A MODERN WITCH.

I.

Never shall I forget my first meeting with Irene Latouche. After travelling all day, I had arrived at my friend Maitland's house to find that dinner had been over for at least an hour. Having taken the precaution of dining during the journey this did not affect me very materially; but my kindly host, who met me in the hall, took it very much to heart.

"We quite gave you up, my dear fellow, we did indeed," he reiterated, grasping my hand with additional fervour each time he made the assertion. "My wife will be so vexed at your missing dinner. You are sure you won't have a bit now? Such a haunch of venison, hung to a turn! One of old Ward's. You know he has taken Glen Bogie this season, and is having rare sport, I am told. Ah, well, if you really won't take anything, we had better join the ladies in the drawing-room."

"But the luggage hasn't come from the station yet," I interposed, "and my dress clothes are in my portmanteau—"

"Nonsense about dress clothes! It will be bed-time soon. You don't suppose anybody cares what you have on, do you?"

With this comforting assurance, Maitland pushed open the drawing-room door, and a flood of light streamed out into the hall. Dazzled by the sudden glare I stepped back, but not before I had caught sight of a most striking figure at the further end of the long room.

"Who on earth is that girl?" I whispered.

"Which? Oh, the one playing the harp, you mean? I might have known that! A rare beauty, isn't she? I thought you would find her out pretty soon!"

Now I am a middle-aged bachelor of quiet tastes, and nothing annoys me more than when my friends poke ponderous fun at me in this fashion. So, ignoring Maitland's facetious suggestion, I calmly walked forward and shook hands with my hostess. She greeted me with her customary cordiality, and in about two minutes I was feeling perfectly at home in spite of my dusty clothes. I now had an opportunity of examining the other guests, who were dispersed in groups about the room. Most of them were people I had frequently met before under the Maitlands' hospitable roof, but the face which had first arrested my attention was that of an absolute stranger.

"I see you are admiring Miss Latouche, like the rest of us," said Mrs. Maitland in a low voice. "Such a talented girl! She can play positively any kind of instrument, and has persuaded me to have the old harp taken out of the lumber-room and put in order for her. She looks so well playing it, doesn't she? Quite like Cleopatra or the Queen of Sheba!"

"She is undoubtedly handsome in a certain style," I replied cautiously. "I don't know whether I admire such a gipsy type myself—"

"Ah, you agree with me then," interrupted my hostess eagerly. "I call it an uncomfortable sort of beauty for a drawing-room. She always looks as if she might produce a dagger at a moment's notice, as the people do in operas. Give me a nice simple girl with a pretty English face, like my niece Lily Wallace over there! But I am bound to say Miss Latouche makes a great sensation wherever she goes. Of course she has wonderful powers."

I was about to inquire in what these powers consisted, when Mrs. Maitland was called away. Left to myself, I could not repress a smile at the comparison she had instituted between her own niece and the beautiful stranger. Lily was well enough, a good-tempered pink and white girl, who in twenty years' time would develop into just such another florid matron as her aunt. And then I looked again at Miss Latouche.

She was seated a little apart from the rest, one white arm hanging listlessly over the harp upon which she had just been playing. Her large dark eyes had a far-away look of utter abstraction from all sub-lunary matters that I have never seen in anyone besides. Masses of wavy black hair were loosely coiled over her head, round a high Spanish comb, and half concealed her brow in a dusky cloud. At first sight the black velvet dress, which swept around her in heavy folds, seemed rather an unsuitable costume for so young a girl. But its sombreness was relieved by a gorgeous Indian scarf, thrown carelessly over the shoulders. I do not know who was responsible for Miss Latouche's get-up, or if she really required an extra wrap. At any rate, the combination of colours was very effective.

Whilst I was speculating vaguely on the probable character of this striking young lady, she slowly rose from her low seat and crossed the room. Her eyes were wide open, but apparently fixed on space, and she moved with the slow, mechanical motion of a sleepwalker. To my intense surprise she came straight towards me, and stood in an expectant attitude about a yard from where I was sitting. Not knowing exactly how to receive this advance, I jumped up and offered her my chair. She waved it aside with a gesture of imperial scorn. Her dark eyes positively flashed fire, and a rich glow flushed her pale olive cheek. I could see that I had deeply offended her.

"I must apologise," I began nervously, "but I thought you might be tired."

