Year: 1870

DR.. Winter, sitting at his breakfast ia.


BILE, was drying the morning paper, still
damp, and exhaling the odor Of the press


before the fire, while his eyes rested now
and then on number of letters brought
in by the postman.


The Doctor was a middle-aged bache-
lor, wcll-to-do in the world, and having a
comfortable practice. Life had gone on
smoothly enough for him, with scarcely a
break worth recording. He had no mourn
full memories of the past; his affections
had never been blighted; his youth he
had spent in getting rich, and now he
was satisfied with his worldly accumula-
tions, but in no haste to secure aid to dis
sipate them.


But the dead levels of life get strangely
stirred now and then; and as DR.. Winter
unfolded the paper, his eye fell on a para
graph headed:


Sudden Death Our readers will re-
gret to learn of the sudden demise of the
talented young artist, Edgar Percy. lie
was found dead in his apartment last
evening. Hes disease was probably some
organic affection of the heart. We are
yet unable to give further particulars.


" Edgar Percy dead Why, it was
only yesterday afternoon that | met him
in perfect health"


lie took up his hat and gloves with the
intention of visiting Percey's lodgings,
and was carelessl ly putting the letters a
way, when he suddenly exclaimed, g Per-
cys hand! Sealed with black too! II
wonder | did not notice it before. Can
it be possible that he writes to tell me of
his death p


DR.. Winter sat down again, and OPEN
ed the sombrc missye. 1t was dated the
evening before, and sure enough Edgar
Percy's name was signed to it. DR.. |
Winter read:


- My DEAR FRIEND: -" 1t is now time
for us to part-for me to die, for you to
live; and which of us meets the best fate.
God only knows" Do you remember
those words of Socrates, doctor? While
you are reading this l shall be cold
enough, and quiet enough, too The
veil will have been rent apart, and the
darkened glass withdrawn. You will
hear of my death. You will stand over
me and wonder that one so young should
recoil down so suddenly. The world will
raise uplifted hands of astonishment, and
then rush on and forget us ere single
morn has waxcd and waned. And vet it
is the fear of this same cold, Indifferent
world that compels us to rush unbidden
from its haunts. To you the secret is re-
vealed. Remember, it is the secret of the
dead; betray it not. l have taken subtle
and deadly poison; so subtle that it leaves
no trace to betray its presence-so deadly
that in one half hour l shall be corpse.
one half hour! Then the unveiling of
eternity To you, l repeat, l bequcath
his secret. To you l bequeath the task
of finding out why l took my life in nv
own hands, and went out of the world
lreading its power. I might tell you.
They say the deeds of all men shall one
lay be known. All, my God | had
'ather throw myself upon thy mercy, who
lnow'st my sins already, than live to be
1t the mercy of man! My lips shall new
n frame the confession-my pen never
write it. My death alone ends all. With
ne the secret dies. If l lived, it must
become known, dare not betray the trust
# dead man. Come and look at me
Ifter you have read this. Farewell.


EDGAR PERCY"


DIR. Winters astonishment was too vast
o find an immediate utterance. He put
he letter carefully in his pocket, and
vent forth to obey the dead mans sum-
mons, Come and look at me after YOU
ave read this" Ay, that he would.


Standing over the dead in the darkened
arlor, the doctor learned all that the
1orld was ever to know of Edgar Percy's
itting The servant had taken him in
ONE warm water the evening before, and
20 had given her letter to post. Going