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TELE TRIAL OF GIDEON.
I.
DURING an excursion to the Levant, some years ago,
I separated myself from my party, who were bound for
Antioch, and rode northeastward, accompanied only by
an Arab and a pack-mule. My nominal destination was
Mt. Ararat and the shores of the Caspian ; but I really
wished to explore, in a sentimental mood, and so far as
possible alone, the upper portion of the old Meso-
potamian region. My Arab, though he acted as drago-
man, knew as little about the geography of the country
as I did, and nothing whatever about its history. This,
however, did not disturb me. I wished to discover, and
to enjoy my impressions. I had a smattering of two or
three Oriental languages; the cradle of the human race
was before me, and, if Achmed knew nothing, he was a
reasonably tractable rascal, and could do what he was
told. -
A journey of some days brought us to the banks of
the Euphrates, which we followed up-stream, and soon
came in sight of the snow-crowned heights of the Taurus
range of mountains. The country hereabouts was ex-
traordinarily picturesque. The valley is very fertile, and
its rich luxuriance contrasts with the stern and remote
sublimity of the lofty acclivities. The atmosphere at
that season of the year—it was early spring—was warm


THE TRIAL OF GIDEON. 5
of the moon defined itself low down toward the south,
looking (as it frequently does in these countries) only a
few miles distant. Its light gleamed on the calm surface
of the stream, and threw gigantic shadows down the
huge terraces of the mountain. In all my wanderings,
methought I had never beheld a grander spectacle. The
sky, profound and transparent, seemed to hold the stars
midway in its depth. The lake extended black and
inscrutable beneath, and there was silence everywhere,
save for the minor note of the frogs and the occasional
lonely cry of a water-bird among the sedges of the mar-
gin. Deserted though the region appeared, however, I
was unable to rid myself of the impression that I was
looking upon what had been the theatre of some mighty
episode of forgotten history. Indeed, the imagination
might safely be left to its own devices in such a spot ; it
could hardly transcend the possible fact. I strolled down
to a small knoll, at the point where the waters of the
river flowed in to form the lake, and sat down there
upon a fragment of rock. By and by the moon disap-
peared behind a spur of the mountain ; but, as I gazed
into the bosom of the lake, I saw a bright reflection
there ; and looking upward, I perceived, nearly in the
zenith, an exceedingly brilliant star, the name of which
I was not astronomer enough to determine. Be it what
it might, it was the most conspicuous object in the
heavens, and seemed to dominate the valley—so large
was it, and so softly lustrous. I could almost fancy that
I was sensible of a peculiar influence from it, as if it
shone especially for the place in which I was. No doubt
an astrologer might have discovered grounds for humor-
ing this idea. If men have their particular stars, why
not also certain defined regions of the earth's surface 2
Smiling at my own fantasies, I arose from my rocky
/… or razº
UK ITV Y. R. SIT º
A . ºf - * * *


6 THE TRIAL OF GIDEON.
seat and descended to the little strand against which the
noiseless current lapped. The reflection of the stars,
striking across the surface, fell upon a small rounded
object at my feet. I picked it up, and found it to be a
fragment of brick-like substance, of a yellowish-brown
hue, and with an appearance of erosion on one of its flat
surfaces. A closer examination, however, revealed the
fact that what had appeared to be natural markings were
in truth artificial, and that I held in my hand one of
those records stamped in terra-cotta (or some similar
material), numerous specimens of which are found among
the ruins of Babylon and other immemorial cities. The
character appeared to be a primitive form of Hebraic
writing ; but it had become too much defaced to be
easily legible. I could decipher only a single word,
apparently the name of a city, which may be rendered
in English by “Nebo.” I was aware that one or more
places bearing a similar title had formerly existed in
Palestine, but I had never heard of a Nebo so far east.
IIistory, however, really knows comparatively little
about this region. It does not present difficulties
enough to tempt the more adventurous class of explorers,
and it is out of the line of Cook's tourists and their like.
As for the wandering, half-savage tribes of Kurds who
range through these solitudes, they neither know nor
care anything about the past. Imagination might re-
build a city almost anywhere hereabouts without infring-
ing upon the rights of the most exacting geographer.
I took my brick back with me to the tent, intending
to investigate it further by candle-light; but it yielded
nothing further, and, indeed, I could scarcely recover,
by this artificial illumination, even so much as had
showed itself under the rays of the great star—which
may, perhaps, have lent an imaginary distinctness to my


