The Chanute times. [volume] (Chanute, Kan.) 1897-1913, 1897-10-29
CHAPTER XIH.-(CoNr1NunD.)

in ENtNVt '
CHAPTER &IH.-(CoNTINUED)
Earnestly pleading with her friend,
Clara advances toward the window.
She, too, has suffered under the vast
ing influences Of suspense. Her lace
has lost its youthful freshness; no
delicate flush of color rises on 1t wnen
she speaks. The soft gray eyes which
won Franks heart in the by-gone time
are sadly altered now. In repose they
have dim and wearied look. In ac-
ton they are wild and restless, like
eyes suddenly awakened from startling
dreams. ROBBED in white, her soft,
brown hair hanging loosely over her
shoulders, there is something weird
and ghostlike in the girl, as she moves
nearer and nearer to the window in
the full light of the moon, pleading for
music that shall be worthy of the mys-
terry and the beauty of the night.
Twill you come in here If l play to
your" Mrs. Crawford asks. 1T Is a
risk, my love, to be out in the night
air." Y.
mo! no! I like it. Play-while l
am out here, looking at the sea. 1t
quiets me; it comforts me; it does me
good"
She glldes back, ghostlike, over the
lawn. Mrs. Crawford rises and puts
down the volume that she has been
reading. 1t is a record of explorations
in the Arctic seas. The time has gone
by when the two lonely women could
take an interest in subjects not con-
nected with their own anxieties. Now,
when hope is fast failing them-now,
when their last news of the Wanderer
and the Sea-Mew is news that is more
than two years old-they can read OF
nothing, but dangers and discoveries,
losses and rescues, in the terrible Polar
seas.
Unwillingly, Mrs Crawford puts her
hook aside and goes to the piano-Mo-
zart's "Air in A, with Variations" lies
open on the instrument. One after an
other she plays the lovely melodies,
so simply, so purely beautiful, of that
unpretending and unrivalled work. At
the close of the ninth variation (Clara's
favorite) she pauses, and turns toward
the garden. .r
"Shall / stop there?" she asks.
There is no answer. Has Clara wan
dered away out of hearing Of the mu-
sic that she loves-the music that har-
monies so subtly with the tender
beauty of the night? Mrs. Crawford
rises and advances to the window.
No! there is the white figure stand
ing alone on the slope Of the lawn
the head turned away from the house;
the face looking out over the calm sea,
whose gently ripping waters end in
the dim line on the horizon, which is
the line of the Hampshire coast.
Mrs. Crawford advances as far as
the path before the window and calls
to her. "Clara"
Again there Is no answer. The white
figure still stands immovably in its
place. With signs of distress in her
face, but with no appearance of ALARM
Mrs. Crawford returns to the room. Her
own sad experience tells her what has
happened. She summons the SER
wants, and directs them to wait in the
drawing room until she calls to them.
This done, she returns to the garden,
and approaches the mysterious figure
on the lawn.
Dead to the outer world, as If she lay
already in her grave-insensible to
touch, insensible to sound, motionless
as stone. cold as stone-Clara stands
on the moonlit lawn, facing the sea-
ward view. Mrs. Crawford waits at her
side, patiently watching for the change
which she knows is to come. "Cata-
lepsy," as some call it-"hysteria," as
others say-this alone is certain, the
same interval always passes; the
same change always appears.
It comes now. Not change in her
eyes; they still remain wide open, fixed
and CLASSY. The first movement Is a
movement of her hands. They rise
slowly from her side, and waver in the
air like the hands Of person cropping
in the dark. Another interval-and
the movement spreads to her lips; they
part and tremble. A few minutes
more, and words begin to drop, one by
one, from those parted lips-words
spoken in lost, vacant tone, as If she
is talking in her sleep.
Mrs. Crawford looks back at the
house Sad experience makes her sus-
picious of the servants curiosity. Sad
experience has long since warned her
that the servants are not to be trust
ed within hearing Of the wild words
which Clara speaks in the trance. Has
any one of them ventured into the gar
den? No. They are out of hearing at
the window, waiting for the signal
which tells them that their help is
needed.
Turning toward Clara once more,
Mrs. Crawford hears the vacantly-ut7
tered words falling faster and faster
from her lips.
Frank: Frank Frank! Don't drop
behind-don't trust Richard Wardour.
xxyl,tIa ,,o,, oa1 stand koon with the