The Roanoke times. [volume] (Roanoke, Va.) 1890-1895, 1895-04-02

| cSrdPhS ncr huSDanu not to go near q
certain place at n time named. He dis
regards the warming, and is murdered.
Again, will ask you to correct me if 1
am mistaken"
well, YOU are, this time" said rs
cheerfully as possible. The husband
refrans, and some one mistaken for him
is done to death"
This little point in my favor rendered
me moro cheerful. Twas about TO give
vent to some little jcw d'esprit, when my
companion gave q 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; 81 knew that
1 should come across it in that cursed
| volume. l 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 q model
| queen OF the nursery ever afterwards
But l 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, Wanlcss flew at me
and bore me to the ground. Strong rs
was, was powerless in his grasp, for
the mailman possessed the strength of
dozen beings ut that moment. could
feel his hot breath upon my face as he
bent over me. you are one of the ficnds.
who has robbed INC of my reason" he
missed. "You are one of the successful
hacks who dress up old tales, and try
to galvanize paralytic corpses into life
until the gibbcring dead faces mock us
to insanity. Once L deemed the world
to be fresh and bright; but the very
monotony of the novels cravcd for
made me what | am. Make the most
OF your time-you will never leave this
room alive. AS n duty to my fellow
sufferers, am going to rid tho world
of one scribbling dend tonight"
1'tricd to cXpostulatc, 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
Wanlcss was always uppcrnost From
time to time | compelled him to rclin-
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 became
weaker, my antagonist gathered fresh
vigor.
st is useless" he cried triumphant
~. you have got to die"
knew it, but L would not despair.
and then, rs L commenced TO fail,
there came a sound, welcome as q
voice from lIcaycn-thc sound of Bell.
amy's step in the hall. He tried the
door, only to find it fast; he shouted.
and in response came II feeble gurglc
from me. Bcllamy wasted no further
time; something told him that he had
arrived In time TO prevent terrible
tragedy. As Bcllamy's whole weight
broke in the door, Wanlcss gave me Il
| squeeze that caused the countless
stars Ito dance and flicker before my
eyes. Then sleep, peaceful and child
like.
When 1 came to myself again was
i'll bed. The windows were open to
the breeze, q glorious sun was shining.
and Bellamy stood respectfully before
me. On the whole. I felt little the
worse for my adventure.
Il am extremely sorry Tor what has
happened, sir" Bellamy said politely.
The people here know nothing, and
shall esteem it Il 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?" Iasled
"Wcll, SIR" DcllaIny said dcfcrcn-
TALLY, my masters name is not Wan
less at all. He IS Mr. Cultshaw, the
critic and cssayist, who used to be
reader to Mcssrs Gillcy, 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 of wine
he's quite mad. Usually, he is harm
less enough; but when excited he has
Il perfectly morbid hatred of magazine
writers. lie attributes his malady to
reading the same class of story with
what he calls the same anotif over and
over again. He did not know you by
sight, and, indeed, inistooll your name;
but you he holds in especial dctcsta-
ton, sir. He would have killed you if
he could"
II quite believe that, Bellamy," 1 re-
piled grimly. But you may trust me
to say nothing about what has hap
pened- How is your paticnt?"
Perfectly we'll this morning and
without Il notion Of what took place
last night. But on the whole, sir,
l would respectfully beg to suggest
that you do not meet again. don't
suppose you are specially attached to