Freeland tribune. (Freeland, Pa.) 1888-1921, 1899-11-13

upon his face, formed a picture at
which I shuddered.
I bent over him and felt for his
pulse. His hand was cold, but in his
grasp he held peculiar shaped key,
which I saw plainly in the light of the
fire. His lips moved, and without
opening his eyes he said: 1.-THE second
bunch of grapes, the second bunch of
grapes"
"The man is delirious." thought
as I stepped into the hallway.
Madam" L called as peered
around in the darkness, "please bring
me basin of warm water at once" 1
heard no sound except my own voice.
could family see by the light of the
fire that shone from the library that
there were three or four other doors
leading from the hall. One after an
other 1 tried to open them, but they
were all locked fast. 1 ran back into
the room from which I had just come.
The leather-covered lounge was still
drawn up in front of the fire, but the
man was gone. Hooked wildly around
the room, but no sign of him could be
seen. I drew my hand over the lounge
and found my finger showed plainly
on the dusty covering. The fire was
burning low, and I seized my medicine
case from the chair where I had placed
it, stepped into the hall and hastily
opened the front door. Once outside
the house my courage returned, and,
looking back, [ shouted, "Where are
you, sir?" but no answer came. Then
I grasped the door bell ard rang peal
after peal, but all I heard were the
echoes dying away in the empty house.
1 may as well confess that ran to th
railroad station. When I asked the
night watchman who lived at 90 High
street he replied: "I cannot tell you,
sir, as 1 am but little acquainted in
the place" Still puzzling my brain
over the mystery, I remained with him
until the next morning, when the
first train took me home.
The next afternoon, my courrge
having returned, drove over to Mill
vile and went straight to the house
which 1 had visited the previous night.
1 went boldly up the front steps and
was ringing the bell, when a man at
work in the next yard looked over the
low fence.
"There is no one at home, SIR" he
said.
"Where are the people who belong
here?" l asked.
'"They are spending the winter in
Southern California, and have been
away since last September" was his
reply.
On returning to my affice found a
telegram from my sister, who lived in
an adjoining State. In response to it
I started at once, and on arriving at
her home the following morning 1
learned that an elderly physician, a
friend of her husband, was about to
give up active practice. Arrangements
were speedily made and I moved to
my new location.
During the spring and summer I
was kept busy and had but little time
to myself, yet often 1 pondered over
my midnight visit to Millville, trying
to persuade myself that it might be
only delusion of my brain while in
some stage of somnambulism.
One evening, at about 1890, had
returned from professional call and
was about to retire, when picked up
the evening paper, which my thought
full sister always left on my table.
The first item / read was notice in
the society columns: "Miss Mar
guerite Lawton, of Millville, is visit
ing her grandmother, Mrs. Stephen
Powers Lawton, on College avenue. 4"
The name of the town brought to
my mind the mysterious call L had
once answered. I placed the paper
on the table at my elbow. AS I did
so L became aware of feeling as if
some one was in the room. CHANGING
hastily around saw that was alone,
but as my gaze again fell on the table
L saw moving toward me the figure of
a mans hand, holding in its grasp the
same peculiarly shaped key. The
hand moved over the table until it
rested on the paragraph I had just
read, and the key tapped once or
twice on the name, Marguerite.
The hand began to fade; already I
could see to read the letters that were
under it, and, as the shape of the key
began to grow indistinct, 1 seized a
pencil and made sketch of it on the
margin of the paper, opposite the
paragraph.
The key had barely faded from my
view when my bell rang. A man
stood in the door. 'Come at once to
Mrs. Lawton's, College avenue"
In response to my inquiries he re-