THE WITCH’S CURSE.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume X, Issue 10, 11 March 1893, Page 232

THE WITCH’S CURSE.

BY

WILLIAM WESTALL.

NE muggy afternoon not long ago, counting by years, half a dozen men were whiling away an idle hour in the smoke-room of the Scribblers’ Club. . One of them was reading, one sleeping, and ' one (who sat on the arm of a chair), telling the other three a story which seemed to interest them greatly. • Ten thousand a year !’ interrupted Cardew, of the Daily Lightning, ‘do draw it mild, if you please, Bouncer.’ , • I only tell you what I have heard. I vouch for nothing. ‘ Where did you hear it?’ • At the Gridiron office.’ • Teddy was sub there, wasn’t he ?’ ‘ Yes, and one day last week he went into the chief s office and asked for a week’s leave, which being refused, Teddy resigned on the spot.’ ‘He must have had a windfall then. But why didn t he say so?’ • Heaven only knows. Perhaps because he hates Dolderman and wanted neither his congratulations nor his questions. ’ ‘ That’s very likely, I think.’ • Well, Teddy left the same day and nobody knew where he was until yesterday, when the publisher had a letter from him, dated at some place in the North, saying that he had inherited a fortune, “ whereof more when I see you, which I daresay will be soon.” And a Gridiron man has seen a par. in a Northern paper, darkly hinting that the heir to the Redfern Estate and its ten or twelve thousand a year is a well-known London journalist. So putting two and two together, you know— —’ . ‘ You conclude that Teddy Edwards is the journalist m question,’ interposed Scarlet (who called himself a novelist), •1 beg leave to doubt it. One puts such things in stories, of course, but I never actually knew of anybody coming unexpectedly into a fortune, much less a Scribbler.’ • All the same, lam sure there is something in it. Do you think that Teddy would have been such a fool as to throw up a good billet, and forfeit a week’s screw, if he had not come into money ? However, when he turns up he shall tell us all about it, and then—By Jove ! Here’s the man himself.’ The sleeper woke up, the reader dropped his paper, and all the six stared as curiously at the new comer as if they had not seen him hundreds of times before. He was of middle height,sparsely built,with chestnut hair shaven chin, and short curly moustache, good features, and a smiling intelligent face. , • How do you do, Teddy ? Glad to see you, old man, said Bouncer. ‘We were just talking about you.’ • Really ! You do me too much honour,’ returned Edwards, dropping nonchalantly into a chair. •We were wondering what had become of you. You have not been to the club for an age.’ • More than an age—ten days at least.’ , • Been to the seaside—or somewhere—l suppose ? • You might have had a worse guess, Bouncer. I have been somewhere. Waiter, a cigar.’ ‘ Threepence or sixpence, sir ?’ •Sixpence.’ • I can see that you fellows have heard something, and are dying with curiosity,’ continued Edwards, as he bit off the end of his cigar. ‘ Well, it is true.’ ‘ I knew it was,’ cried the irrepressible Bouncer.

• How ?’ . • Because you committed the extravagance of ordering a sixpenny cigar. I never knew you do such a thing before.’ • I could not afford it, old chappie.’ , • And now you can. Is it as much as they say ?’ • How much do they say ?’ ‘ Ten thousand a year.’ « A little more. Or, rather, will be when I have repaid a loan I shall have to raise in order to pay the succession duties, and keep the pot boiling until my rents come in. For I don’t get a penny of ready money. It’s all land and houses.’ • I congratulate you with all my heart. But how was it? 1 had no idea you had rich relatives. Or was it some unknown benefactor. Won’t you tell us all about it?’ • With pleasure ; especially as it is rather a queer story, and there’s a witch and a legend in it.’ | • A witch, a legend, a scribbler, and a big fortune ! exclaimed the novelist. ‘ What shall we have next ?’ •/Three bottles of Heidseck Monopole,’ said Edwards, laughing. After his brothers of the pen had drunk his health and congratulated him on his good luck, he told them how it had befallen him.

• Though my story is short,’ he began, ‘ I must go a long way back. Early in the eighteenth century—l7ls, I think —Sir Walter Redfern, of Redfern Hall, Westmoreland, executed a deed of entail, whereby he settle! the family estates upon bis two sons and their descendants, and, failing them, on the male issue of his four sisters in succession. The sons predeceased him and died childless, after which the estates went to collaterals, and have being going to collaterals ever since. lam a direct descendant of Marjory Redfern, one of the sisters, and the last collateral extant, or at any rate, the only one known to exist, and am so far better off than my predecessors that I own the property in fee, and, if bo disposed, can sell it.’ • Good for you. But, 1 say, did you know you were a descendant of Mai jory Redfern ?’

