The Wichita daily eagle. [volume] (Wichita, Kan.) 1890-1906, 1898-03-16
The Friendly Foe,
"a wierd story by Miss Coleridge From
Cornhilrs. In Six Parts.)
PART v


PART v.
This is some jest said sterniy. az
was sent for TO attend deathbed. Take
me to the penitent."
1T is 1 that am dying"
Are you mad?'' I demanded. MANY a
time have 1 seen death; never with eyes
| and cheeks like these
| He that has not an hour 10 live is no
nearer death than I am. I shall not see
| the sun rise tomorrow
She spoke with such conviction that 1
staggered back, Keeling under the shock.
You are ILL., she said solicitousIy, ris-
! ing from her knees. Holy Virgin, what
shall 1 do? Help. Helpr'
l summoned all the strength of mind
! that l possessed.
DO not call, my daughter. 1t is only q
passing weakness. The way hither is long
l am but lately recovered from severe
indisposition. Let me restr'
Some excuse of this kind think made
| Whatever ii was she accepted il, and stood
watching me for a minute or two. Then,
seeing that I was better, she said, with
great gentleness:
1T was not good TO send you out on such
a wild night this. You should have
stayed at home and slept. II grieves me
so, to see that / have made you ILL., I did
not think Of this, when I asked my father
to send priest. l have hardly ever been
allowed one but you are very like some
one that l have seen-I cannot feel as if
you were stranger. I could believe any
thing that you said-I know 1 could. Are
you glad to think how greatly it comforts
me to see your
Il would give the remnant of my years
if that could be of any service to you" 1
said, striving not to say it too fervently.
She was quiet for a moment-then,
drawing a chair close TO the sofa on
which 1 had fallen back, she resumed:
Il will not weary you with making
long confession. 1 think 1 can say what
is on my mind better like this. trust
your face"
She hesitated.
1T is dreadful thing. At first thought
dared not say it to any one. 1t was
wicked of me even to think it."
She hid her face.
But you, you are older; you may not
have very long to live either. Things
look so different then. If you said it,
could believe it. I know I could"
Once more she hesitated. The wind had
risen again in all its fury, and was howl
ing outside the window.
Satan tempJs US" she said.
eyes," I said. Satan tempts US"
She turned her face away, clasped her
hands tightly, and went on.
II do not know how to say 1t. 1t was
like this. l was at a dance, and very
happy. I think I never was so happy in
my life I never danced with any one be-
fore. There came a moth, and 1T was go
ing to burn itself. He saved it; and then
he said: What matter if it had died, for
we were all like moths There is moth
ing more.
''He told a lie.'
81 knew it, 1 knew it." she cried. "Say
thatl Look at me as you say 1t! Say:
I believe we live again.
Il believe that we live again." said
solemnly, answering her gaze with per-
feet truthfulness. The anguish passed
away; the strained hands loosened. She
bent her head and closed her eyes. When
she spoke again, she said in whisper:
ut is all well. How good of you to come!
He said he would believe 1t if told him.
could not tell him. He made me feel as
If 1 did not know. I could only-will you
say this to him for me? All, no! 1 for
got. You must never tell any one"
You shall tell him yourself"
A light, first of wonder, then of the
happiness of those who see a vision,
dawned in her eyes. ] was still half in
heaven with her, when the Count entered.
She told him that L had been ill-that I
ought not to have come out at night.
L am greatly obliged to you for your
kindness" The Count addressed himself
to me with a graceful, though condo
scending bow. The Abbot is informed of
the reasons for which secrecy is impera-
tive" he continued. Il feel sure that you
will hold me excused. But we must not
suffer you to go hence without a draught
of wine" His daughter went before him.
1 followed down the dark staircase into
a hall-th3 same evidently as that into
which 1 had peeped from the window Of
the boudoir. 1t lay in darkness now;
even the fire burned low. The Count
carried lamp.
Strange figures. stranger faces, met my
eyes. GOat-footed creatures were driving
airy chariots over my head; cupids and
fauns and things half man, half beast or
bird, were at their widest revelry around
me. Here stood rhomme arme, his visor
up, nothing but vacant blackness behind
it. There two colossal heads, man and
woman. leered at each other. Garlands |
of carved fruit and flowers. amidst which |
squirrels, monkeys, and little owls were |
playing, wreathed pillar and post of the |
by which we had come down. |
No two were alike.
In front of the fire stood a table; on it |
t tray of polished brass, holding a flask |
Of fine Venetian work, and some glasses.
He seated himself in silence. l did the |
same.
A French clock on its bracket struck, |
or rather tolled. an hour after midnight.
Lifting his dark eyes, the Count fixed |
them steadily upon me. / feared his rec |
ignition too much to meet them, for he |
and 1 had looked at each other in the |
eyes once before. 1t is impossible to mask |
the soul when she is sitting at her open
windows. But he had no suspicion.