Before the words were fairly spoken, I realised the full imbecility of this remark. My only excuse for making such a fatuous observation was that the near vicinity of this weird beauty had paralysed my reasoning faculties, so that I hardly knew what I was saying. And then she spoke in a low, rich voice which thrilled me through every nerve. I could not understand the meaning of her words, or even recognise the language in which they were spoken. But the tone of her voice was unutterably sad, like an inarticulate wail of despair. All the time her glorious eyes were resting on me as if she would read my inmost thoughts, whilst I responded with an idiotic smile of embarrassment. Even now, after the lapse of years, it makes me hot all over to think of that moment.

I don't know how long I had been standing looking like a fool, when Miss Latouche turned away as abruptly as she had approached and walked straight to the door. With a sigh of relief I sank down on the despised chair. After a few moments I gained sufficient courage to glance round and assure myself that no spectators had witnessed my discomfiture. It was a great relief to find that the entire party had migrated to the further end of the room, where a funny little man was singing comic songs with a banjo accompaniment. I slipped in next my host, who was thoroughly enjoying the performance.

"Encore! Capital! Give us some more of it, Tommy," he roared when the song came to an end. "That's my sort of music, isn't it yours, Carew?" he added, turning to me.

"A very clever performance," I answered stiffly, divided between my natural abhorrence of comic songs and the difficulty of making a candid reply in the immediate vicinity of the funny man.

"Just so. That's what I call really clever," said Maitland, not perceiving my lack of enthusiasm. "Worth a dozen of those melancholy tunes on the harp, in my opinion. By-the-bye, what's become of Miss Latouche? Couldn't stand this sort of thing, I suppose. Too merry for her. What a pity such a handsome girl should mope so."

"Miss Latouche appears to be rather eccentric," I interposed. "Something of a genius, I imagine?"

"So they all say. Well, she is a clever girl, certainly—only—but you will soon find out what she is like. Here's Tommy going to give us that capital song about the bad cigar. Ever heard it? No? Ha! ha! It will make you laugh then."

That is just what I hate about a comic performance. One laughs under compulsion. If one is sufficiently independent to resist, one incurs the suspicion of being wanting in humour and some well-meaning friend feels bound to explain the joke until one forces a little hollow mirth. Directly the song was in full swing, and the audience convulsed with merriment, I seized my opportunity and fled from the drawing-room. In the library I knew by experience that I should find a good fire and a comfortable arm-chair, both of which would be acceptable after my long journey. It was separated from the rest of the house by a heavy baize door and a long passage, so that I was not likely to be disturbed by any stray revellers. Several years' experience of the comforts of a bachelor establishment has given me a great taste for my own society, and it was with unfeigned delight that I looked forward to a quiet half-hour in this haven of refuge.

"Bother Maitland! Why doesn't he have the house better warmed and lighted," I muttered, as the baize door swung behind me, and the sudden draught extinguished my candle. I would not go back to relight it for fear of encountering some officious friend in the hall, who would insist upon accompanying me into my retreat. I preferred groping my way down the long corridor, which was in darkness except for a bright streak of moonlight that streamed in through a window at the further end. I had just decided that it was my plain duty to give Maitland the address of a good shop where he could not only procure cheap lamps but also very serviceable stoves for warming passages, at a moderate price, when I discovered that the said window was open.

"Too bad of the servants," I thought; "I should discharge them all if they were mine. It quite accounts for the howling draught through the house. Just the thing to give one rheumatism at this time of year."

Advancing with the intention of excluding the chilly blast, I was suddenly arrested by the sight of a motionless figure kneeling in front of the window. It was Irene Latouche. I had not noticed her in the confusing patch of moonlight until my foot was almost on the heavy velvet dress which fell over the floor like a great dark pall. Her arms were resting on the window-sill, her beautiful pale face gazing upwards with an expression of agonised despair. Evidently she was quite unconscious of my presence.

Whilst I was turning over in my mind the possibility of beating a silent retreat, she gave a low groan, so full of unquenchable pain that my blood fairly ran cold. Then rising to her feet, she leaned far out into the chill night air, stretching her white arms up towards the stars with a passionate action of entreaty.

"Oh, my Beloved! Shall I ever pray in vain? Is there no mercy?" she cried, and the sound of her voice was like the wind moaning through rocky caverns. "My heart is breaking! My strength is almost at an end! How much longer must I suffer this unspeakable misery?"

