Pawtucket tribune. (Pawtucket, R.I.) 1890-189?, 1894-02-03
THRICE CALLED.

I am only plain, old fashioned woman
and cannot explain the sad story of my
friend and lodger, Alexis l'Estrange. To
be sure, IL is In my handwriting, and ]
sometimes walk in my sleep.
After all, who knows how IL happenedi :
I had decided 20 publish IL, thinking that
II may remind careless people of their du
ties TO others. and how soon the time for
doing those duties must end. She is bet
ter of, no doubt, but lmiss her as never
thought 10 miss a stranger:
One evening | sat brooding over memo
ries OF happier days in my faroff home,
before poverty overlook me. | cried out
passionately that could no longer endure
this starving existence, stripped Of all the
pleasures that were so keenly appreciated
by me In the past. / determined that
would escape somehow.
Suddenly recalled Halloween tradi-
tion that II one stood, candle In hand, be-
fore a mirror at midnight and called ones
name aloud three times something won
derful would happen. Was this the way
to escape from my troublesf l determined
to try the experiment.
When 1t was nearly 12, crept softly
down the stairs and entered the parlor.
Holding lighted candle, stood before
the old mirror, whose tarnished gilded
frame cleaned family In the hickering
light.
As the last stroke died away called my
name aloud. The stately syllables echoed
In my ears with unfamiliar cadences, AL
exia lEstrange. Again called, this time
with greater effort, and the mirror reflect
ed only sketch OF face in tints as faint
as those Of a dissolving rainbow. For the
third time l strove to call my name. A
hoarse murmur, scarcely ineligible, pass
ed my lips, while the face In the mirror
faded to a misty shadow.
For moment / was unconscious, and
then silvery radiance seemed slowly 70
fill the room and fall on something lying
prone before the mirror. Gradually re-
allied that l was still In the same place,
and that the mysterious radiance was the
light of the autumn moon. But what was
that PROSTATE form, whose clear cut, pal
lid features woke fieeting, ,tantalizing mem
oriesi My mind seemed to wander amid
a host Of vivid life pictures, and through
them all fitted one figure, the double OF
that lying still and cold before me. Sud
denly with a sickening shock came the
conviction that it was my body.
"Is it II" was the cry wrung from my
anguished heart.
No sound disturbed the sudden stiffness
but in some inexplicable way felt that
had asked that question and knew that II
would be answered, though / could not
tell whence the reply would come.
Still the silence was un nbroken. The chill
Of the unwelcoming breast made my spirit
faint, and the childish face stiffened into
a sternness that drove me shuddering to
the farthest limit of the room. At last
. realized that was dead, and a strange in
difference succeeded the tumult of hope
and fear. What did IL matterf
Presently the door opened and my land
lady entered the room. saw the shock
that had felt reflected IN her face and
heard her expression Of sympathetic sor-
row. At least, knew these things some
how, though my eyes and ears were forever
closed.
Still the time passed. People came from
the church, the undertaken came with his
assistant, q brief service was held, and
they carried my body away.
Again i murmured In fear and sorrow,
"What will become Of mei"
Restlessly wandered through the house.
1t was night, and my good landlady had
retired.
Suddenly I remem bered that she was
subject to attacks of sleep walking, and
the thought occurred to me that might
control her body while in that condition.
Here, then, was the tool ready TO my
hand. In an instant / was beside her.
She stirred uneasily in her sleep and
murmured, "Poor grip
Iwilled that she should write my strange,
sad story as Il warning, for my heart oried
out to all my fellow beings, from whose
presence / was fading, "Be kind to each
other while you live"
concentrated all my thought ON the
woman, and my will moved her uncon.
scious body.
She descended the stairs, entered the
parior and sat at the secretary. Mechanic
ally she took pen In her hand, and
slowly this strange story grew beneath
her touch.
Once more I stand before the mirror, a
slender, shadowy shape, and wistfully take
my last look at the familiar face therein.
Brown and wavy locks, scarcely more sub
stantial than puffs Of smoke, frame n pal
lid, oval face. The lips are faded 10 faint
rose tint, and the melancholy, dark blue
eyes seem to hold all the life Of the fading
face.
While l gaze the tints grow fainter and
white mist gathers over all that il left
Of poor Alexia lEstrange. Farewell re.
proachful facet Imean you no harm. How
could / know that my desperate expert
ment would end thusp And yet would !
undo IL IL eouldS think not. try to
pierce that shrouding mist that hides the
once familiar face, but my will grows
weak, and can struggle no longer. The
face before me fades, fades.-Exchange.