THE TRIAL OF GIDEON. i
interpretation. But I had seen enough to awaken my
curiosity, and I went to sleep resolved to make further
explorations the next day.
On awaking in the morning I was conscious of having
had a very vivid dream, but I could not recall a single
incident of it. This forgetfulness annoyed me, because
I had a vague notion that what I had dreamt was in
some way connected with this locality. I picked up my
brick, but the broad glare of daylight put the inscrip-
tion quite out of countenance ; I could make out noth-
ing but a confused puzzle of scratches. After all, the
lost city of Nebo might be only a creation of star-light,
and no more substantial than my dream. While Achmed
was getting something ready for breakfast, I walked
about to breathe the delicious air, and get a day-time im-
pression of the place. Certainly, nothing could surpass
the solemn splendor of the landscape, and I marvel
that painters have never bestirred themselves to bring
us records of it. The mountain, towering up above .
the lake, flung its vast shadow across it, but the sunshine
glistened here and there on the snow of its sublime pin-
nacles, and softened the silvery blue of its crevasses.
Below, the broad river slept round its gigantic curve, and
agentle movement of the waters thrilled across the silent
mirror of the lake. The rocky amphitheatre suggested
the forms of stupendous castles, which fancy easily peo-
pled with fitting inhabitants. But it was the lake that
most deeply stimulated speculation. If, as I was inclined
to think, it had been created at a comparatively recent
epochſ; what wonders might not lie beneath its surface
The sunken city of Atlantis might not have more mar-
vels to reveal.
On the bank of the river, not far from our camp,
there was a rocky projection overgrown with vegetation,


8 THE TRIAL OF GIDEON.
and extending some distance into the stream. I went
down to it, and presently perceived that it was the same
knoll that I had visited the evening before. Here and
there amid the herbage the substance of the rock peeped
forth ; and on scraping aside some turf with my foot I
saw two narrow fissures meeting at right angles, as if de-
fining the square corner of an artificially dressed stone.
Further research satisfied me that the knoll was, in fact,
the remnant or foundation of some structure built by
human hands. The stones were of immense size, recall-
ing those of the platform of the temple of Baalbec ; but
their shape differed from the latter; their depth was
more nearly equal to their breadth. They had evidently
been designed for another sort of building. I at first
thought of a tower by the water's edge, after the fashion
of the mediaeval architects of Europe ; but, upon reflec-
tion, the site seemed unsuitable for such an erection ;
nor was I disposed to believe that the ancient inhabitants
of Mesopotamia were in the habit of making edifices of
that description. But, as I stood there, I glanced across
the stream, and perceived on the opposite bank a projec-
tion similar to that upon which I was stationed, and
then, all at once, the solution of the enigma flashed upon
me. These were the two abutments of a huge bridge
which had formerly spanned the river.
A bridge of such dimensions was not merely a great
engineering achievement, but its existence implied a
vast and wealthy population to make use of it. The
lost city of Nebo must have been not the least among
the mighty centres of human life and industry in the
past. But where had the city stood ; The bridge
should have been easily accessible from all parts of it;
yet there was no place now available for such a city to
occupy. No place, except the bed of the lake; and this


12 THE TRIAL OF GIDEON.
(which was next to incredible) or—what was almost as
hard to believe—had been actually quarried out of the
living rock. Not without many a slip and stumble I
forced my way to the summit, and sat down there to re-
cover my breath. From this point the whole scene
assumed a new aspect and meaning. I was at the archi-
tectural centre of the whole ; directly beneath me
had been the bridge; and the lake, with its immediate
surroundings, indicated the limits of the city. The lines
of the great amphitheatre defined themselves symmetri-
cally, and formed, as it were, the auditorium of which
the city was the stage. But who had occupied the audi-
torium ? and of what drama had they watched the de-
velopment # The problem stimulated my curiosity very
strongly. Could it be that this concave mountain-side
had been consecrated to some kind of religious observ-
ances—a city of temples and sacred edifices occupied by
priests and magi, and invested by the popular belief with
supernatural accessories :
To aid my meditations Iresolved to smoke ; and, while
hunting in my pockets for my pipe, I came upon a hard
object which proved to be the bit of inscribed brick
which I had picked up the previous evening. While I
was examining it anew it slipped from my fingers and
rolled down the slope. I sprang after it, and succeeded
in keeping my eyes upon it long enough to mark where
it lodged in a cavity of the rock. Taking advantage of
the inequalities of the surface and of protruding bushes, I.
reached the cavity without accident. It was a triangular
hole, entering the face of the pyramid vertically, and its
dimensions were not more than a foot each way. Had
I not been guided to it by the rolling brick I might have
hunted a week for it in vain. Thrusting my hand into
it, I felt about for the fugitive fragment, and in so doing


THE TRIAL OF GIDEON. 13
felt a surface with which my hand came in contact yield
beneath the pressure. Something slid backward and
sideways, like an opening door, disclosing an inner
cavity in which rested a small oblong box of metal
which I drew forth.