• I did. Bnt I attached very little importance to the fact. Thomas Joynson, my immediate predecessor, who

took the name of Redfern on coming into the property, wa" only thirty live, and might easily have survived me—pro bably would have done so if he had not accidentally shot himself with his own gun—to say nothing of the off chance of his marrying and begetting an heir.’ • He was a bachelor, then ?’ ‘ No, a widower ; his wife died a month after their marriage, and he has left every rap of his savings to her kin —and charities.’ ‘Very interesting, lam sure. But where do the witch and the legend come in ?’ asked the novelist, who scented an idea for a plot. * I'll tell you, though I am sure you fellows will laugh, and I cannot deny that it sounds rather absurd. Observe, first of all, what a singular fatality has pursued this family for the greater part of two centuries. During that time not a child had been born at Redfern Hall, nor in any one instance has father been succeeded by son. The property has invariably gone to collaterals, of whom, as I said just now, lam the last. Sir Walter Redfern married young, and lost his first wife after the birth of his second son. His second wife died on her wedding day; and none of the wives of his successors has survived her marriage long enough to become a mother. So far, I speak by the book Now for the legend. The old folks of the neighbourhood attribute this phenomenal fatality to the working of a curse, though the modern spirit so far prevails amongst them that they don’t like to talk about it, and it was with great difficulty that I persuaded John Bamber, the old gardener who has been at Redfern more than sixty years, to tell me the story. He told it at great length, but this is what it boiled down to :—

Sir Walter Redfern was very handsome, and I am afraid very wicked. After his first wife’s death he became entangled with a girl of gipsy blood, who, for no other reason —so tar as I could learn—than her wonderful beauty and wild ways, was reputed to be a witch. Sir Walter, of course, played her false, and when the witch heard that he was affianced to Mistress Alicia Silverdale, of Arnside Tower, she went to the Hall and made a regular Hare up before all bis household —cursed Sir Walter, and foretold terrible things for him and his ; that his sons would die childless, and that no future Squire of Redfern would leave an heir, or marry a woman without involving her in dire misfortune.’ • And that is the legend,’ said the Lightning man. • The gist of it.’ ‘ And has the bode come true ?’ • It would seem so. Four of my predecessors married, and in every instance one of the parties to the marriage died shortly after its celebration.’ • An interesting example of the growth of myths. These Redferns appear to have been very unlucky, and the rustics, casting about for a cause, invented the legend of the Witch and the Curse, the starting point being, as likely as not, a dissolute squire and a deceived woman.’ •That is the explanation. Cardew, no doubt. All the same, you must admit that these continued misfortunes are very singular.’ • Of course they are. Some men, as well as some families, are singularly unfortunate, others are as singularly fortu-

nate. Such is life, my friend. You won’t let the Witch’s Curse deter you from marrying, I hope I’ smiling. *Of course not; I shall marry if only to give the legend the lie.’