Clearly this sort of thing was not intended for strangers. I stopped my ears and shrank as closely as I could into the shadow of the wall. But I could not take my eyes off the girl for a moment. Such an exhibition of wild passion I have never witnessed before or since. As a dramatic effort it was superb; but all the time I was distinctly conscious of the absurd figure I should cut if any third person came on the scene. Also certain warning twinges in my left shoulder reminded me that I was not in the habit of standing by open windows on bleak autumn nights. Why Miss Latouche did not catch her death of cold I cannot imagine; for I could see the wind disordering her dark masses of hair and blowing back the Indian scarf from her bare shoulders. But she appeared to be as indifferent to personal discomfort as she was to all external sounds.

Just as I had settled that my health would never survive such a wanton infringement of all sanitary laws, Irene again sank on her knees and buried her face in her hands. Now was my time. I crept noiselessly back up the corridor until my hand was actually on the baize door. Then excitement got the better of prudence; and, tearing it open, I rushed wildly across the hall and up the staircase, never pausing until I was safe in my own room, with the door locked behind me and the unlighted bed-room candle still clutched firmly in my hand.

II.

Now, having already mentioned that I am a person of regular and strictly conventional habits, it will be readily believed that I viewed these extraordinary proceedings with unmitigated disgust. It was not to encounter horrid experiences like this that I had left my comfortable town house, where draughts and midnight adventures were alike unknown. Before I came down to breakfast on the following morning, I had fabricated a long story about pressing business which necessitated my immediate return to town. Though ordinarily of a truthful disposition, I was prepared to solemnly aver that the success of an important lawsuit depended on my presence in London within the next twelve hours. I did not even shrink from the prospect of having to produce circumstantial evidence to convince Maitland of the truth of my assertion. Anything rather than undergo any further shocks to my nervous system.

Happily I was spared the necessity of perjuring myself to this extent. When the breakfast bell rang, I descended and found that as usual very few of the guests, had obeyed the summons. Mrs. Maitland was pouring out tea quite undisturbed by this irregularity, for Longacres is a house where attendance at the meals is never compulsory.

"And how have you slept?" she said, extending me a plump hand glittering with rings. "We were afraid that perhaps you were a little overtired last night, as you went off to bed in the middle of the singing. Capital, wasn't it? Mr. Tucker is so very funny, and never in the least vulgar with his jokes! Now some comic singers really forget that there are girls in the room.—(Lily, my love, just go and see if your uncle is coming down).—I assure you, Mr. Carew, I was staying in a country house last year—mind, I give no names—where the songs were only fit for a music-hall! It's perfectly true; even George said it made him feel quite red to hear such things in a drawing-room. But, as I was saying, Mr. Tucker is so different; such genuine humour, you know!"

It is impossible to conjecture how long my amiable hostess might have rippled on in this strain if our conversation had not been interrupted by the entry of Miss Latouche.

"You have been introduced?" whispered Mrs. Maitland; and, without waiting for an answer, she called out merrily: "My dear Irene, you must positively come and entertain Mr. Carew. He will give up early rising if he finds that it is always to mean a tete-a-tete with an old woman!"

To my intense astonishment, Miss Latouche replied in the same jesting tone, and taking the vacant seat next mine began at once to talk in the most friendly way imaginable. Not a trace of eccentricity was perceptible in her manner. She was merely a handsome girl, with a strong vein of originality. I began to doubt the evidence of my senses. Surely I must have been labouring under some hallucination the previous night. It was almost easier to believe that I had been the dupe of a portentous nightmare than that this charming girl should have enacted such a strange part.

Before the end of breakfast I was certain that I had taken a very exaggerated view of the situation. It would be a pity to cut short a pleasant visit and risk offending some of my oldest friends on such purely fanciful grounds. Besides, I just remembered that I had given my cook a holiday and that if I went home I should be dependent on the culinary skill of a charwoman. This last consideration determined me. I settled to stay.

Nothing in Miss Latouche's behaviour led me to regret my decision. On the contrary, at the end of a few days we were firm friends. The better I knew her the greater became my admiration of her beauty and talents; and, without vanity, I think I may say that she distinctly preferred me to the other guests, who were mostly very ordinary types of modern young men. The extraordinary impressions of the first evening had entirely faded from my mind, when they were suddenly revived in all their intensity by the following incident.

It was a wet morning and we were all lolling about the billiard-room in various stages of boredom. Some of the more energetic members of the party had been out at dawn, cub hunting, and had returned wet through just as we finished breakfast, in time to add their little quota of grumbling to the general bulk of discontent. Mrs. Maitland, after making a fruitless attempt to rally the spirits of the party, gave up the effort in despair and retired to write letters in her room. Conversation was carried on in fits and starts, whilst from time to time people knocked about the billiard balls in a desultory fashion without exhibiting even a show of interest in the result of the game.