II.
THE box was about eight inches in length, and five in
depth and breadth. It seemed to be made of bronze,
though of a quality different from that now known,
being almost black in color, and with no traces of that
greenish rust which encrusts such specimens of that
amalgam as have been exposed to the action of time or
the elements. It was an exquisite piece of workman-
ship, though extremely simple in design and ornamen-
tation. Upon the top of the lid were inlaid in lines of
fine gold the letters of some words which I was unable,
at that time, to read, but which, as I afterward learned,
may be paraphrased as “The Test [or Trial] of Gideon.”
The edges of the box were enriched by a wavy and in-
volved pattern, recalling both Egyptian and Persian
designs, also of gold. Upon the face of the little casket
was a monogram, or complex of interlaced figures, in
relief, the general outline of the whole being elliptical,
and the longest axis of the ellipse parallel with the
vertical lines of the box.
The box was closed, but there were no signs either of
hinges or of a lock; nor could I even discern the junc-
tion line of the cover with the body. It was not very
heavy—it may have weighed ten or twelve pounds—and
emitted no sound on being shaken. I was very reluc-
tant to break it open, and yet there seemed to be no other
way of getting at its contents, which, all things con-
sidered, bade fair to be of exceeding interest. For I
could not doubt that the box was of an antiquity coeval


THE TRIAL OF GIDEON. 15
with that of the vanished city and of the ruined
pyramid; and the place and manner of its concealment
indicated a purpose to preserve it with the utmost care.
The triangular aperture had, in all probability, been
originally closed by a stone fitting accurately into it;
but this, whether removed by accident or by the hand
of man, had not led to the discovery of the inner recep-
tacle, which accident had disclosed to me.
Holding the box in my hands, and musing abstractedly
over these things, my fingers busied themselves uncon-
sciously with following the interlacements of the raised
monogram on the front ; but presently it seemed to me
that this was no longer in the same position that it had
at first occupied. Looking at it, I saw that the axis of
the ellipse was, in fact, now inclined slightly from right
to left, instead of being vertical as before. I pushed it
further in this direction, until it assumed a horizontal
position, when, to my surprise and pleasure, the lid
started open, owing to the releasement of a concealed
spring, and the contents of the box were revealed.
They consisted chiefly of a roll of some fine fibrous
material, probably a species of papyrus, deposited se-
curely in a lining of woven tissue of gold, so delicate
and soft as almost to have the feeling of satin. The
inside of the lid was a plate of gold, in which were inlaid
three lines of cabalistic figures in jewels, the latter being
cut down so as to form one surface with their back-
ground. The papyrus was a scroll six inches wide and
several feet in length, written over with a clear and beau-
tiful character, in a glossy black pigment, with occasional
lines and ornamentations in blue and scarlet. A slight
inspection showed me that the language employed,
though allied to the early Hebrew, was in a dialect with
which I was unfamiliar, and which (separated as I was


16 THE TRIAL OF GIDEON.
from all books of reference and consultation) I could not
then hope to interpret. Here and there a word or a
passage seemed to emerge doubtfully from the prevailing
obscurity, like a whisper in the silence of night to one
who lies half awake; but though these stimulated my
interest, they could not even partially satisfy it. After
much vain studying I was finally compelled to give up
my attempts for the time being, and until I reached some
place where I could avail myself of better scholarship
than was at my individual command. Accordingly, I
replaced the scroll in its place, closed the box, and
wrapped it up in my handkerchief; lest it should tempt
the curiosity or cupidity of my worthy Achmed. . . .
Three months later I came up the Red Sea, and crossing
the Isthmus, proceeded by steamer along the Mediter-
ranean to Marseilles. Arriving at Paris, I spent the
winter and spring there and in London, at the libraries
of the Bibliothèque Nationale and the British Museum ;
and by the aid of the resources there afforded me, I suc-
ceeded in reading the whole of the strange story of the
Trial of Gideon. It is an ancient story, and yet, perhaps
—so great is the essential resemblance of mankind to
himself, from age to age—its significance may have some
pertinence to us of to-day. I have not, however, at-
tempted a literal or complete translation, but have merely
given such features and passages of the narrative as
seemed most likely to appeal to the sympathies of modern
readers.