* Spoken like a sensible man ; and you will find a wife of the right sort easy enough ; the Witch’s Curse to the contrary notwithstanding. Do you intend to spend all your time in Westmoreland ?’ * Heaven forbid ! No, I shall divide my time between Westmoreland and London. You must not imagine that because I have become a country gentleman I have ceased to be a Scribbler. If Redfein were not so far away and Scribblers so numerous I would ask all the club to pay me a visit. But yon six, who have been the first to congratulate me on my good fortune—you must come and see me. It is a dear old place.* * I am sure we shall be highly delighted. You couldn’t name the day, could you, Teddy ?’ asked Cardew drily. * What do you say to next Saturday t I will engage a saloon carriage—at my charge of course— and we can travel together.’ The invitation was accepted with enthusiasm. ‘ And now,’ said Edwards, ‘ 1 must go and see my lawyer. You have no idea what a lot I have to do. Among other things, I am going to sign what they call a poll deed and take the family name. That is the right thing to do, I am told. But here, at the club, and to every Scribbler, I shall still be the Teddy Edwards of yore. Ta ta.’ 11. Edwards’ better qualities survived, almost unimpaired, his accession of foitune, and he speedily became popular with bis Westmoreland neighbours, both high and low, and being rich, young, well-favoured, and unassuming, he was made welcome in every country bouse in the region round about. * I have lived in London nearly all my life,’ he would say, * and been bard at work ever since I left school. As a country gentleman I have everything to learn. I can neither ride, shoot, nor fish ; I don’t even play lawn-tennis ; and, as touching agriculture and the management of an estate, my mind is a perfect blank. But I am willing to learn.’ And be found willing teachers, as people who are willing to learn always do, especially in the matter of lawn-tennis ; and as the teachers in this instance were mostly very charming girls, Redfern found being in statu pupilari so agreeable that he made it last much longer than he need have done. Of these girls the most charming—as he reflected one evening walking home from a shooting party—was Barbara Stalmine, of Witherslack Hall. She was such a young woman as only this realm of England produces, of right noble nature, frank, winsome and winning, with soft brown eyes, an oval face, rosy cheeks, and the ripe red lips and strong white teeth which almost invariably denote good health and high spirits. Barbara was a fine horsewoman and knew the points of a horse ; she was versed in the mysteries of cricket, and boated, fished, swam, and danced to perfection. Withal she had a wellstored mind and a taste for literature, often surprising Redfern by the shrewdness of her remarks on the books she had read, and the people she had met; while, as for womanly qualities, it is enough to say that she was as much at home in a labourer’s cottage as her father’s drawing room. Teddy Edwards, to whom the mere existence of so sweet a girl was a revelation, would have been either more or less than human if he had not fallen in love with her, which he did, hopelessly, before he had been the Squire of Redfern a month. Witherslack Hall was a fine old place, with terraced gardens, and an emerald lawn, sloping down to the lake, whose background of rugged mountains was mirrored in the rippiing diamonds of its crystal waters. Here Barbara and her brothers taught Teddy to row and sail a boat, set night-lines, and (in an affluent stream) to fish for trout. One day, the brothers being otherwise engaged, Redfern proposed with some diffidence that she should give him another lesson—his style of rowing, as he modestly and truthfully observed, still leaving a good deal to be desired. ‘ Very well,’ she said with her sweetest smile, ‘ You shall row and I will criticise and steer. Allans !’ When they were under the shadow of the mountains and hidden from the bouse by a turn in the lake, Redfern rested on his oars. * Do you know the legend of the Witch’s Curse, Miss Stalmine !’ he asked. * Everybody does, hereabouts, I think.’ * And what do you think about it ?’ ‘ Well, it seems very strange, and the Redferns have been very unfortunate. All the same, I believe in the Divine government of the world ; and I don’t believe any woman has the power to work so much mischief after she is dead.’ •Then—then—you would dare to become the mistress of Redfern Hall ?’ ‘ I—l—l don’t know what you mean, Mr Redfern,’ she murmured, bending her head. * I mean—will you be my wife ? I love you, Barbara. You know that I love you.’ (Here he waxed eloquent and very incoherent, and talked a good deal of nonsense.) • Dare you ? I know that it is much to ask—’ ‘ I dare, for love of you—and a great deal more—and I don’t believe in witches—’ The oars went with a splash into the water, and Teddy made a bee line for the stern. ‘Oh, see what you have done!’ cried Barbara. ‘You have dropped the oars, and now you are going to upset the boat. ’ It was certainly a somewhat trying position for an ardent lover—a rocking boat, so narrow that two could not sit side by side—the oars overboard, and the lady in the stern, bolding the rudder lines. Teddy got over the difficulty by going on his knees and putting his arms round Barbara’s waist. But his raptures were cut shoit by the necessity of recovering the oars before they drifted tco far away, and her fear that they might be seen by some wanderer in the woods or climber among the crags. Nevertheless, he was very happy, and as ha rowed slowly back they had a long, delicious talk. When the lovers reached the house Redfern sought an interview with Mr Stalmine and told him what had happened. The old gentleman was evidently rather taken by surprise —he had not expected anything of the soit * so soon * he

said—and as evidently pleased, yet his manner showed embarrassment and hesitation, and he asked Mr Redfern’s permission to speak to Mrs Stalmine before giving him an answer.'

In fact, Mr Stalmine, thongh he did not say so, was thinking about the Witch’s Curse.