At last someone introduced the subject of fortune-telling. Instantly there was a revival of interest. Everybody had some scrap of experience to contribute, or some marvellous story to relate. Only Miss Latouche remained silent.

"What a pity none of us can tell fortunes!" cried Lily Wallace, eagerly. "Won't anybody try? It's such fun, almost as amusing as turning tables, and it often comes true in the most wonderful way!"

"Ah, it does indeed!" sighed Mr. Tucker, with a countenance of preternatural gravity. "A poor fellow I know was told that he would marry and then die. Well, it's all coming true!"

"Indeed! Really! How very shocking!"

"Yes, indeed! Poor chap! He married last year and now he has nothing but death before him!"

"How awfully sad!" exclaimed Lily, sympathetically. "Why, you are smiling! Oh, you bad man. I do believe you were only laughing at me after all! Now, Irene, will you please tell Mr. Tucker's fortune, and show him that it is no joking matter? I am sure you know the way, because I have seen a mysterious book about palmistry in your room. Now do, there's a dear girl."

After a little more pressing, Miss Latouche acceded to the general request that she would show her skill. Several people pressed forward at once to have their fortunes told, the men being quite as eager as the girls, although they affected to laugh at the whole affair. I watched the exhibition with some interest. Surely here would be a fair field for the exercise of that wonderful dramatic power which I knew Miss Latouche held in reserve. Well, I was disappointed. She examined the hands submitted to her notice, and interpreted the lines with an amount of conscientious commonplaceness for which I should never have given her credit. The majority of the fortunes were composed of the conventional mixture of illnesses and love affairs which is the stock-in-trade of drawing-room magicians. I glanced at her face. Not a trace of enthusiasm was visible. She was telling fortunes as mechanically as a cottager knits stockings.

"Now we have all been done except Mr. Carew! It's his turn!" cried Lily, who was enjoying the whole thing immensely. "He must have his fortune told! You will do him next, won't you, Irene?"

"Never!"

"Oh, why not? Are you tired? What a pity!"

Miss Latouche took not the slightest notice of the chorus of protestations. She merely turned away with such an air of inflexible determination that even the ardent Lily refrained from pressing her any further.

My curiosity was considerably excited by finding myself an exception to the general rule. Was the inference to be drawn from Miss Latouche's behaviour flattering, or the reverse? I had no chance of finding out until late in the afternoon, when the rain ceased and we all gladly seized the opportunity of getting some exercise before dinner.

The different members of the party quickly dispersed in opposite directions. A few exceptionally active young people tried to make up for lost time by starting a game of tennis on the cinder courts. Some diverged towards the stables, others took a brisk constitutional up and down the gravel path. Under the pretence of lighting a cigar, I contrived to wait about near the door until I saw Miss Latouche crossing the hall. I remember thinking how wonderfully handsome she looked as she came forward with a crimson shawl thrown over her head—for it was one of her peculiarities never to wear a conventional hat or bonnet unless absolutely obliged.

"What do you say to going up the hill on the chance of seeing a fine sunset?" I said, as she joined me. She nodded assent, and turning away from the others, we began to climb a winding path, from the top of which there was supposed to be a wonderful view. When we had gone about a quarter of a mile, we stopped and looked round. Far out in front stretched a beautiful valley lighted by gleams of fitful sunshine. The house and garden lay at our feet, but so far below that we only occasionally heard a faint echo from the tennis courts. The moment seemed propitious.

"Miss Latouche," I said abruptly, "I want to ask you something."

No sooner were the words spoken than it struck me they were liable to be misunderstood. She might imagine that I intended to make her an offer, and accept me on the spot. Infinitely as I admired her in an abstract fashion, I had never contemplated matrimony for a moment. Visions of enraged male relatives armed with horse-whips, followed by a formidable breach of promise case, flitted through my mind. There was no time to be lost.

"It's only about the fortune-telling," I stammered out; "nothing else, I assure you—nothing at all!"

"I knew it," replied Miss Latouche calmly and without a trace of embarrassment.

Sensible girl! I breathed freely once more and proceeded with my investigations.

"Why wouldn't you tell my fortune this morning? Why am I alone excluded?"

"Do you really wish to know?" she said very quietly.

"Of course, or I shouldn't ask!"

"Well then, the reason that I declined to tamper with your destiny is that I should be irresistibly compelled to tell you the truth!"