24 THE TRIAL OF GIDEON.
be ye, who have slain my only son, the heir of my king-
dom.” And he made a law that no messenger of the
prophets should cross from the sacred mountain to the
city, nor any from the city go over thither; and he said:
“Henceforth we will be a law unto ourselves, and it
shall be known that we need not the prophets, nor the
altar, nor the star Om that shines upon it. Am not I
Zur, the king of the earth ? and who shall prevail
against me !” So from that time none crossed the
bridge, and the messengers of the prophets went no
more back and forth between the sacred mountain and the
city Nebo. Yet the prosperity of the people abated not,
but waxed greater than before; for the Holy One hasteth
not to be angry, but is merciful for many generations.
And Zur the king said: “Behold, the rays of the star
Om shine no more upon the city; but I, Zur, even I
will make a light for my people, that shall be brighter
than the star Om, and no evil omen shall proceed from
it ; but whosoever offers an offering, and the light falls
upon it, the same shall be numbered among my servants,
and a crown of gold shall be given him, and he shall be
called the messenger of Zur, the king of the earth.” So
the king sent men with axes into the forest, and they
cut down the tallest trees, and brought them, and fast-
ened them together, the end of one to the end of another,
and bound them with bands, and stayed them with
cords, and set up the mast which they had made in the
court of the king's palace. And it was tall exceedingly,
even taller than the towers of the bridge across the River
Euphrates, and than the pyramid of rock that is called
the altar of Om. And upon the top of the mast the
king fixed a great lantern, the light whereof was lighted
each year on that day on which the king's son was born,
he that perished before the altar of Om. And whoso-


THE TRIAL OF GIDEON. 31
priest and the prophets, going down to the brink of the
river, lifted up Melita and Gideon in their arms, and
bore them up the mountain. Then the waters of the
River Euphrates rose mightily and overflowed the right
bank, on which stood the great city Nebo. And the city
was overwhelmed, with all who were in it ; and Zur the
king and all his messengers and his people were
drowned in the deep waters, nor did any survive of the
population of Nebo. And the waters of the river
formed a great lake, which abides there to this day, in
token that these things are true.
But the high-priest and the prophets knelt down, and
prayed to the Holy One whose dwelling is in Om, and
who giveth life to all things that exist. And they
prayed : “O thou Holy One, to whom all things are
possible, vouchsafe that the soul of Melita enter into the
gold and the silver of the image of Melita that Gideon
wrought for his offering ; that the image may have life,
and be to him the Melita whom he has lost, and who is
the core of his heart and the life of his soul. That so
his love and his faith and his labor may become one, and
be made his wife, and he and she may glorify thy name
upon the sacred mountain.”
And the Holy One inclined His ear to the prayer of
the high-priest and the prophets, and did according to
their prayer. And the image of Melita that was upon
the summit of the altar of Om arose ; and the soul of
Melita entered into the gold and the silver; and the
gold became flesh, and the silver became raiment, and
she descended from the altar, and her loveliness was as a
flower that opens in the morning, and her eyes were as
melting jewels, and her breath as the perfume of the
Persian rose-bud. And she went to Gideon, and wound
her arms about his neck, and laid his head in her bosom,


32 THE TRIAL OF GIDEON.
and kissed his lips, saying: “Awake, Gideon, thou
whom my soul loveth.” And Gideon awoke from his
swoon, and his eyes beheld her, and he knew that she
was Melita.
Such is the narrative of the trial of Gideon.
:


COUNTESS AIMATA'S MURDER.
A STORY.
I.
TEN years have passed since the Countess's tragic end,
and even now I tell the story with great reluctance.
Desire that the truth be known is complicated by un-
willingness to revive memories so full of gloom and
pain. But circumstances have rendered the full reve-
lation almost imperative, and I am resolved to discharge
my duty in the matter.
The earliest hint of the event destined to influence so
deeply the course of my life was by no means of an
apparently ominous nature. On a lovely afternoon in
early June, just before the general summer exodus from
New York, I was seated (in pursuance of a custom I had
established) on a certain bench in a retired nook of the
Park. I presume the bench is still there, though it is a
long time since I saw it last. It is out of the ordinary
route of promenaders, but is so placed as to command a
view in more than one direction. Overhead clusters the
glancing foliage of a silver poplar—I think that is the
name of the tree—a pond is not far off, and near it a
plot of grass to which nurses bring children. The spot
has almost the seclusion of actual country, though I
might hear through the bird-songs, were I to listen in-