* It is all nonsense, of course, nobody believes in witches nowadays ’he observed to his wife. ‘AU the same, one cannot shut one’s eyes to facts, and there is no denying that the air of Redfern Hall is unwholesome forbrides. I should be awfully sorry if anything were to happen to Barbara ; if it were to be with her as it has been with the others—l should never forgive myself.’ ‘ We are in the hands of God ; I don’t believe in witchcraft, and Mr Redfern has eleven thousand a year,’ answered Mrs Stalmine decisively. * Eleven thousand a year and the owner of the estates in fee simple ; and, as none of his predecessors were, that may make a difference. Besides, Barbara’s happiness is at stake. It would break her heart if we were to refuse ; while as for the air of Redfern Hall being unwholesome for a bride, her hnsband can easily get over that by not taking her home till she ceases to be a bride.’

* Then you think we had better say yes ?’ ‘Of course. Eleven thousand a year, a parti personally unobjectionable, though he has been a pressman and is still a Scribbler, and a love match—what would you have more ?’

So the lovers were made happy, and pending the wedding (which was to take place in the autumn) it was arranged that they should accompany Mr and Mrs Stalmine, and another member of the family, in a run on the coutinent.

111. ‘ I AM sorry we cannot see more of Switzerland,’said Barbara to Teddy, on the day they reached Lausanne, homeward bound. But father must go—he has pressing business—that lawsuit, you know. However, that is no reason why you should go too.’ * But I shall go. Do you think I would let you go alone.’ * Don’t be absurd, dear ! How can Ibe alone when father and mother, and Marion are with me 1 Why not stay and indulge the wish you lately expressed, to tramp over the Gothard, and have a look at the big tunnel ’ I know that yon would like it; and I exert my authority—l insist on your doing it.’ * Oh, you insist 1’ * I insist. If I don’t begin by having my way now, how shall I get it afterwards, I should like to know ?’ ‘ Well, if you put it that way,’ returned Teddy, laughing, ‘ there is nothing more to he’said. I will see you off, then go to Lucerne and foot it from Fluellen to Faido, taking a peep at the tunnel en route. It won’t

take more than five or six days, and I can be at Redfern next week.’ * Say a fortnight. I have my trousseau, and no end of things to look after. If you are at home I know what will happen ; you will be coming to Witherslack every day, and I shall get nothing done. But not longer than a fortnight, remember.’ Teddy yielded, albeit rather reluctantly. The same night the Stalmines resumed their journey, and in the morning he started for Lucerne. On the third day after parting with his sweetheart he reached Faido. His plan was to go on to Bellinzonaand Pall an za, and return by the Mont Cenis. But being well within his time—the fortnight fixed by Barbara—and having heard that the neighbouring country, though out of the beaten track, was well worth seeing, he resolved to devote a day or two to its exploration.

After taking some directions from his landlord, who told him that it he should happen to be belted, he would do better to pass the night in a mountain cottage than'attempt to return in the dark, Redfern set out. The day was young, the weather delightful, the scenery superb, and being in no hurry he went leisurely, pausing from time to time to admire the prospect before him. After walking several hours he found himself in a glen of indescribable beauty. Hemmed in on one side by huge rocks covered with lichens and festooned with flowers, it was open to the south and commanded a glorious view of the Levantine valley, with its quaint chalets and picturesque villages bathed in sunshine. The Ticino shone like a silver ribbon in the verdant plain, and a sky of deepest blue shed a benignant smile on the frosted summits of the Levantine Alps. From the base of the rocks issued a mountain torrent which broadened into a fairy lakelet, in whose gentle bosom were reflected the trees and flowers that hung over its silver strand.

Redfern followd the torrent’s course until he came to a rude chalet. Before the .door, and near a little table, on which were two or three glasses of goat’s milk, sat an old

crone and a young woman. The latter rose as he approached, and the old crone in broken German asked him to buy of her milk But Redfern was so much taken up with her companion that for a moment he had no thought for aught else. Never before had he beheld so splendid a specimen of the sex. Almost as tall as himself, she was as finely formed as the Medicean Venus. Her features were Grecian in their delicacy, Roman in their strength,and the pose of her head, from which the long raven hair flowed to her waist, was simply perfect. The violet eyes were large, liquid and lustrous, and their expression was so peculiar and dominating that Teddy, in spite of himself, lowered his gaze before hers.

* Francisca asks whether you will take a glass of milk,’ she said in passable French. ‘Ten centimes, if you please,’ muttered the crone. Teddy pnt a franc piece on the table, and after raising his bat to the young woman, continued his walk. A little

further on he met a mountaineer, with a pack on his back. The man, probably a native of Canton I’ri. greeted him in German, and as he returned the courtesy, Redfern inquired to whom the cottage belonged.

