Los Angeles herald., 1906-04-08

listening air. Along the gravel path outside
came the tread of many feet approaching the
place of my captivity. My heart throbbed wild
ly with hope, for | made certain that it was the
Baronet and my uncle coming to my rescue. 1t
was not so, however. Sounds of laughter, the
rough voices of men mngllng with the sWeetcf
tones of women, hoated upward to our ears, and
| knew then that it was the party returning
from the vicaragc. They passed quickly beneath
the window of my prson-so quickly that l mad
scarcely time TO realize the stuation-and by
and by were standing. 50 | Judged, on the lawn
at The rear of the Abbey. Then came silence
followed by the twanging of strings, the faint
puftings of wind instruments, and such sounds as
usually the prelude to music and | knew
that they were going to sing some carols for the
ed6cation of the Baronet and the other tenants
of the Abbey
glanced at the artist. Should I give one
loud shout for aid? ] hesitated, lest the cry
should cause him to sheath his dagger in my
breast. | resolved first to make one more at
tempt to burst my bonds, and, eXerting all my
strength, strained desperately at the twisted
silk plungng forward as far as its limited length
would allow careless almost as to whether the
eyes of the artist were on me or not.
And now uprose an outhurst of instrumental
melody which lasted for minute or so. and
then. as the harmony subsidized into fainter keys,
the carol began. 1t was a solo.
Whose tones were those that rose clear
and silvery on the still, frosty air? Was doom
ed to die with Daphnes voice ringing in my
cars? She thought. perhaps that | was in the
library listening to her voice and she was sing
ing with more than ordinary power and sweet
moss. How quickly her Joy would have turned
to terror had she but known my real situation.
".Aha!" screamed the maniac, so loudly that
it could scarcely fail to attract the attention of
those without "Aha! The spirits the spirits!
I knew they would be here. They visit me
every night They know the work that is go
ing on here. -liscn-listcn to their
voices. They are singing your requiem. How
bravey they chanted at the foot of the grey old
cliff the night I flung old Matteo over! What
rare music! All. here they come, sliding down
the moonheams! Cod what throng!' he ex
claimed. sprngrg up cxctedly and striking at
the empty air, which his derium was peopling
with Dhantoms "Ofl off. Do you not sec
them? One cannot move-brcathc in this atmos
phere!"
Nv confused mind heard as in some wert
dream fragments of his mad rawlings mnglinl
fantastically with the words of the carol:
Christ was born on Christmas Day
Wrcathc the holly twinc the bay,
| Christus natus hodc.
! The Babe. the Son, the Holy One of Mary,
| lie is born to set us free
Iaus Deo, the band that connected my two
wrists gave way. was free! And at the same
moment the first stroke of midnight chimed from
! the village steepe.
At that sound the artist snatChed up the dag
ger from the table, and turned towards me.
"Tbe hour is come! Art demands her victim
"Stand off. you devil, or III brain you!"
cried. springing forward with the ends of tn
purple silk trailing from my wrists.
The pistols [ had brought with me lay on tn
table beyond my reach, for the artist stood be