"Are you serious, or only—?"

"Am I serious?" she cried, with a wild laugh; "you ask this? The time has at last come for an explanation. I would willingly have spared you, but it is in vain that we seek to avoid our fate! Rest here!" and seizing my wrist, she dragged me down on the fallen trunk of a tree that lay half hidden by the tall grass at the side of the path. Immediately behind us was a gloomy wood, choked with rank autumnal growths. A more dank, unwholesome situation for a seat on a wet day it would be impossible to conceive. But I preferred running the risk of rheumatic fever to contradicting Miss Latouche in her present mood. Only I hoped the explanation would be exceedingly brief.

"You pretend that you never saw me before the other evening?" she began, feverishly.

"Certainly!" I answered, with great astonishment. "It was undoubtedly our first meeting. I am sure—"

"Can you swear it?" she interrupted, eagerly.

"Oh, no! I never swear! But I don't mind affirming," I said playfully, hoping to give a less serious turn to the conversation.

To my horror Miss Latouche wrung her hands with the same expression of hopeless suffering that I had seen once before.

"It is too cruel," she moaned, "after all this dreary waiting and watching, to be met like this! Oh, my Beloved! I cannot bear it any longer! Shall I never find you? Never! never!"

Her voice died away with a sob of despair, which effectually quenched my capacity for making jokes.

"I hardly understand what you are alluding to," I said as nicely as I could; "but if you will trust me, I promise to do anything that lies in my power to help you."

"You promise!" she exclaimed, eagerly. "Mind, you are bound now! Bound to my service!"

This was taking my polite offer of assistance rather more seriously than I intended. Muttering some commonplace compliment, I begged to be further enlightened.

"You will not repeat to any living soul the mysteries I am about to disclose?" she began. "No, I need not ask! There is already sufficient sympathy between us for me to be sure of your discretion. But remember, if you ever feel tempted to disclose a single word of these hidden matters, there are Unseen Powers who will amply avenge the profanation. Know, then, that since my Beloved was snatched from me by what dull men call death, all my faculties have been concentrated on the effort to discover some link of communication with the Invisible World. I will not dwell on my toils and sufferings, the terrible sights I have braved and the sleepless nights that I have sacrificed to study. I do not grudge my youth, passed as it were under the shadow of the tomb, for at last the truth has been revealed to me. You are to be the medium!"

"Oh, nonsense!" I shouted. "I won't undertake it! Nothing shall persuade me! Besides, I am perfectly ignorant of the subject."

"You underrate your powers," observed Miss Latouche with calm conviction. "Nature has endowed you with a most unusual organisation. Your powers are quite involuntary. Nothing you say or do can make the slightest difference. You are merely a passive agent for the transmission of electric force."

"Do you mean a sort of telegraph wire?" I gasped, feebly.

"If you offer no resistance, all will be well with us," continued Miss Latouche, ignoring the interruption; "but the Unseen Powers will bear no trifling, and I can summon those to my aid who will make you bitterly repent any levity!"

I hate those sort of vague prophecies. They frighten one quite out of proportion to their real gravity.

"By the bye, I don't yet understand the reason you wouldn't tell my fortune, as you seem to know such a lot about those things," I said at last.

"What! You do not understand yet that there is a bond between us which makes any concealment impossible? I could not blind you with the paltry fictions that satisfy those poor fools!" and she waved her hand contemptuously towards the distant figures of the tennis players, amongst whom Mr. Tucker, in a wonderful costume, was distinctly visible. The expression struck me as unjustifiably strong, even when applied to a man who sang comic songs with a banjo accompaniment.

"I don't think he is a bad little chap," I said, apologetically.

"They are all alike," she replied, with an air of ineffable scorn. "You can only content them with idle promises of love and wealth, like the ignorant village girl who crosses a gipsy's hand with silver and in return is promised a rich husband. And all the while I see the dark cloud hanging over them and can do nothing to avert it. Ah! it is terrible to know the evil to come and be powerless to warn others! To be obliged to smile whilst one's heart is wrung with anguish and one's brain tortured with nameless apprehensions; that is indeed misery!"

"Dear me!" I said, nervously; "I hope you don't foresee any catastrophe about to overwhelm me?"

She gazed straight into my eyes, and her passionate face gradually softened into a lovely smile.

"No, my only friend!" she exclaimed, taking my hand gently in hers; "so far, no cloud darkens the perfect happiness of our intercourse!"