‘ Der alte. Francisca. ’ ‘ And who is the hubches madchtn — the beautiful maiden ?’ ‘ They call her La Strega (the witch) hereabouts.’ ‘ The witch ! Why ’’ asked Teddy, rather startled, and thinking of the Witch’s Curse.

‘ Because they say that she has the evil eye. I don’t know about that, though. But she makes people do as she wills, especially men, and tames wild creatures which come at her bidding ; and cures the sick and sets broken limbs ; and folks who offend her never come to good.’ Redfern thanked his informant and went on his way wondering whether La Strega wasanvthing like the woman who had bewitched and cursed Sir Walter. After walking a while longer, always on the rise, he came to a pine wood, am) being hungry and a little tired, sat down in a mossy nook, and regaled himself with the sandwiches and vin du

pays, which he had brought in his haversack. Then, feeling drowsy, he closed his eyes for * forty winks,’ and was soon fast asleep. He awoke stiff’ with cold ; the sun bad disappeared, darkness was brooding over the pine wood, and a heavy mist rolling down the mountain. -rTI? i He had slept two or three hours, and night was at hand. Remembering his landlord's warning, and peiceiving that it would be madness to attempt returning by another route, as he had intended, Redfern began to retrace his steps, resolving, if he could get no further, to ask * old Francisca ’ for a night’s lodging. Soon, the darkness, mingling with the mist, grew so thick that seeing his way was quite out of the question. Teddy had to do the best he could—groping—feeling for the track with his feet, and sometimes going on his hands and knees. At length, to bis joy, be saw a light not very far below him, and went forward more confidently—too confidently—for, making a false step, be rolled down the side of the steep ravine, and as he involuntarily shouted for help, his head struck against a projecting stone, and he lost bis senses. When lie recovered them he was being supported in the arms of the mountaineer whom he bad met earlier in the day. Beside him stood La Strega, uplifting a blazing torch ; and very picturesque she looked in her scarlet bodice and short striped skirt, her sandled feet innocent of hosen, her arms bare to the shoulder, and her raven hair falling down to her waist. •Do you feel better ’ Can you rise ?’ she asked anxiously. ‘ Carlo will help you.’ • I will try,’ said Teddy faintly, and with a lift from Carlo rose to his feet. But he had been a good deal knocked about, his head was bleeding, his ankle sptained, and even with Carlo’s strong arm round him and the young woman giving a helping hand, it was as much as he could do to reach Francisca’s cottage. They laid him down, exhausted and half tainting, on a little bed in an inner room. • Now, you must take the gentleman in hand, Mademoiselle Valeria,’ said Carlo. ‘lf I had not heard his shout he would have lain at the bottom of the ravine all night.’ ‘Yes, I will take him in band and cure him. I knew he would come back : and I should have found him in the ravine, though you had not heard his cry. Take off his boots while I fetch water to bathe his head.’ When Carlo had obeyed this order he turned to go, whereRedfern took out his purse and gave him a twenty-franc piece. ‘That for your kindness and your help,’ he said. ‘ All this!’ 1 Yes, and quite little enough.’ ‘ You are very kind. Guten nacht, Afeinherr. Mademoiselle Valeria will cure you quicker than any doctor.’ ‘I will do my best,’she answered, smiling. When she had bathed and bound Teddy’s broken head, and fomented his ankle, she bade him go to sleep. ‘ How can I’’ he asked. ‘ I am sore all over, my head aches, and though my ankle is better, it is still horribly painful.’ ‘All excellent reasons for not lying awake. Look into my eyes and you will soon sleep,’ and she bent over him. Teddy did as he was bidden, nothing loth ; for the eyes were very beautiful and the girl fair to see. Soon a strange feeling of drowsiness stole over him, the sense of pain became less acute, his aching head ceased to throb, and though he knew that he was being hypnotised, he was weary and suffeiing, and yielded willingly to the fascination of Valeria’s lustrous orbs. A few minutes and his senses were steeped in sweet forgetfulness. When he awoke the sun was streaming into the chalet, and Valeria standing at hie bedside. ‘ Good Heavens, what a time I must have slept,’ he exclaimed. ‘ You have surely not been watching there all night, mademoiselle I’ ‘ Oh, no. I knew you could not waken until I allowed you. How do you feel ?’ ‘ Very much better, I feel as if I could walk down to Faido.’ • Try !’ (smiling). Redfern (who had doffed only his coat and boots) stood up, but his ankle was still so stiff and sore, though not acutely painful, that he was glad to sit down. ‘ Yon won’t be able to walk down the mountain for several days.’ ‘ In that case I must send to the hotel for some things.’ ‘ Carlo will pass this way presently. He shall fetch them. Who are you ?’ ‘ An Englishman, Edward Redfern by name, and at your service, mademoiselle.’ • And me they call Valeria ; and that is nearly all I know about myself. Twenty years ago, a woman was found near the hospice, frozen to death. In her arms was a little child. She had taken off her cloak to put round her babe, so dying in order that it might live. That was my mother ; lam that child. Nobody knew her name, but Francisca, who once had a little child of her own, took me instead, and brought me up and called me Valeria. Francisca is avaricious, but she has a good heart. She sent me to the communal school, where I learnt French. In summer we come up here with the goats and the cows ; in the winter we live down in the valley.’ ‘ A very touching story, mademoiselle. ‘So you don’t even know where you were born.’ ‘ No. Some people say that my mother was a gipsy, others that she was a Roman. Myself, I think she was a Roman.’

