The Colfax chronicle. [volume] (Colfax, Grant Parish, La.) 1877-1981, 1895-05-11

couldn't. My head was bowed with
shame. Viewing myself in the lurid
| mirror of those dark eyes, l saw myself
as others see me. Never has an author
been SO at the mercy of critic before.
Il claim no marvellous foresight"
Wanless said sternly. Let us try
| again. Here is another story, called
"A Strange Coincidence;' need say
that it refers to singular dream of a
deserted wife, which makes such an
| impression upon her that she tel
egraphs her husband not to go near a
certain place at a time named. He dis
regards the warning, and is murdered.
| Again, / will ask You to correct me II
! am mistaken"
''Well, you are, this time" said as
cheerfuIly as possible. 1.-The husband
refrains, and some one mistaken for him
is done to DEATH"
This little point in my favor rendered
me more cheerful. Twas about to give
vent to some little jeu desprif, when my
companion gave cry of rage and hor-
ror, at the same time dashing the book
to the ground. 81 knew it, he shouted
as he bounded to his feet; II knew that
l should come across it in that cursed
volume. / cannot even get away from
it in my solitary retreat. Is there no
originality in the craft at all? Here it
is, in your own volume called BY Men
tai Telegraph The title explains the
story. Oh, l know that mysterious,
slender, beautiful maiden with her
visions and Authorizations but too we'll;
the psychological siren who has driven
me to madness. She RECEIVERS when she
gets husband, and becomes a model
queen of the nursery ever afterwards
But 1 shall always be the same.
1t is you and your class who
are responsible for this; you
must die" With the last word
ringing on his lips, Wanless flew at me
and bore me to the ground. Strong as
the mailman possessed the strength of
dozen beings at that moment l could
feel his hot breath upon my face as he
bent over me. "You are one of the fiends
who has robbed me of my reason" he
Kissed. you are one of the successful
hacks who dress up old tales, and try
to galvanize paralytic corpses into life
until the gibbering dead faces mock us
to insanity. Once 1 deemed the world
to be fresh and bright; but the very
monotony of the novels / craved for
made me what I am. Make the most
of your time-you will never leave this
room alive AS duty to my fellow
sufferers, am going to rid the world
of one scribbling fiend tonight"
tried to expostulate, but the words
died on my lips. Wanless bent over
me, and gripped my throat with con-
vulsive force. The strength of despair
came back to me as 1 realized that we
were in that solitary place alone, and
that my life depended upon my own
efforts. We rolled over and over, but
Wanless was always uppermost. From
time to time 1 compelled him to relin-
quish his grip; the sudden rush of air
to my lungs caused me to feel sick and
dizzy. But the contest was bound to
end in one way, for, as 1 became
weaker, my antagonist gathered fresh
vigor.
ut is useless" he cried triumphant
~. GU nave got TO Ole.
knew it, but would not despair.
And then, as l commenced to fail,
there came sound, welcome as a
voice from Heaven-the sound of Bell
amy's step in the hall. He tried the
door, only to find it fast; he shouted,
and in response came a feeble gurgle
from me. Bellamy wasted no further
OF h f0l1 hot !, l., 4
arrived in time to prevent a terrible
tragedy. AS Bellamy's whole weight
broke in the door, Wanless gave me a
squeeze that caused the countless
stars to dance and flicker before my
eyes. Then sleep, peaceful and child
like.
When l came to myself again was
in bed. The windows were open to
the breeze, glorious sun was shining,
and Bellamy stood respectfully before
me. On the whole, l felt little the
worse for my adventure.
81 am extremely sorry for what has
happened, sir" Bellamy said politely.
"The people here know nothing, and
shall esteem it personal favor if you
will preserve our secret. l ought, per-
haps, to have told you, sir"
But what on earth is the matter
with Mr. Wanless?" asked.
swell, SIR" Bellamy said deferen-
tally, my masters ma me is not Wan
less at all. He is Mr.. Cultshaw, the
critic and essayist, who used to be
reader to Messrs. Gilley, the great
publishers. OF course you know him
by name, sir. Two years ago the poor
gentleman had brain fever from over
work, and he's never been the same
since. If he has three glasses o. wine
he's quite mad. Usually, he is harm
less enough; but when excited he has
a perfectly morbid hatred of magazine
writers. He attributes his malady to
reading the same class of story with
what he calls the same motif over and
over again. He did not know you by
sight, and, indeed, mistook your name;
but you he holds in especial detesta-
tiou sir He would hava kil1ad vo,, 10