I felt that there were moments of compensation even in the pursuit of the Black Arts!

III.

It was a curious sensation, mixing again with the commonplace pleasure-seekers at Longacres, conscious that I was the repository of such extraordinary revelations. For, before we left our damp retreat, Irene had confided in me the secret history of her life. Not that I understood it very clearly, owing to her voice being continually choked by stifled emotion. But I gathered that a person, presumably of the male sex, who was vaguely designated as the Beloved, had perished in some frightful manner before her eyes, and ever since that time she had devoted herself to the study of the occult sciences in the firm conviction that it was possible to discover a medium of communication with the Unseen World. She now persisted that I had been designated by unerring proofs as that medium. She assured me that, months previously, she had foreseen my arrival at Longacres in the precise fashion in which it really took place.

"Every detail," she said, "was exactly foreshadowed in the vision. Not only did I recognise you at once by your clothes (which were different from those of the other men present), but your voice seemed familiar to me, as if I had known you for years. I saw you gazing at me with what I fondly believed to be a look of mutual recognition. I remember rising from my seat in a species of ecstatic trance to which I am liable in moments of excitement. I have a faint recollection of addressing you with an impassioned appeal for help, to which you responded with icy indifference, but the rest of our interview remains a blank. Only there was a cruel sense of disappointment: instead of meeting as two spirits whose interests were inseparable, you denied any previous knowledge of me, and even manifested a sort of terrified aversion at my approach. I saw you shrink away from my side; then nothing remained for me but to temporarily dissemble my purpose and try first to win your confidence by the exercise of my poor woman's wits. In this at least I was successful!"

Irene only spoke the truth. She had completely subdued my will by her fascinations, and though I hated and, in private, ridiculed all supernatural dealings, I was prepared to try the wildest experiments at her bidding.

The trial of my obedience arrived sooner than I anticipated. Immediately after luncheon next day Irene made a sign to me to follow her into the garden.

"All is ready!" she exclaimed, with great excitement. "To-night will see us successful or for ever lost!"

"What do you mean?" I inquired, dubiously; for it did not sound a very cheery prospect.

"I mean that all things point to a hasty solution of the great problem. To-night the planets are propitious, and with your help the chain of communication will be at last complete. Oh, my Beloved! my toil and waiting has not been all in vain!"

"Well, what do you want me to do?" I said, rather sulkily. "Mind, it mustn't be this evening, because Mrs. Maitland has a lot of people coming to dinner, and we can't possibly leave the drawing-room."

"The crisis will be at midnight in the ruined chapel," observed Irene, as if she were stating the most ordinary fact; "but you must meet me an hour before to make all sure."

"Preposterous!" I exclaimed; "it's quite out of the question. Wander about the garden at midnight indeed! What would people say if they saw us?"

"Do you imagine that I allow myself to be influenced by the opinion of poor-spirited fools?" inquired Irene with fine scorn. And then, suddenly changing her tactics, she sobbed and prayed me to grant her this one boon—it might be the last thing she would ever ask.

Well, she was very handsome, and I am but human. Before she left me I had promised to do what she wished.

It may be imagined that I passed a miserable day, distracted by a thousand gloomy apprehensions which increased as the fatal hour approached. I have mentioned that there was to be a dinner party that evening.

"A lot of country neighbours," as Maitland explained. "They like a big feed from time to time. I put out the old port and my wife wears her smartest dress and all the diamonds. It is quite a fuss to persuade her to put them on, she is so nervous about them being lost! She always insists on my locking them up in the safe again before I go to bed. Of course I don't contradict her, but half the time I leave them on my dressing-room table till next morning. Ha! ha! It is always best to humour ladies, even when they are a trifle unreasonable."

It is one of Maitland's little foibles that he never can resist drawing attention to the family diamonds (which are remarkably fine) by some passing allusion of this sort.

Nothing of any interest happened during dinner. When it was at last terminated we retired to the drawing-room, and listened with great decorum to several pieces of music. Miss Latouche was pressed to perform upon the harp, which she did with her usual melancholy grace. To-night she was in a rich white robe, which enhanced the peculiarly dusky effect of her olive skin and masses of dark hair. Her face was very pale; and, to my surprise, shortly after playing she complained of a bad headache and went off to bed. I hardly knew what to think. Had her courage failed her at the last, and, when it came to the point, did she shrink from braving the opinion of the world which she affected so thoroughly to despise?

