Strange Visitors | Page 9

to me your secret and your heart will be lighter for it."
"Ha! ha!" he answered, his voice dying away in a low wail. "Look upon that wall opposite the bed; it will speak better than I can." I looked, and beheld a faint photograph or impression of the couch, with its handsome drapery. Upon it reclined the figure of a female, and bending over her appeared the form of a man, whose livid face and black, disordered hair I recognized as an unmistakable reflection of the unfortunate man before me.
"You see that 'the very stones cry out against me,'" said he. "Every night for two years have I enacted that same scene, and I am held by some unseen, influence to this baneful spot."
"Tell me your story," said I; "hide nothing--I am your friend."
He ran his thin fingers through his tangled hair, and with a voice husky with emotion answered:
"I will tell you. Some years ago, when a young man, haughty and passionate, I had the misfortune to love a girl whose youth and beauty proved my bane, and in a moment of recklessness I married her. In her nature were mingled the qualities of the serpent and the dove. She was my inferior, and I could not own her outwardly nor inwardly as my wife; but, unhappily for the peace of both, I could not rid myself of her. I gave her money, but it availed not; she was ignorant, and persisted in following me." Here the man looked around with a nervous air, as if he expected to see the unwelcome face peering at him through the shadows.
"To avoid her," he continued, "I secretly purchased this dwelling, remote from the place of her abode. There I lived for a brief time, happy; a new life with loftier purposes dawned upon me; I formed another attachment--a higher and more noble one.
"One evening as I was walking upon the balcony thinking of my new-found joys, a figure came creeping up through the shrubbery towards me. To my amazement it proved to be the girl who claimed me.
"When I saw her, rage entered my heart, and I felt as if I could annihilate her. But, suppressing all show of feeling, I went with her into the house, and appointed her this room for the night. A demoniac idea had presented itself to my mind; it came unsought, but under the excitement of the moment it seemed like a good angel of deliverance.
"To further this idea, I lay down beside her. Presently she fell into a light slumber. At first a slight expression of pleasure played upon her lips, but ere long the fatigue of her journey overcame her, and she slept heavily.
"Then," said he, his countenance assuming a convulsive and ghastly aspect, "I arose on tiptoe, and collecting the heavy comforters and large downy pillows of the bed, I deliberately piled them on her one upon the other, and pressing them down with all my gathered force, I stifled her in her sleep!
"No cry, no groan from my victim betrayed the unhallowed deed, and before the first dawn of day I was driving furiously over the road to the river's bank, from which into the watery depth below I threw this millstone of my life.
"When I drove back the morning had dawned. The daylight seemed to pry into the secrets of the past night. I would fain shun it--the garish light disturbed me. The morning sun, which had ever been my delight, seemed now a mocking imp of curiosity; the house and grounds looked bare and desolate; a blight had fallen upon their former comeliness.
"A strange fascination again drew me into the chamber which had been the scene of my crime. When there I re-enacted the last night's work. The bed and furniture seemed to come toward me and taunt me with the fell crime I had committed. 'I was justified in the act,' said I to these dumb accusers, as though they had been, living witnesses. 'She was the bane of my existence.' And with cunning precision I arranged the disordered room, smoothed the pillows, and levelled the coverlet. 'The dead cannot speak,' said I. 'This thing is hidden.'
"After this performance I went forth, hoping by a sharp walk to drown the memory of the momentary deed. I passed through the garden and reached the sloping hill. There, where the low fence joined the open road, I was met by the lady whom I loved. She was taking the morning air, and with her smiling face seemed drinking in its balmy freshness.
"'You look ill,' said she, with a pitying glance. 'See what I have brought for you,' and she held forth a newly-plucked bouquet of flowers.
"I took the proffered blossoms hurriedly, dreading to meet her clear eye, which I felt