‘ If she was like you she must have been very beautiful.’ • I have been told so before; but lam glad you think so,’ she said simply, • and now I must get you some breakfast, for I am sure you are hungry,’

A full week, being at least three days more than necessity required and his conscience approved, Redfern remained at the chalet. He knew that he was doing wrong; but he yielded to an influence which he felt unable to resist. Valeria seemed to have hypnotised him both morally and physically. • I must go-go at once,’ he said several times. ‘ You shall not. 1 will not let you,’ she would answer ; and when she looked at him with those unfathomable eyes of hers, his resolve melted into thin air.

Redfern, who knew something of hypnotism (he had once made it the subject of a * sub-leader ’ in the Gi idironl asked Valeria how she had acquired the power of ‘putting people to sleep,’ as she called it. She had begun with animals, she said. Once, quite unintentionally, she put a dog to sleep by looking steadily into its eyes. Then she tried the experiment with children, and now she could put almost anybody to sleep.

* I don’t think you could have put me to sleep if I had not been half dazed to begin with. You could not do it again.’

‘ You think bo ? Let me try.’ She raised her eyes to his and Teddy looked into hers. For a few minutes he withstood their influence, but, despite his efforts, consciousness gradually left him. She touched his eyelids with her fingers, and he remembered no more until he found himself walking by her side a mile from the cottage.

* You are a veritable witch !’ he exclaimed. He was both humiliated and alarmed. It seemed that Valeria could do with him what she would.

• You are vexed and I am very sorry,’ she said softly. ‘ But when I have put a person to sleep once, I can always do it a second time—easily. You thought I could not. Don’t be vexed Edouardo. 1 won’t do it again—unless you ask me. You say lam beautiful. Well, your eyes are the most beautiful I ever saw, so bright and blue ; and your laugh is music to me, and your voice—don’t be angry with me, Edouardo.’ And she laid her hands on his shoulders and looked at him with beseeching eyes. This was more than flesh and blood could stand. Teddy clasped the witch in his arms and pressed his lips passionately to hers. ‘ There I knew you could not be angry with Valeria long,’ she exclaimed, laughing, * I can make anv man love me ; but never before have I allowed a man to embrace me. Let us go back to the chalet.’

Was this innocence or guile? Redfern could not tell. The girl was an enigma. But the incident made him very unhappy ; for though he was neither a St. Antony nor a Joseph he was a decent fellow. He had plighted his troth to Barbara Stalmine, and he meant to be true to her —if he could. And he did not really love Valeria—it was an infatuation, as humiliating to him as it was dangerous to her ; an infatuation which he felt only in her presence and ascribed, lightly or wrongly, to her hypnotic powers. He had not written to Barbara since he left Faido, and in two or three days would have outstayed his leave of absence. He felt that he must take some decisive step and that quickly. The decisive step was taken on the following morning. He rose early. Valeria was gone up the mountain to look after the kine. Francisca told him.

‘ I am going for a short walk,’ he said, and leaving the chalet walked swiftly down the mountain—sometimes running. In two hours he was at Faido, in three, travelling towards Bellinzona in a post chaise drawn by two fast horses.

Rather an ignominious flight, but Teddy felt that he had done well to get away before it was too late ; and only those who know what it is to be alternately fascinated and hypnotised by a woman of diabolic beauty have a right to condemn him.

