The McCook tribune. (McCook, Neb.) 1886-1936, 1896-04-17

gerouS that he did not trust any
of the servants to take her
food, but attended her constantly him
self. And s%ingularly enough, with him
| she was always gentle and pliable. She
never yielded to one Of her paroXysms
in his presence. 1t was pitiful to see
how her a face would light up at
his coming, and her great eyes lose
their restless brilliancy and grow soft
and almost tender. She talked to him
c%onfdingly, as a little child might; al
ways of things long past, incidents con-
nected with her childhood. She told
him ~plaintive stories of the brooks she
had played beside, the birds nests she
had found and the nice books she had
read. She used to beg for flowers, and
he brought them to her in lavish pro-
fusion, and she would Irvine the red
roses and the white lilies in her black
hair, and fasten knots of them upon her
bosom. All memory of the dark two
years just past seemed to have fed from
her; she never alluded to any past save
that which crowned the years of her
childhood. But if a stranger ventured
into her presence, then all was changed.
It was frightful to see her. Her eyes
became like livid Goals, her fair face
purpled, her pale lips were drawn away
from the sharp, white teeth, and she
took on all the form of an ~infuriate
demon.
It was the first of September-a wild
night of storm and wet. Ralph had re-
tired early, but there was no sleep for
him. He had fallen into a kind of wax
ing dream, when he was aroused by
what seemed to him like the stealthy
closing Of a door. He started up and
listened, but all was still, saw the roar
of the waves on the beach and the
thunder of the wind in the chimneys.
He must have been deceived, he said to
himself. He was absolutely getting
weak and nervou He lay back and
composed himself to sleep. But in vain.
He thought of Imogene. Perhaps he
had forgotten to secure her door prop
erly when he took up her supper. He
sprang out of bed, threw on a dressing
gown, and hurried up to the third
story. He tried the door. 1t was fast.
He listened at the keyhole. All within
was quiet. He fastened back to his
chamber and flung himself down On the
bed. He was falling into a state of
semi-forgetfulness, when he heard
Quito howl dolorously. Since the con-
fnement of Imogene the dog had been
suffered to go at large, as he showed
no disposition to be quarrelsome. There
was something in that midnight wall |
that grated ominously on the nerves
of Mr.. Trenholme. He was not a su-
perstitious man, but it always startled
him to hear a dog howl at night.
He rose again, and dressed himself
in haste. And, led by some uncontrol- |
liable impulse, he stepped into the pas
sage, walking up the corridor until he
came opposite the door of the haunted
chamber. There he stopped. He could
not well do otherwise. A bright glare
of light shot through the keyhole, and
he heard a strange, rushing sound with
in. He tried the handle. 1t turned,
but the door was secured on the inside. !
With Il blow Of his foot he sent it
shattered from the hinges; and stood
transfixed by the sight he beheld.
Before the great mirror, dressed in
the bridal robe Of the dead Marina, her
black hair covered with the blood
stained veil, and wreathed with the
faded orange flowers, stood Imogene.
Her dress left her neck and arms bare,
and they literally blazed with jewels;
the diamonds that for years had been
the pride of the Trenholmes. Her
cheeks were crimson with strange ex-
element, her eyes blazed like stars.
All around her she had piled everything
Of q ccmbustible nature that the room
contained, and she was surrounded by
smoke and fame. Even as he looked,
her light dress was a mass of fire. He
forward, but she waved him
back.