The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1904-02-03
CHAPTER XVIII.
LA SoNNAMBULA.

CHAPTER XVIII.
LA soNNAMBULA.
Two hours went by-two long. be-
wildering hours, or so they seemed to
Hilary Aspinwall, crouching in her
dim corner and listening with divided
attention, first, for any signs of dis
turbance in the hall before her; and,
secondly, for that something, hardly
| amounting to sound, which constantly
and with increasing effect testified to
her overwrought nerves that the one
man who unconsciously possessed the
power, to move her was still within
her walls, sharing her watch and more
than partaking in her anxiety. Pain
and pleasure often mingle strangely in
our consciousness, and, though she
knew by the sharp anguish that now
and then overcame her that his
thoughts all ran by her to that lone
chamber where the beautiful stranger
slumbered, yet she could not but ex-
perience, as the proudest women will,
that peculiar delight which comes with
the sense of a beloved ones presence.
Each minute brought its own expert
ence to her; and yet. if the detective
who sat at her side had bethought to
turn his head in her direction, he
would not have heard sigh from her
set lips, or discerned a wandering
glance from her firm and steady eye.
1t was now two o'clock and the
house was still, almost to the point
Of oppression. Only the sound of sway
ing boughs swishing against the walls
was to be heard from without, while
within, there was nothing to disturb
the absolute serenity Of the place, un.
less it was the beating Of Hilary's
heart and the tick Of the great clock
in the library below.
The curtain drawn in front Of her
retreat falls without wrinkle, and is
so transparent that she sees the flare
Of the candle beyond burning like a
hazy star through its meshes. On this
star she has fixed her eyes SO steadily
that she see nothing else, not even
the detective who stands so near her,
with his ear and not his eye bent to-
ward the hall. Are they wasting their
strength in this breathless watching?
Has the danger been overrated, and
would they be better off in their beds
and asleep? Surely yes; for here is
no sign Of lurking mischief in the space
about them, and the hour grows late.
And yet-what sound was that? Did
a hinge creak, or, is fancy, so long
robbed of its prey, cheating our over
strained senses at last?
Hilary Aspinwall asks this question,
but she does not betray her anxiety
by so much as the involuntary catch
ing Of her breath. She feels that Mr..
Gryce is listening and that is enough.
But her eye is on the star I have
spoken Of; and, uddenly-whether it
be fact, or only the effect of her i'm
agination-she perceives that star grow
cloudy. Something is passing between
it and her; something that grows in
size and obscures the light Of the fame,
and finally casts a shadow on. the cur.
tain itself. The sound. which is like
the softest step, fills her with horror
that would unconsciously cause a
shrek to leave her lips, if Mr.. Gryce
were not close at her side. AS it is,
she can hardly refrain from catching
him by the arm and asking him if he
hears and sees this person approaching
him. But his silent and immovable
figure invites no such display of feel
ing, and fixed but trembling she
watches the shadow growing upon the
curtain till, to her secret surprise and
immeasurable relief, it assumes the
proportions, not of a man, hut of
slight and graceful woman. whose out.
lines she is sure she will know, if
But Mr.. Gryce is moving; he has taken
look through the space left at the
side Of the curtain, and now pulls that
curtain back, and she sees nothing that
relieves her, though it is the figure of
the signorina which stands now in the
centre Of the space before her; rather
what fills her with dismay. and sends
the blood in terror to her heart; for the
figure Of her graceful guest is rigid,
as if nodded in clay, and in those wide
open and staring eyes there is no look
of life, but rather the dull glassiness
Of unconsciousness and death. Yet she
stands upright and moves with swift,
unerring steps directly toward them.
"a somnambulist! She is walking
in her sleep" whispered the detective:
and he watches her as if he felt his
own good sense and trained self f-pos-
session vanQuished by the fascination
of her mechanical approach.
But, Just as it seemed as if she were
bent upon directing her steps into their
retreat, she pauses, turns, and sets
her foot upon the staircase. Instantly
he broke FROM the spell which bound
him, and uttering low whistle that
scarcely disturbed the silenc as much
as the rustling of her dress against the
tanisters, he waited unit he heard a.
slight movement in the hall beneath,
which proved that e watchers lie had