth no longer op-
poses him with her stronger will, and he
bursts into the room and throws himself on
his knees by the side of Maud's death-bed
He calls her frantically by name, but she
does not answer him. He calls her again
and again and again.
Then he bends over and presses his lips
20 her forehead. A tremor runs through
her body, and then q cry more terrible than
the one which had gone before echoes
through the corridors of the hotel and fills
the passages with white-faced men and wo-
men.
Horace, my Horace. Thank God you
have come"
The doctor springs to the side of the bed
He can see no one, but he knows that the
girl who was dead has come to life again,
and that some mysterious power had
wrought what all his skill and all his medi-
cine and the cries Of q mothers broken
heart had failed to do.
When the Continental express arrived at
Dover the officials found in one Fl first-clasa