Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1908-03-01
By Arthur W. Marchmont,
Author of
"A Dash for a Throne"

victim of the miscreants who had struck
me down? Was this one of New York
murder dens. of which / had heard ugly
| rumors? Had I been in reality out OF my
mind and kept in close confinement by
these wretches. and had they brought this
dead man to the place and left me with
him in order to account for his death!
Was it to be laid at my door. as the act
of man unaccountable for his acts?
Could 1T, indeed. be possible that In my
mania I had slain him?
rose from beside him with my brain
in a whirl and staggered back into q
chair. looking helplessly about me. l
fought against the damning thought that
his blood might be on my head: and tried
to reason. The man had been killed with
a dagger thrust; that was clear; 1 had
found the weapon by my side on recov-
ering my senses. and / had the empty
sheath in my belt.
1 fetched the knife and tried if it would
fit the sheath. and to my infinite horror
discovered that it did. The agony of that
moment was beyond words. 1t was proof
that my worst fears were but too well
grounded. ..-.-. - -
1 was a murderer!
I sought with the frenzy Of despair to
recall something Of the circumstances
under which the deed had been done. But
in vain. With the return of my reason
all recollection of what had passed during
the period Of my madness had gone.
was sane enough now, indeed, and real
ICED that no one would believe had been
mad when I had done this fearsome
thing. AS a sane man I should be held
responsible for that deed of madness. and
death would be the penalty.
1t was beyond my power to prove my
innocence. Apathy seized upon me then.
/ would make no effort to escape; I would
face the consequences, let them be what
they might.
I sat by the side of my victim dunn
f0, AL <~f~ 1vrofn
lamfty and waited. almost as if the power
TO move and attempt to save myself had
left me.
The stiffness of the death watch was
oppressive, awesome, intolerable. prey
to morbid forecasts of the fate in store
for me. I began to long for the coming of
those who would drag me away to trial
and punishment; 1 saw the grim process
sion of events-my arrest. examination.
my trial, the jeers which my story
would produce. my conviction and, last
ly. the end-a shameful death in the
chair.
Then. all suddenly. the oppressive 81
lence was broken. Not as 1 had antici-
pated, by the coming of the police. but
by woman's cry somewhere above In
the house.
rose, trembling and shivering. so
shaken were my nerves, and as I stood
irresolute the cry was repeated. A cry
for help.
staggered to door at the farther end
of the room and thrust 1t open. To my
left hand was a narrow staircase. Re-
turning for the lamp I passed up the
rickety stairway to room above.
WHO calls?" / asked, as / thrust the
door open and entered the room, holding
the lamp high above my head.
Another cry was the response, this
time low and fear-f1lled.
It came from girl lying bound on the
pallet bed.
set down the lamp and turned to her.
Her face was toward me - the most
beautiful face had ever seen in my life
and as I made to approach the bed, she
shrank from me, her large, lustrous deep
blue eyes filled with horror. and yet an
other cry of fear broke from her lips, as
If she recognized me. "Beppo Serrano!
Holy Mother. protect me!'
At the words I halted abruptly and
stood staring at her. spellbound in sur
prise, admiration and bewilderment.