The record-union., 1897-01-17

:
day Or two. You've caught bad chill
and are bit feverish. that's ALL
Il almost carried hini back to the inn.
and put him TO bed like child. Then
sent Josef off for the nearest doctor.
twenty miles away, and went back tc
Lindsay's room. There I sat watch
ing ham sleeping. heavily. and l could
not take my eyes from his face lying
white ON the pillow in the faint light.
As I waited for the day TO come.
everything came across my mind-the
furious storm, the strange carvings In
the tomb, the dead girl and the living
woman / saw kissing him. Was it a liv-
ing woman, l wondered: and how had
she the face and form of the dead? All
manner of horrible fancies came into
my head, all the CHASTITY legends l had
ever heard, all the tales of were-wolves
and vampires, all centering ON the little
red mark | could see on LindSay's
throat as he lay with one hand under
his head. l tried TO shake off the idea
but / could help trying 10 connect that
strange mark with the dream he told
me and with what L had myself seen.
Long before the day came | knew that
could not be esatisfied until had again
found the cave tomb and seen what
was there. / could not leave him alone.
yet l felt as if I must needs go As l
wondered how 1 could manage it, and
when the doctor would come, the sun
shot up over the pine trees, and threw
the window open TO catch the morning
breeze.
g Peace be with you. my son., said a
CHEEKY voice below me.
1t was the village priest. a fine old
fellow, with a gray white beard and a
simple face. We had often had a chat
with him, and Lindsay especially had
been struck with his old-world manner
and his quiet dignity. l always thought
he was the kind of man you would go TO
in time of trouble, and you may imag-
inc how glad was to see him then.
Wait moment, father l called
softly. i want to speak to YOU
We sat on the little bench outside the
inn, and l told him that Lindsay was
very i'll, and asked him to stay with him
during the morning, as | had TO go away
for few hours 1 did not say anything
about the tomb to him then, or about
the woman in the forest; my fancies
seemed almost absurd out in the bright
sunshine. But / said a little about Lind
says dreams, and the old man looked
grave when | spoke of the mark on his
throat. He was silent for a moment.
and then he said;
There are things you have not told
me, my son; you know more about
these that you call dreams. 1 have lived
all my life among the forests and
| mountains and l have known things
a hOIIt which 7 do mot ta Il x-o1, rJ,5I
dren of the cities only believe what you
see with your own eyes. | do not ask
your confidence; you will tell me all the
right time. Go quickly, and the saints
guard you. l will watch by your friend
and pray
II felt little ashamed of not telling
the old man everything. but 1 wanted to
| be more certain first, so 1 promised to
tell him on my return. Everything
booked SO bright and cheerful in the
spring sunlight, the fresh green on the
trees and the river dancing and tum-
bling down the ravine, that almost be-
| gam to think that it was 1 who had
| dreamed 1t all. Twas not very long in
| reaching the place where Lindsay had
been painting that morning, but it took
| me some time 10 find the little clearing
| in the forest. At last 1 came across it
| quite Unexpectedly. and the place looked
| so different in the sunshine that I
| hardly recognized it. But there was no
| lnistalling the great square rock, COW
cred with creepers and moss, except in
the blackened cleft, where the lightning
had struck. The stones We're piled up
| in the entrance still, but when | pulled
them down and stood in the cool. dark
| passage with the rock steps before me. I
| felt for a moment as if | could not go
down there alone, but / entered. Moth
| ing was changed; there was the carved
| head as cruelty beautiful as before, and
| the taIwny eyes of the serpents in her
| hair glittered in the light as I passed
| You may not believe what | am going to
| tell you, but L am trying to describe
| everything exactly as it happened.
1T was not until / stood in the rock
| chamber with the carved and painted
| walls that I felt there was some diff
| ference. Perhaps you do not know the
! strange sensation when it comes over
| you suddenly that you are not alone,
| though you can see or hear nothing
| That was I felt as l stood in front
| of the screen of bronze. and when went
| behind it, incredible and impossible as
| it was, I only felt a dull sort of wonder
at what l saw. The girl lay ON the slab
| of black marble just as when we first
| saw her, the little white hands crossed
| on her breast; but then She was dead,
and now she was only asleep. A faint
| rosy flush tinged her cheeks, her lips
were just parted. and her breast heaved
| gently in quiet, untroubled breathing
| She was the loveliest woman I ever
| saw. but her beauty failed to move me,
| for even as I looked at her l thought of
| Lindsay's poor. worn face, and felt that
| the warm blood in her lips and cheeks
was his. l hated her for her very
| beauty, yet the fascination of it held
| me. / half stretched out my hand to
| grip the delicate throat and crush out
| the unreal, stolen life; and then her red
| hips seemed to smile with a tremulous
| tenderness and a mad desire came over
me to bend down and kiss them once.
| But again Lindsay's face came between,
| and turned away and went slowly out
| of the recess, and up the stairs up into
| the daylight. AS I passed the carved
| Medusa head, / noticed vaguely a long
| ffssure in the rock wall. where 1 could
| recollect it had been smooth and un-
| broken before. The pine woods were
| quite still in the MONDAY heat, so still
that all the world seemed asleep and I
almost started when a dry twig cracked
| under my feet. 1t was late in the after
noon when 1 got back to the inn and
| went up to Lindsay's room. The old
priest met me with hand lifted.
Hush, my son. he said 'he is
sleeping again. He has said strange
! tl,i 1,%esa ms h1lt
| awoke he was too weak to talk much.
hos