The aegis & intelligencer. [volume] (Bel Air, Md.) 1864-1923, 1896-11-06

Pierson shared my feeling. The whole
adventure had been so unaccountablo, the
object of our entertainer even on the
score of cccentrcity-so incXplicable, that,
sane and strong as we We're, we readily
agreed to lie down on the bed without re-
moving our clothes and to leave the can
dies burning. a heavy key turned rustily
in the lock. When L crept to Persons
side, he already seemed to be sunken in
slumber, rs was reasonable after our
many weary miles that day But L could
not sleep, exhausted as L was That
striking portrait faced mo and made me
dread, and yet at last nature had her way.
l awakened suddenly with the dread
gripping my hcart-awoke horribly in the
pain of nightmare, my eyes on the por-
trait of the Sieur dc Bcllairo that the still
Pickering candles showed. Or was it tho
portrait? l stared l fearod-ah, such
horrid fear that it was sickening me even
now! The Sicur dc Bellaire was advanc-
ing out of his frame-waS nearing me
and, suddenly leaning forward, thrust his
teeth into my throat. l could feel a sting
ing, biting pain, and then had strength
to exert myself against the thing. We
stroYo mightily-I for my life, the thing
for desire. l know of nothing more ter
riblc than that struggle. / know of moth
ing else that sends Il chill like that of
death through tho veins even now, for
this was Il struggle of life and death. The
thing was ice that frozo my heart, that
wanted my warm blood to thaw its own
icincss of death. And rs we rolled and
struggled I heard no sound from Pierson.
Tho cruel thing with tho bestial fangs
had the better; and the desire for my own
A nd
| mastered it. Yes life mastered the
thing of death that fought for the life in
me, and when 1 knew that l had thrust
| it from me my life went out of me.
And yet l don't know. If it had been
| that l died-tkat Pierson died. should
not be telling this story. l awoke, with n
| sense of warmth, among tall grass and the
| life giving sun on my face, and raising
myself 1 looked out on far reach of moor,
the sun of tine daybreak caught in the vel
! low grass tops. Noperson-no living thing
! was in view. Yes, there was n house on a
! near road, but where was the battlemented
| house of the night before? And l saw
| Pierson sleeping at my side, and then rails
| ing himself he turned on me a fearful,
| questioning stare. l noticed our wheels
! lying at our sides, as if we had fallen from
| them where we were. And then l had q
| pain at the throat, and, feeling there, knew
| it had been torn and was still bleeding,
| and Persons throat had some unaccount-
! able mark.
Shortly we began to question each other
| in hoarse, unnatural voices, and his story
| was as mine. Vet we said nothing in sur
prise We did not call each other liars.
/ For VIC knew And so, too lame to mount
| even when VIC found the path we turned
| toward the house we had seen-limping
with aching muscles.
Tho house proved to be the inn VIC had
| been seeking in the nights storm. There
| we breal,faStgd, and then began to ask in
| the taprOom of the Sieur de Bellaire of the
| house of the Bronze Fox. Perhaps they
did not understand, for as we questioned
| they skunk away But barefooted men
diCant u brown cOwled monk, who was
listening, camo forward crossing himself
and surprising lis with excellent English.
You passed night III the house of the
! Bronze Fox
eyes. Who is this Sieur de Bellaire?"
''Thcre is none. lie died in Henri
| Quat-e's reign"
'Ho died? And the house,"
There is only the cellar where the house
was -
| Ana Wn2J CT IsllU VIC saw:
"Who knuwS!'' The monk paused
strangely.
Have yoU ever heard that there may be
| dead who try to steal the life from the liv-
ing!" he said, with strange, searchful
eyes on INC. We paused, looking at each
other, and thcn, too lntc-for the monk
| had gone-tTicd to inquire of the men in
the inn. They but stared at us stupidity,
not understanding US.
Pierson pulled Inc ont into tho SUM-
shine, his face ashcu, and motioncd to our
wheels. 1 understood. and with that
same impulse of flight too, mounted.
The sun had dried tho mud on the road,
the summer morning drove the night out
| Of orr brains, and rs we wheeled along,
our pulses again beating regularly, the
events OF the night grew DINNER. They
seemed but parts of Il nightmare. 1t was
| rs if We both had had fall in the storm
| that had left us unconscious unil dawn,
that had put the same scars on our
| throats, that had stirred the same fancies
| in our brains. Nor now can we be posi-
tive that it was else than dream-an ac-
| sdent, when in the tempest we wheeled
| out of our path, and the WEAKNESS of uttey
| exhaustion wrought strange delusions.-
| St. james Budget.