"So, after all her boasting, she is no bolder than the rest of us!" I thought, with intense relief, as I wandered across the hall to join the other men in the smoking-room. The last guest had departed, and very soon the whole house would be at rest for the night. "How I shall laugh at her to-morrow!" I muttered. "Never again will she impose—"

My meditations were interrupted by an icy touch on my wrist. Turning, I saw Irene by my side, with a dark cloak thrown over her evening dress. Without speaking a word she drew me towards a side door into the garden, which was seldom used, and, producing a key from her pocket, opened it noiselessly.

"We can't go out at this time of night!" I gasped, making a faint effort to break loose. "I haven't even a hat! It's really past a joke!"

"Remember your promise!" she whispered, in a voice of such awful menace that, feeling all resistance was useless, I followed her out into the darkness. At that moment a sudden gust of wind slammed the door.

"Now what shall we do!" I exclaimed. "There is no handle and the key is inside!"

"Hush!" she whispered. "No more of these trivialities! I tell you the Spirits are abroad to-night; the air is thick with unseen forms. Obey me in silence, or you are lost."

Speechless with annoyance, my teeth chattering with cold and general creepiness, I followed her through the shrubberies until we reached the site of a ruined chapel, which had originally joined on to the old wing of the house. Of this building little remained except portions of the outer walls, overgrown with ivy. The pavement had long since disappeared, and was replaced by a rank growth of grass and weeds, amongst which lay scattered such monumental remains as had survived the general destruction. Only one window of the house happened to look out in this direction. I could see a light shining through the blind, and, with a touch, drew Irene's attention to it.

"Do not alarm yourself with vain fears," she whispered; "it is only Mr. Maitland's dressing-room. All will be quiet soon!" As she spoke, the light was suddenly extinguished.

Only then did I realise the full horrors of my position. When that bed-room candle went out, the last link which bound me to civilization seemed to have snapped. I was at the mercy of an enthusiast who had broken loose from all those conventional trammels which I hold in such respect. Although I had the greatest admiration for Irene, nothing would have surprised me less than if my murdered remains had been found next morning half hidden in the dank grass of the ruined chapel.

We were standing in the deep shadow of the old wall. The silence was intense. Indeed, after Irene's injunctions, I hardly dared breathe for fear of drawing down some misfortune on my devoted head. Not that I quite believed anything was going to happen, only it was best to be on the safe side. Suddenly the stillness was broken by the distant sound of the stable clock striking twelve.

"It has come!" whispered Irene, stooping towards me with an expression of the utmost anxiety. "Now you must obey me absolutely, or we shall both incur the wrath of the Unseen Powers. No wavering! We have gone too far to recede! First, to establish the electric current between us, you must hold me firmly by the wrist and pass your hand slowly up and down my arm, repeating these words after me."

I hesitated. The proceeding struck me as extraordinary.

"Will you imperil us both?" muttered Irene, in such a tone of agony that I seized her arm and began to rub for my life. I remember noticing that it was as cold and white as the arm of a marble statue. Meanwhile Irene repeated an invocation, apparently in the same language in which she had addressed me at our first meeting, and I imitated her to the best of my ability.

After this had been going on a few minutes, she inquired in a whisper if I felt anything unusual. I considered that my sensations were quite sufficiently peculiar to justify my replying in the affirmative. She appeared satisfied.

"All will be well, my friend," she murmured, sinking down with an air of exhaustion on the lid of an ancient stone coffin that lay half overgrown with ivy at our feet. "The danger will be averted if you act with courage; only keep your hold on my hand and the Unseen Influences have no power to hurt us! Now drink this." With these words she offered me a small bottle of a dull blue colour and very curious shape.

I examined the little flask suspiciously. I had a hazy impression that I had once seen something like it in the British Museum.

"Never can I reveal by what means I procured this invaluable treasure and the precious fluid that it contains," replied Irene in answer to my inquisitive glance. "Suffice it to say that for countless ages they lay concealed in the cerements of a mummy."

That settled me. I instantly resolved that no power on earth should induce me to taste the nasty mess. A bright thought occurred to me—I would base my refusal upon grounds which even Irene could scarcely combat.

"I am dreadfully sorry," I whispered, "but it upsets me to drink anything except water; in fact I can't do it, the consequences would be too horrible! I need not particularise, but literally I couldn't keep it down a minute. So it seems hardly worth while to risk wasting this valuable fluid."

"And am I to be baffled at this hour by Human Weakness!" cried Irene, stamping with suppressed rage. "It shall not be! Ha! I have it! The odour alone may be sufficiently powerful to work our purpose." And uncorking the bottle, she held it towards me.

