TRAPPED!

Pelorus Guardian and Miners' Advocate., Volume 23, Issue 5, 19 January 1912, Page 2

TRAPPED !

THE STATUE FROM THE TOMB, It was the middle of the night. All the house, all the world waa hushed in sleep. Through the curtained windows of the workroom came now and then the sound of movement—the .night wind sweeping hy, leafless branches swinging, a faint putter of rain upon glass. There was a lighted caudle upon the ledge of a bookshelf, au*d shielded hy the wing of an opened screen, it three; upon the ceiling a pale circle of light with n centre of smoky shadow. The screen had been arranged to guard the light and guard it, and all beyond its narrowed power the shadows held the room, wrapping it round about with heavy veils to hide its secrets. Only when the red coles broke and a breath of flame sounded; from the hearth, the shadow curtains rose and fell across the walls of books ; and for a moment firelight flickered redly on the empty chair, the leather couch, the lovers locked in each other’s arms. Then again the darkness dropped its veils to hide the shameful secret of> the night. '‘Let me go now.” Her voice was no louder than the breath of the fire as the red coals broke it. "Let me go now. I am afraid.” “Don’t be afraid.” “Jack !" She was whispering again after a long silence. “I must go back now. Let me go now. He may wake. He might call to me— he might wake, and if I didn’t answer when he called ” “Why should bo wake ? He will npt wake? He will, not wake.” Then once more all the room, all the house, all the world seemed to sink into the hushed depths 0 f dream 7 less sleep. “Listen ! What was that ?” She had slipped from his embrace aud was strr ? ig ears to catch again the sound L.. : aad startled her. '"Nothing ' he whispered presently. “Are ,or urc ? . . . Jack. I thought at f t it was a footstep on ; the stairs.” But within and without the house ot a sound could be caught by their : :ialned ears, except the ticking of the clock, the light patter of the rain, and cinders dropping from the grate. ‘"Nothing,” he whispered. ‘“Listen now.” The sound had come again. Something moving—within the house. Something moving on the stairs ; then, once more, silence. “Jack, it is someone on the stairs They had risen from the couch and; drawn towards the wall within the circle of the candlelight ; and now, as she clung to his arm and whispered, her eyes were full of sudden fear. “Jack,, what shall I do?” and the whisper was shaken as her breath came faster. “I daren’t go back now. It is someone on the stairs—waiting there. Someone who suspects. “Is the door bolted?” and her frightened eyes turned towards the workroom door.

“Yes. I must undo it.” and he whispered his rapid thoughts. If someone was on the watch, the watcher must be dealt with at once. No time must he .given for the watcher, to come down and try the handle of the bolted door. As soon as she was hidden, in the small room he must unhoilt the door and go out : boldly, make the watcher think he ■: had nothing to conceal—had been ■■ working through the night alons? in j the big room. | "‘Do you understand? You must | wait in there—until you feel certain I it is safe. Give her time then—who- ! ever it is. Then you must go out i through the passage and up by the servants* stairs. Do you understand ?” “Yes.” “Then, if you meet anyone—then. Say you came down for something for him—some more milk —soda-water Don’t bo afraid. I shalli go out noisily as Cif I didn’t mind who heard me. You understand ?” “Yes”—and her hand upon his arm shook. “I understand.” Then cautiously he took the lighted candle, softly crossed the room softly unlocked the door that opened to the smaller rooms, and went to make his Investigation. Then he came softly back. “You can’t get out that way. They ! —they have locked the door on the : outside. The key is on the other side.” Clinging to him she stared across at the dark entry of the smaller rooms. ’ ' could they do ? They were trap,.e How could she escape the watcher ou the stairs ? | “Listen. . . My God,, what’s ! that ?” ft was the sound again. A footi stop on the stairs—something moving slowly, dragging, shuffling, nearer ■ than before ; then the silence un--1 broken again ; and no sound but | their own heart beats coming thick | and fast in fear of impossible things. •: “Impossible,” he whispered boarse- : lyBetween the couch and the wall of hooks there was a space of five or six feet. Now, clinging to him, she shrank hack to the wall, and cowering, stared across the couch at the bolted door. “Impossible,” he whispered again. Yet for iy moment, as he listened to the sound of the shuffling footsteps, he too had believed in the impossible thing— had believed that a miracle was happening ] that the paralised man had risen from his bed. Could it be-possible ? Could mind thus triumph over matter ? This

man Is not as other men. Wren, i Keeling—he himself has said so. Who 1 could measure the power of such a I mind as that ? He had been lying awake wondering ; has called to his ! wife ; and has begun to think. And 1 with such thoughts as his, when once his thought is working, has come the certain divination of the truth. Then, the vast brain has issued its command, has generated the nerve force, has flashed the commanding message of the mighty will, and Nature her- ! self must needs obey, . . 1 But to save her was impossible. I “Jack. Save me. Don’t let him j come in—don’t let him find me here.’

I “Go in there,” a nd'he pointed to I the dark entry of the smaller room, j ‘"No, no.” To her it seemed some ■ inner trap, more dreadful than the 1 larger ttrap in which she stood. , i “Sybil, do as I tell you.” He too j was trembling, staring at the door, j But she scarcely heard him. Nothj ing could save her now. How could they have hoped to deceive him ? He was coming to denounce her ; and in thought, as she listened, staring at the bolted door she could see him, 1 white, majestic, awful —the recumbent figure with ) the clasped hands that i has risen in the darkness and is coming through the darkness to the door. The white statue[ has moved from the white tomb. She can hear his heavy footfall—the dragging, shuffling footfall of the man whose feet are stone. Nearer, nearer still. The m a n of stone ‘is coming through the darkness to the door. Thus she thought, crouching lower still, shaking in unreasoning terror. Now his hands were groping in the darkness upon the door itself. The heavy fret had stopped. In the l dark? nese he was leaning against the upper panels while his fingers groped for the handle, and she heard his laboured breathing. Then the handle turned and was violently shaken ; his weight was thrown upon the panels with a thud as‘ of stone ; the bolt plate burst from the wall ; as a stone man; might have crashed in through the door,, he came lurching, swaying into the room and stood before them. He was white from head to foot, gaunt and terrible, swathed in wool, bound in white linen—a statue that had come to life, a dead man who had risen from the grave. His eyes were upon her now, and as he had advanced he pointed with outstretched hand at his cowering wife—at guilt personified crouching down by her lover’s knees against the wall of books. Then,, just as he reached the couch, he tried to speak—horrible vocal sounds, not words. Then there was a low, gasping cry, and at the same moment his arm", sank as though It • had been slowly pulled down by some unseen person ; and, staggering forward, he fell face downward:-; across the couch.—“ The Guarded Fame,”