The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1898-01-16
MY DAY OF DOOM.
BY EDGAR FAyCETT.
Copyrighted. 1897. by Edgar Fawcett)

they really words, and had a voice really
pronounced them? was yet but half awake
and l rose from my bed and glanced at
the clock on my bedroom mantel which told
me that l had slept unaccustomedly late.
not even the sharp winter sunshine pouring
through my windows could dissipate the
solemnity of that poignant little sentence:
You shall die to-day
It kept haunting me while dressed, while
I breakfasted, while 1 glanced over my
morning newspaper. had always been the
reverse of what is called a morbid man.
but since the death OF one infinitely dear
to me I had often been preyed upon by
moods Of acute melancholy.
Lillian Arden would have been my wife If
she had lived a fortnight longer than the
day on which fate had so cruelty predicted
that she should perish-and with an awful,
agonizing suddenness.
Her -other. Prescott Arden, was my
dearest friend.
Classmates at Yale, we had become bound
together by an intimacy more than frater-
nal. Afterward the trend of our careers
had differed widely. Each had a small for
tune, and each had been helped by it to
seek distinction and success. Long before
1 plighted troth with Arden's sister I had
set up my studio in New York a full
fedged painter of landscapes. Long, too,
before this important period Arden had
been graduated at the medical college as a
physician.
My engagement to his sister had naturally
drawn us closer together T4ilian's horribly
sudden death from pneumonia had frightened
the bond. Arden was prose itself. With
large, warm, sympathetic heart, he never
theless hOuted my idealisns. In the first
anguish Of my grief at Lian's loss / told
him of how I believed-ffrmly and devoutly
believed-that her spirit then and hence
forth, would be my guardian angel.
He had scarcely restrained at this admis-
sion his native skepticism and irony. I re-
membered both as I now betook myself
through the crisp, wintry weather to his
near dwelling. / do not wish to avow that
/ still believed in Lilian's watchfu protec-
ton. But that strange sentence: you shall
die to-day" made me remember with in
tense vividness the depth and fervor of
my former passionate trust
Suddenly, while walked along Fifth ave-
nue.. in a portion of it not far from the Res
ervoir, though on the opposite side, most
appalling thing occurred. An immense lad
der hung transversely in front of a build
ing, tumbled headlong upon the pavement.
In second one of the two painters whom
It had served as scaffolding, was killed
and the other horribly injured. AS the
crash sounded close behind me I felt
slight pain in one shoulder. But distress and
sympathy soon made me forget it till some
body at my side, amid the immense crowd
touched my elbow and said:
You had. sir, the most fearfully narrow
escape. That big ladder, as it FELL just
grazed your shoulder"
"Yes?" l answered, rather vaguely. Those
curious words, you shall die to-day" had
required to me-
good hour had passed before 1 reached
the house of Prescott Arden. For a while
we spoke together of nothing but the re-
cent CHASTITY accident in the neighboring
avenue. 1 described to him, with perhaps
more realism than he may have found at
all palatable, the shocking spectacle. the
dense packed multitude, the excited auto
crazy of the police, the arrival of the
dangerous ambuIances. Finally 1 told him
of my own hairbreadth delivery from death.
This impressed him greatly; but his calm
and genial face grew somewhat austere as
] mentioned the matter of that singular
warning voice.
Still, he spoke very amicably after I had
finished. pressing one of my hands between
both his own.
Alfred" he said, "all this is the merest
nervous fantasy You heard no voice what
ever, as your reason must already have as
sured you And though tine thought is
beautiful and picturesque. that poor, dear
I4illian's spirit saved you a short time ago
from destruction, still. like many another
charming dream, it is woven from fabric
of the merest mist"
You rationalists," I answered, ''are so
arbitrary Prescott. You deny SO vigorously
ALFRED, Alfred he broke in with un-
wonted gentleness, we've talked over these
questions such scores of times. Be it as you
please. Believe, if you will. that the voice
really came from mystic, supernatural
sources; believe. if you will, that Lillian's
spirit has lately shielded you from death
You're respondent and nervous, my dear
boy. Come with me to Silvians for bite
of luncheon; it's nearly O'Clock. Wen
have fiagon Of Chianti and a fowl that
no chef in town could cook more capably"
Where" asked, lis Silviani's?'
But a street or two away. He's clever
little Italian who has spent ten years or so
in Paris. His restaurant is new, but 1t is
:. gaining vogue every day. Each time 1 lunch
there l like it better
eThe name, Slviani," said, dreamiIy,
has kind of soothing, idyllc sound. Its
posSeSsor ought TO be immensely Suave and
well hammered"
He's a civil enough little Italian. but
they tell ME that he has married a French
wife of whose frisky imprudence he is
fiercely jealous. l heard that violent con-
Jugal quarrel took place the other evening
in the presence of a horrid little coterie of
diners. That will be very bad for Silviani
il it happens again"
When we had entered the trim, clean res
taurant and seated ourselves at one OF the
inviting tables, clad in snowy linen and
Epred with a cluster of long. slim Italian
bread. declared to Prescott that had not
a shadow of appetite. The excellent Chianti,
however soon gave me taste for the sue
culent grouse which my friend found ready
as a sort of plat du jour. Four or five other
people were in the room besides ourselves.
Two of them. a man and woman, were
Italians, and the melifuous language of the
latter not only harmonized with a pair of
lustrous black eyes, and a face whose out
lines We're sensitive and poetic. but broke
upon my ear with a cadence delicately pleas
Ing.
Prescott saw that my spirits were bettered
by the cosiness and nicely of our environ
ment. ar1 presently began to tell me one of
those crisp, humorous anecdotes which he
of all men can recount to perfection He