The Bronze Hand | Page 9

was visible in the subdued light,
had the unresponsiveness of carven wood, and if not exactly hideous of
feature, had in it a strange and haunting quality calculated to impress a
sensitive mind with a sense of implacable fate. Cruel, hard, passionless,
and yet threatening to a degree, must this countenance have seemed to
those who willingly subjected themselves to its baneful influence.
I was determined not to be one of these, and yet I had not regarded her
for two minutes before I found myself forgetting the real purpose of my
visit, and taking a seat with the rest, in anticipation of something for
which as yet I had no name, even in my own mind.
How long I sat there motionless I do not know. A spell was on me--a
spell from which I suddenly roused with a start. Why or through what

means I do not know. Nobody else had moved. Fearing a relapse into
this trance-like state, I made a persistent effort to be freed from its
dangers. Happily the full signification of my errand there burst upon
me. Finding myself really awake, I ventured to peer about, expecting to
see the more willing devotees affected as I had been. I encountered a
flash from the eyes of the young lady whose bag I held in my hand. She
was under no spell. She had not only seen but recognized me.
I held the bag towards her. She gave a furtive glance in the direction of
Madame--a glance not free from fear--then clutched the bag. Before
releasing my hold upon it I ventured upon a word of explanation. I got
no further, for at this moment a voice was heard.
By the effect it had upon the expectant ones, I knew it could have
emanated only from the idol-like being who had filled the place with
her awesome personality.
At first the voice sounded like a distant call, musically sweet and low;
the kind of note that we can imagine the Indian snake-charmers to use
when the cobra raises its winged head in obedience to the pipe's
resistless charm. Every ear was strained to hear; mine with the rest. So
much preparation, so much faith must result in something. What was it
to be? The incoherent sounds became more and more distinct, and,
finally, took on the articulate form of words. The quiet was deathly.
Every one was prepared to interpret her utterances into personal
significance. The dread and trouble of the times filling all minds, men
wished to be forehanded with the decrees of Providence. Into this
brooding silence the low, vibrating tones of this mysterious voice
entered, and this is what we heard:
"Doom! doom! For him--the one--the betrayer--the passing bell is
tolling. Hear it, ye weak ones and grow strong. Hear it, ye mighty and
tremble. Not alone for him will it ring. For ye! for ye! if the decree of
the linked rings goes forth---"
Here there was a perceptible quiver of the drapery back of the dais.
Others may not have noted it; I did. When, therefore, a very white hand
came slowly from between its folds and placed its fingers upon the

right temple of Madame, I was not much startled. What did startle me
was the fact let out before that admonishing hand touched her, that this
being--I can hardly call her woman--seemingly so far removed from the
political agitations of the day, was, in very deed, either consciously or
unconsciously--I could not decide which--intimately connected with
the conspiracy I was at that very moment striving to defeat. How
intimately? Was she the prime mover I was seeking, or simply an
instrument under the control of another, and yet stronger, personality
imaged in the owner of that white hand?
There was no means of determining at that moment. Meanwhile, the
fingers had left the temple of Madame. The hand was slowly
withdrawn. Sleep apparently fell again upon the dreamer, but only long
enough for her to bring forth the words:
"I have said."
The silence that followed, gave me time to think. It was necessary. She
had bidden the mighty tremble and had pronounced death to one--the
betrayer. Was this senseless drivel, prophetic sight, or threatened
murder? I inclined to consider it the last, and this was why: For some
weeks now, murder, or, at least, sudden death, had been rampant in the
country. My flesh crept as I remembered the many mysterious deaths
reported within the month from St. Louis, Boston, New Orleans, New
York and even here in Baltimore. Like a flash it came across me that
every name was identified, more or less closely, with the political
affairs of the time. Coupling my knowledge with what I conjectured,
was it strange I saw a confirmation of the worst