Wheeling Sunday register. [volume] (Wheeling, W. Va.) 1882-1934, 1898-11-13
CHAPTER III.
A DEAD MANS HAND.

| I had taken rooms temporarily at
| the Savoy Hotel, not knowing how
| long it might be ere l should be moved
| in spirit TO desert London; and that
night, instead of looking in at the
| club as l had meant. l went from the
| theatre straight to the Savoy.
There was fire burning in my room
! and l drew up chair before it to
smoke an unlimited number of cigar
cites, and to think of Karine Cunning
ham.
l had parted from Farnham outside
the theatre, and had made an appoint
| ment to meet him next day at dinner,
which he was to eat with me at my
hotel.
/ l felt no inclination for bed, nor was
l in the least sleepy, and yet, before an
| hour had passed, l must have fallen
into a dose.
Suddenly | was awakened by the i'm
preston of having heard sound.
looked around me, half-dazed still
from my dreams. The fire had died
down, and l had left myself without
any other light. Only ruddy glow
fingered on her hearth, and a small
clock on the mantlepiece just above
lightly chimed out the hour of two.
| must have dreamt the sound. I
! told myself, for all was silent in the
sleeping hotel, and even the rattle of
cabs outside was dulled. Still the i'm
preston fingered, and I could hardly
persuade myself that l had not heard
Harvey Farnham's voice calling my
name, and finishing with a gurgling
despairing cry for help, the horror of
iol, boI oh; I'D hlnnd in my
veins, even in my sleep.
Though the fire was dead, the room
was still warm, and / hardly knew
why / should be so cold. Neverthe-
less, felt chilled to the bone, and |
was glad enough to get into bed as
quickly as l could. Several times l
was on the point of falling asleep
again, but. at just the critical point
between reflectiveness and sinking into
the soft depths of slumber, | awoke
with an almost convulsive start, and a
remembrance of the cry l had heard
OF dreamt. l was sure it must have
been the latter, although, l told myself
there might actually have been some
fracas in the street which, in my
sleep, | had confused with a dream of
Harvey Farnham.
Resigning myself to wakefulness at
last, l began to plan out the pro-
gramme if the next week, and wonder
how soon l might avail myself of
Lady Tressidy's invitation to call. She
was at home on Sundays informally,
she had said, whenever she happened
to be in town during the winter,
though Thursday was her day" dur
ing the season.
now, the thursday following would
be Christmas Day (this most eventful
night being Christmas Eve of last
year,, but l did not see why I might
not look in for few moments on
the ensuing Sunday. 1t had only been
because Sir Walters affairs rendered
short stay in town necessary, that
they were spending Christmas In
Park-lane. They would probably go
away in few days, and | could not
afford to lose my chance; for though
I had admired many women in my
| time. l had never yet seen one whom
l wished to make my wife, until Karine
Cunningham's lovely face had risen
fair and sweet as a new moon that
mingled in silver with the rose of sun
set-over my horizon.
I had laughed at men who had
gravely discussed the possibility OF
love at first sight, but now I began
to realize, half-shamefacedly, that it
was not a thing to be convinced of
through argument, but by thrilling,
magical experience. l would have
staked my life that Karine Cunning
hams heart and mind were all that
her face presaged of them, and l re,
solved that, if she were to be won, l
would put my very life into the at
tempt to win her.
So thinking, and so resolving. I fell
at last from waking dreams to sleep
ing ones, hoping dimly, as I slipped
over the edge of realities, that they
might be of Karine Cunningham. But
they were not of her. Hardly had
slumber got its hold upon me. when
| saw myself by the river, looking
down into a swiftly rushing tide. 1t
seemed to be somewhere in the coun-
try, though l had little thought for my
surroundings; and I was conscious
that I was watching anxiously for the
appearance of some object, whose ma
ture l did not accurately know. It
| had been daylight in my vision at
first-a cold, grey, wintry daylight
but suddenly night fell, with the rapid
ity that all changes come and go in
dreamland and the only light was a
| spot of phosphorescent radiance that
lay just under the surface of the
water, floating gradually down to-
wards me. | knew, in my sleep, that
| my eyes were destined to behold some
sight of horror, yet I was bound, in a
| species of frozen fascination, to the
spot where | stood. forced to wait for
| the coming Of the light and its revel-
| alton Of mystery.
Slowly it was borne along with the
| tide, until having reached a bend in
| the river opposite the spot where l was
standing. il ceased TO move. | stopped
| down and saw that the pale light
shone forth from great diamond on
| the finger of dead mans hand The
body was family and darkly outlined !;
even the floating arm might also have
| been a floating mass of blackened
| river weed; but the hand was white as
alabaster, and as / bent over it, star
| ing down, one Of the fingers moved
and beckoned. Then l woke with a
| loud cry-"Harvey Farnham,"
l had gone through a good many
dangers in my rowing life. and had
passed through many queer adven-
ture, believing that | could still
boast mistaken nerves. Neither was