Thirty six hours later he was dining at the Scribblers’ Club, and the following morning found him at Witherslack Hall. Barbara gently reproached him for not having written to her ; she had received only two letters since they parted at Lausanne, and he had promised to write at least every other day. But when he told of a bad fall, a sprained ankle, and a forced sojourn in a mountain chalet, she was all sympathy and pity. ‘lf she only knew’ !’ thought Teddy with an inward tremor.

They were married in the autumn as had been arranged. It had also been ananged that they should travel through France to Italy, spend the winter and part of the spring in Rome ; the summer in the Tyrol. This was Mrs Stalmine’s plan for dodging the Witch’s Curse. For though she did not believe in it ‘ the least bit,’ she insisted, like the wise woman she was, on her daughter taking the benefit of the doubt, and doing all she could to avert the omen.

When the happy couple were about to leave Paris (where they stayed several days), it became a question as to the route by which they were to cross the Alps. He proposed the Mont Cenis route ; she was all for the St. Gothard.

* The year is waning ;—the pass will be deep in snow,’ objected Teddy. ‘So much the better,’ exclaimed Barbara, ‘sledging through an Alpine pass will be a new and delightful experience.’ He gave way, of course, albeit against the grain, for even the remote possibility of meeting Valeria could not be contemplated without serious misgiving. And then, as he and his bride sped southward, a strange thing happened. Though Redfern desired most strenuously never to see or hear of La Strega again, he began to fear that he should see her, that when he got to the neighbourhood of Faido an influence stronger than his own will would compel him to leave Barbara and seek out Valeria in her mountain home.

Could it be that during one of his hypnotic trances the witch had east a spell over him—ordered him to return at a certain time, and that the time drew near? The thought was horror, yet, though he fought against the impulse—if impulse it were—with all his might, it grew upon him hour by hour, and it was all he could do to hide from his wife the anxiety and terror which consumed him.

From Fluellen they travelled post, and on wheels to Goescbenen, where, as snow lay thick on the ground, they ha<l to exchange their caniage for a large sledge. The descent from the Hospice is made in small sledges, each drawn by one horse and carrying two persons—the driver and a passenger. In the first rides Redfern, in the second Barbara, in the third her maid ; the fourth is a baggage Jourgon. Then follow other travellers in other sledges, winding swiftly down the zig zag road. They are midway down the Tremola gorge, and Barbara s lost in admiration of the magnificent scene before her—glittering peaks, frowning precipices, fathomless gorges, great glaciers, and, above all, a cloudless cerulean sky and a glorious sun. • Look at that girl !’ says Redfern’s driver. Redfern looks. The sight he sees strikes him dumb, and he turns as white as the snow around him.

The gill, who stands at a turn in the road, is Valeria. Her tall form is drawn up to its full height, her right arm is stretched towards him, her eyes glow with excitement, and her attitude is imperious and commanding. • Stop, Edouardo ! stop, I command you 1’ she cries. A peal of thunder, a roar as if the earth were being torn asunder, and rocks shot up from the depths; a huge white cloud comes leaping down from the mountain tops, and

Redfern and Barbara, horses and drivers, are swept from the road in a whirlwind of powdered snow. When the air clears, as it does in a few seconds, it is found that only the two leading sledges have been engulfed ; whereupon the occupants of the other sledges—driversand travellers alike—begin the work of rescue, and the buried alive are rescued—save for a few bruises and the fright—none the worse ; and, after a short rest at the nearest refuge, resume their journey. That evening in the hotel while dressing for dinner Barbara asked, ‘ What has become of that woman ? How noble of her to warn you, Teddy !’ It was perhaps lucky that she was at that moment intent on giving the final touches to her hair and did not notice, how strangely discomposed her husband was at the question. Nobody could tell ; but as her body was not found in the snow, and one of the drivers averred that he bad seen her running down the path, it was taken for granted that she had escaped. Be that as it might, the incident seemed to have broken the spell ; the impulse to seek Valeria troubled Teddy no more, and he and his wife reached Rome without further mishap. The reader will also be glad to know that Mrs Stalmine’s scheme for dodging the Witch’s Curse proved effectual, for albeit ten years have elapsed since these things came to pass, no harm has befallen Barbara, and she and her husband (who, by the way, is still a member of the Scribblers’ Club) are the happy parents of sons and daughters.