The Colfax chronicle. [volume] (Colfax, Grant Parish, La.) 1877-1981, 1896-06-06
with his regiment, fell illatan out-of-the-

with his regiment, fell illat an out-of-the-
way hill station, where duslSy beauty
nursed him back to life, was invalided
home, came to Fernholme, and there
end then fell over head and ears in love
with his cousin; so much in love, in
deed, that it is doubtful if he ever re-
membered how rich she was, and how
the wedding would please all the re-
lations and friends on both sides.
Half the curiosities were repacked,
and he had just stretched out his hand
to take the silver snake from the table,
when a sharp cry of alarm rang through
| the house, and then--ah! he hardly
knew, hardly dared to recall, what fol-
lowed. Only he knew that Rosalie lay
dead upstairs-that she had fallen life
less without an instant's warning. The
doctor had talked IearnedIy about un-
suspected heart disease that had thus
suddenly ended the bright young life.
/ The house was filed by the cries OF
women, for Rosalie had been dear tc
them all; but the man who had loved
her better than his life had no tears to
shed. He sat, still in his evening dress,
in the room where they had parted
he was stunned by the greatness of his
awful grief-vainly trying to realize
that it was really true that Rosalie was
dead.
So the morning found him, and when
the day had well begun it seemed to
him that the silver snake, lying where
Resale had thrown it, stirred strange
| ly, for surely its head was raised and u
shiver ran through all the glistening
coils. He stared at the thing, wonder
| ing if it had power to move while the
hand that had lately flung it down lay
cold and dead. Then, as if stirred by
some weird fascination, he turned his
head slowly towards the long French
windows that still stood open. Pres
| emily he knew why his eyes had been
] drawn thither; he was no longer alone,
for woman stood upon the threshold,
| framed, as it were, in the greenery of
the creeping plants that clustered
upon her face he sprang to his feet with
one word upon his lips, and that was
her name.
"Lachme."
She came towards him, seeming to
| float rather than walk, her every move
ment full of sinuous grace and her foot
fall making no sound upon the soft pile
of the carpet.
"Yes, it is l." she answered, as she fell
at his feet. and her voice was low and
sweet, though strangely monotonous,
like the cooling of dove, my love.
All! did you think / should forget?
And | told you," she answered, laying
a soft brown hand upon his wrist, "that
we should meet again in another land
when the fair face that was thrust be-
tween us then should be but dust. Say,
did not speak the truth?"
"Great heavens, yes!" st. Lawrence
cried, and, as in horror, dragged his
hand from her hold. Was it true, as
the natives had said, that this was some
witchwoman. and had her charms had
power to rob him of his love?
'Yes, spoke the truth" she cried,
after pause, during which John ST.
Lawrence strobe up and down the room.
and her black eyes followed his I'M
ceasingly. "You told me you must re-
turn to your own country, to wed the
wife that had been chosen for you BY
your people, for you were poor and she
was rich. But it was me, and me alone,
you really loved"
II was mad, but had not met her
them" st. Lawrence muttered, and he
hated himself for ever having uttered
such wild, foolish words that to her
had seemed true.
Lachme heard the words, low as they
were spoken, and sudden flush, half
iDcredulous, half scornful and wholly
angry, lit up her dusky eyes. On the
table between them the silver coils of |
the snake cleaned and glimmered in |
the morning light, and more than once |
her brown hands stole cautiously |
towards it as towards an instrument of |
vengeance, only to pause half way.
81 asked if nothing could make your
cousins riches yours except by marry
ing her." Lachme went on, land you re- |
piled that nothing could but her death.
All, you start, now; You had forgotten |
those words, but you remember them
well enough now. Then, told you We
should meet again when she was dead,
ond you, having all her wealth, would
he free to claim me from all the world,
free to marry me. my love-my love-"
"You are mad to speak like that to
me, Lachme," he said, and his tone,
more than any words, told her of the
gulf that yawnetl befween then,
when left India told you that the
parting was for ever. You can be moth
ing to me now"
"But she is dead-dead, as foretold,"
Lachme said, and he recalled with a
thrill of remorse how he had made his
engagement to his English cousin an
excuse for leaving this woman.
"You need not speak of her." he an
swered, his voice, in spite of his self