The Madison journal. (Tallulah, Madison Parish, La.) 1888-current, 1915-07-03

his lips parted.
She waved her hand in the direction
| of the Buddha Have you never petit
toned your too solid friend over there
to unravel the mystery for you? In
the quiet of certain lonely, speculative
| hours have you not wondered where
you had seen me before-long, long
before the night in London? In all the
years that you have been trying to
convince yourself that Frederic is not
| your son, has there not been the vision
| Of"
What are you saying to me? Are
you trying to tell me that you are Ma
tilde?"
IF not Matilde. then who am I.
pray?" she demanded.
He sank back, frowning. 1T cannot
be possible. | would know her thou
| sand years from now You cannot
trick me into believing But, in
Gods name, who are you?" He leaned
forward again, clutching the edge of
the table. by heaven, ! sometimes
| think you are a ghost come to haunt
me, to torture me. What trick, what
magic is behind all this? Has her
soul, her spirit, her actual being found
a lodging place in you. and have you
been sent to curse me for"
She rose halfway out of her chair,
leaning farther across the table. Eyes,
James Brood. represent the spirit Of
Matilde Valeska, if you will have it so.
Not sent to curse you, but to love you.
That's the pity of it all. | swear to
you that it is the spirit of Matilde that
urges me to love you and TO spare you
now. 1t is the spirit of Matilde that
stands between her son and death. But
it is not Matilde who confronts you
here and now, you may be sure of that.
Matilde loved you. She loves you now,
even in her grave. You will never be
able to escape from that wonderful
| love of hers. If there have been times
and heaven knows there were many,
l know-when l appeared to love you
| for myself, | swear to you that / was
moved by the spirit of Matilde. II
am as much mystified, as greatly puZ-
| zled as yourself. | came here to hate
you, and | have loved you-yes. there
were moments when / actually loved
you"
Her voice died away into a whisper.
For many seconds they sat looking
| into each others eyes, neither pos
sessing the power to break the strange
| spell of silence that had fallen upon
| them.
No, it is not Matilde who confronts
| you now, but one who would not spare
you as she did up to the hour of her
death. You are quite safe from ghosts
from this hour on, my friend. You
will never see Matilde again, though
you look into my eyes till the end of
time. Frederic may see, may feel the
spirit of his mother, but you-ah, no!
You have seen the last of her. Her
blood is in my veins, her wrongs are in
my heart. 1t was she with whom you
fell in love and 1t was she you married
six months ago. but now the curtain is
lifted. Don't you know me now, James?
Can your memory carry you back
twenty-three years and deliver you
from doubt and perplexity? Look
closely, l say. l was six years old
then and"
Brood was glazing at her as one
stupefed. Suddenly he cried out in a
loud voice: Heaven help me, you
are-you are the little sister? The
little Therese?"
She was standing now. leaning far
over the table. for he had shrunk down
into his chair.
THE little Therese, yes! Now do
you begin to see? Now do you begin
to realize what came here to do? Now
do you know why married you? Isn't
it clear to you? Well, l have tried
to do all these things so that might
break your heart as you broke hers. l
came to make you pay!" She was
speaking rapidly, excitedly now. Her
voice was high-pitched and unnatural.
Her eyes seemed to be driving him
deeper and deeper into the chair, fore
ing him down as though with a giants
hand. THE little, timid, heart-broken
Therese who would not speak to you,
nor kiss you, nor say good-by to you
when you took her darling sister away
from the Bristol in the Kartnerring
more than twenty years ago. All, how
l loved her-how ] loved her! And
how hated you for taking her away
from me. Shall ever forget that we'd
ding night? Shall l ever forget the
grief, the loneliness, the hatred that
dwelt in my poor little heart that
night? Everyone was happy-the
whole world was happy-but was /?
was crushed with grief. You were
taking her away across the awful sea
and you were to make her happy, so
they said-ai-e, so said my beloved,
| joyous sister. You stood before the
altar in St. Stephens with her and
promised-promised every
thing. / heard you. / sat with my
mother and turned to ice, but heard
you. All Vienna, all Budapest said that
you promised naught but happiness to
each other. She was twenty-one. She
was lovely-ah, far lovelier than that
wretched photograph lying there in
| front of you. 1t was made when she
was eighteen. She did not write those
words on the back of the card. l wrote
them-not more than a month ago, be-
| fore l gave it to Frederic. To this
house she came tWenty-three vaara