THE MYSTIC KNOCK.

Auckland Star, Volume XXXII, Issue 46, 23 February 1901, Page 6

THE MYSTIC KNOCK.

(By W, M. Thomson.)

Slowly strength came back. On my recovery, I sent for the neighbouring police and told them as much of my experience as I thought prudent. The well was searched and at the bottom n human skeleton was discovered. Clnaped tightly in one of the hands was a locket containing faded miniatures of Ellen and myself. A strict examination of the mill brought to light some mouldering remnants of things known to have been In the possession of the deceased on the day of her disappearance. While the police were still investigating the mystery, nrws came that there hrd died in one of Ihe convict prisons a man named Philip Darrell, who had left behind him a written confession that he had been guilty of the murder of Ellen Dovercourt. through motives of jealousy and hopeless love. The remains were interred: the mill was razed; tho well was tilled up. As for me. I sought the busy haunts of men; and. silent myself, rejoiced that others talked around me. Life has lost itß attractions. I await the c-nd in peaceful resignation. She has .gone/ I shall not remain long behind.—"Reynolds."

I am still a bachelor. How well I re- ' member that night, thirty years ago, * when we missed her —thirty years ago j this Christmas Eve. The moon silvered c the snow, just as it does to-night. A wintry night, too. Phew! It gets colder, j The light burns low. I'll not trouble old , Mary to replenish the lamp. She has 1 probably retired. Half-past eleven! the * night fleets on. The oil will last a little ( longer and then I'll to bed. She was just eighteen and I—a passable youth enough of two and twenty. I'm glad I bought ] the old house. After Ellen disappeared, , her father could not bear to live in it. i How low the lamp burns! My friends * forget me as I grow older. This is the first Christmas Eve I have spent in the • house since she left. Will she ever come back? What ails Bruin that he howls in that way? The room is chilly. A little , spirits won't hurt. Twelve! The lamp I goes out, leaving drear darkness, such as remained in our lives when Ellen was no 1 longer among us. Will she ever be s found? ' What is that? A rap at the door. Im- j possible! Old Mary must be in bed and J there's no one else in the house. It's 1 fancy; my brain grows dazed, thinking 1 of my poor lost treasure. Yet it may ( have been Mary. "Come in, Mary!" No [ answer. "Mary—Mary. I say, come in." ! Where are the lights? Hist! One, two, , three—distinct knockings. Mary's a lit- i tie deaf. I'll go to the door. Ah, here 1 are the matches. I shiver with cold. : The taper. Now, I'll—what! Again!— t Knock—knock—knock. "Here, Mary; did I not say 'Come in!" ' No one there! Hush! Is that a footstep? Do I hear "j the rustle of a dress? There is a cold [ draught of air. The hall door must be ( open. I'll see. No; and the chain is up. There goes that dog Bruin once more. How uneasily he whines! Good God! One, two, three—this time nt the front door. It must have been ''.pro that the knocks were originally •■.iven. Nervous and stupid that I am— !, who once never feared anything in i;ving shape. Some poor traveller, perhaps, has lost his way. How the moon "hlnea on poor Ellen's picture in the hall! I begged her mother to let me have that portrait of our own lost one. Ah. Ellen, Ellen! Well do I remember (hat day you went forth to return no v.iore. On your arm was a basket of (".•Unties for tho unfortunate poor; your . r.uburn hair glanced and smiled in the light. Honlth, happiness, the joy of life were In your eyes. You waved a farewell to me from the gate and your sweet voice made music in the clear air as you railed to mo that you would be back r oon. Come back now, Ellen, come back iiow: the flame of youth still burns in my heart. | Listen! Again the mysterious rapping. | I'll undo the door, leaving the chain j up. There goes the taper! What an icy ; blast! I No ono there. Why. how's .this?—hiflintr, perhaps. Say; my revolver In the hall cupboard! How Ellen's face shines out into tho moonlight! She smiles; her lips move; she lives! Oh, Ellen! I come Knock! knock! knock! What impatient fellow Is this? "Coming." ! No one in view. Hark! the light foot- ! stop and rustle of silk along the path of i moonlight that strikes on her face. No; it is from her face! Am I to see her once more? Am I to clasp her in these 1 arms? Lead on, unknown guide; I fol- | The moon is hidden; the snow falls, j i thicker, faster; but in front I still hear, the soft footfall. Whither does it lead?| Yonder rises the old mill, deserted for many a year. I am led in that direction, j Stop! What is this? There are lights In | the mill. The wheel is turning. And1 there are two figures entering. God! One is she and one is Darrell! "Villain! Ellen! EUlen!" They are gone. A shriek! "I come, I come." Then I stumbled and fell and remembered no more. When I awoke, benumbed and stupeftod I found I had been lying In the snow. The moon had again come out: It had stopped snowing. I rose and, bewildered for a moment at finding myself in this position, thel circumstances of tho night suddenly flashed on my memory. I made a hasty motion towards the mill but there it stood-cold. ominous, "loo'my. with no lira's, no wheel turn-ing-a picture of gloom and fear. "Am I mad, or dreaming?" I asked Then again the patter of a footstep and the rustle of a dress sounded at my Mechanically I turned and followed the indications. _ Over fields of snow. My brain is on fire! I move faster and finally break into a run; the steps move swiftly in front of me. We seem to be hurrying recklessly towards some hidden doom. I am not alone. There are others present now, visible, within a few yards before my eyes. A man; he rushes along carrying a burden. Now he looks swiftly b«hlnd him. The moonlight strikes on a face of parchment; our eyes meet. It Is | Darrell; he bears her. I no longer hear | the footstep at my side. I bound for-, ward in mad pursuit. There a a low mocking laugh from the villain, as-he glides, rather flies, over the ground. An obstacle appears in front. "The well! ; the well!" I screamed in my despair, re-1 membering the old landmark In an instant Darrell had cast his burden Into the disused well; a ghastly smile of triumph contorted his features, as he darted another glance at me. And then everything faded from my sight. I must have wandered blindly on, all through the night, for when day broke , I was many miles from home. Myab- : sence had caused the greatest alarm to my old housekeeper and she was still more terrified when she met me-on my

"Lord, sir!" she exclaimed, "what has happened? You look as pale as a ghost and tremblingr, too." - I briefly replied that I had been visiting a sick friend, with whom I had stayed all night. i "Oh sir," she proceeded, in a voice of self-reproach, "I found the hall door; open in the morning. Sure, some th ef must have entered and stolen Mlsfa gone!" I looked at the accustomed place; the portrait had faded from the canvas. _ ; "Good Mary, go for the doctor! I am| i I staggered from the hall, and, without i undressing, threw myself on the bed , 1 When Mary returned with the doctor, they found me in a raging fever. I was told afterwards that I talked Inajld and incoherent way about EUe , "Darrell," the "well" and the mill. They could piece together no connected story. , .

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