The smell was pungent but not disagreeable.

"Now all is completed," she said, when I had inhaled a few whiffs. "You have only to gaze before you, and wish with all the force of your will that my Beloved may appear."

We stood perfectly still, hand clasped in hand. Irene had risen from her grim seat, and was leaning against me for support. Her cloak had fallen off, and I thought that she looked like a beautiful spirit herself against the dark background of ivy. In obedience to her orders, I fixed my eyes on space and tried to wish.

Hardly had I begun, when a figure emerged from behind the opposite wall and glided slowly across the chapel towards us. I was so amazed that I could hardly believe the evidence of my senses. As for Irene, she only smiled with ineffable bliss, as if it were exactly what she had expected all along.

It was rather a cloudy night, so that I had great difficulty in following the movements of the mysterious figure. When it gained the centre of the chapel it paused, and then slowly turned towards the wall of the house. As far as I could see, it was making some wild motion with its upraised arms, whether of benediction or menace it was impossible to discern at that distance; but I could not shake off a horrid impression that it was cursing the slumbering inmates. And then, wonderful to relate, whilst my eyes were fixed upon the dark figure, it began slowly to rise into the air!

At this portentous sight, I don't mind confessing that my hair fairly bristled with horror. Fortunately for the preservation of my reason, at that instant the moon, gleaming from behind a cloud, revealed a long ladder planted against Mr. Maitland's dressing-room window.

In a moment I recovered my self-possession.

"Stay still—I am going to leave you for a short time," I whispered.

Irene clung to me with both hands, and expressed a fear that the outraged spirits would tear us in pieces if we moved.

"Bother the spirits!" I replied, in a gruff whisper. "I swear it will be the worse for you if you make a fuss now!"

She sobbed and wrung her hands, but the time was past for that to have any effect upon me, and, disengaging myself from her grasp, I crept away, hiding as well as I could behind the scattered ruins.

In this manner I contrived almost to reach the foot of the ladder without being discovered. I had a strange fancy for capturing the thief single-handed and monopolising all the glory of saving the famous diamonds. Waiting patiently until he had just reached the window, I rushed forward and seized the ladder.

"It's no use resisting," I shouted; "if you don't give up quietly, I'll shake."

At this point a second figure stepped out from behind a laurel bush and effectually silenced any further threats by dealing me a heavy blow on the head.

* * * * *

For days I lay insensible from concussion of the brain. When I was at last pronounced convalescent, Maitland was admitted to my room, being bound by solemn promises not to excite me in any way. With heartfelt gratitude he shook my hand and thanked me for saving the family diamonds.

"I shall take better care of them in the future," he said. "Catch me leaving them about in my dressing-room again. No, they shall always go straight back into the safe. Mrs. Maitland was right about that, though it wouldn't do to confess it. Precious lucky for me that you heard the burglars and ran out; though I wouldn't advise you to try and tackle two muscular ruffians by yourself another time. It was just a chance that one broke his leg when you pulled down the ladder, otherwise they would have finished you off before we arrived on the scene."

I may here remark that I never thought it necessary to correct the version of the story which I found was already generally accepted. To this day Maitland firmly believes that I was just getting into bed, when, with supernatural acuteness, I divined the presence of robbers under his dressing-room window, and creeping quietly out attacked them in the rear.

"By-the-bye, is Miss Latouche still staying here?" I presently inquired in as calm a voice as I could command.

"No, she left suddenly the day after your accident. She complained of feeling upset by the affair, and wished to go home. We did not press her to stay, as she is liable to nervous attacks which are rather alarming. Why, that very night, curiously enough, I met her evidently walking in her sleep down the passage as I rushed out at your shout. She passed quite close to me without making any sign, and was quite unconscious of it next day—in fact referred with some surprise to having slept all through the row."

"Has she always had these peculiar ways?" I asked with interest.

"Well, I always thought her an imaginative, fanciful sort of girl, but she has certainly been much worse since that poor fellow's death. What, you never heard the story? It was at a picnic, and she insisted upon his climbing some rocks to get her a certain flower, just for the sake of giving trouble, as girls do. The poor lad's foot slipped, and he rolled right over a precipice and was dashed to pieces. Of course it was a shocking thing, but it's a pity she became so morbid about it, as no real blame attached to her. Now I must not talk too much or the doctor will say I have tired you; so good-bye for the present."

And that was the last I heard of Irene Latouche.

THE END