COUNTESS ALMARA'S MURDER. 37
a bit of string, to the other end of which was attached a
spool. After we had stared gravely and silently at each
other for a minute, he came nearer and put the string in
my hand, and then ran away. A modest young woman
of French demeanor, in a black gown and white cap and
apron, who was walking at a little distance, joined her-
self to him : evidently she was his nurse. Just before
they passed out of sight, the child turned round and
kissed his little hand to me—a courtesy to which I cor-
dially responded.
Greatly pleased with this adventure, I put the spool
in my pocket, and I have kept the souvenir ever since.
The next day I visited a toy-shop, and furnished myself
with bait for my young friend, should he reappear.
Before long I caught sight of him, under the trees at a
little distance from our first meeting-place, and the bonne
sitting with some sewing in her hand. I approached,
and talked with them. The child, as well as the nurse,
spoke only French. We were soon friends. He was a
frank, affectionate, well-mannered boy, endowed with a
certain sprightly grace that showed a foreign origin ;
but from one or two passages between him and Marie, I
inferred that he had a hasty temper. His name—the
only one he gave me—was Max. At length, in pur-
suance of an idea that had been in my mind since yester-
day, I asked him whether he had ever had his portrait
painted. Max shook his head.
I said: “I have a friend who makes pictures of good
children, and would make one of you. He is a pleasant
fellow and a famous painter, and his name is Raleigh.
He lives only a little way off, in a fine large studio.
Will you come with me some time and visit him '''
“Je vieux bien P’ exclaimed Max, making a jump off
the ground.


COUNTESS ALMARA'S MURDER. 43
“Think over my advice, however,” were my parting
words.
Of course I knew he would do no such thing; and to
tell the truth, I secretly believed he might succeed after
all. With the young lady herself there would doubtless
be no difficulty; it was her family that would fight.
But though Raleigh had not, at that time, any property
to speak of, his manner and personal influence were
worth twenty thousand a year to him ; he attracted
everybody. And what a triumph, if he really did marry
her “Who can tell ?” I asked myself; and when I
went next week to Paris, I was not without hopes.
Two weeks later he sent me a telegram that startled
me. It ran as follows:
“Meet me at Marseilles, March 1st. We shall be
married there, and then go to London.”
I sat down to smoke and consider. One thing was
evident—this meant an elopement. Raleigh had con-
quered the girl, but not the family. To this day, I
know not precisely what had taken place, but no doubt
there had been romance and passion enough. If
Raleigh’s feeling for this girl had not been overmaster-
ing, he would not have put her in so questionable a
position ; and she must have loved him with full Italian :
ardor, thus to follow him to what might be shame, and
must (in the eyes of her family) be disgrace. But this
was not the worst I feared. The family was powerful,
and could put all the machinery of the Italian police in
motion to stop the fugitives. Moreover, his civet-cat
rival would not rest quiet under such a defeat, and, if
he did not challenge Raleigh to a duel, might drive a
stiletto into him. Altogether, the prospect was not reas-
Suring.
But my part in the adventure was simple ; I went to


44 COUNTESS ALMARA'S MURDER.
Marseilles on the first of March, and waited. The day
passed, but Raleigh came not. I remained three days
in a state of constantly increasing anxiety. At length I
decided to go to Rome and try to find out what was the
matter. But a few hours before I was ready to start,
the door of my room was opened slowly, and Raleigh
came in, alone.
“Don’t ask me anything,” he said, as I rose to re-
ceive him. “You see I’m alone; that's enough for the
present.”
He looked like one in whom feeling, hope and joy
have been burned out. His eyes were dull, his face
pale, his voice monotonous; and he was heavy with
fatigue and sleeplessness. He sat inertly in a chair, his
elbows on the table and his head in his hands. He made
no response to my questions, and presently he threw
himself on a sofa and fell into a disturbed sleep.
That night he told me something of his story; and
further details came to me afterward. The plan of the
elopement, was elaborated to the smallest detail; the
sister was the only confidante of the plot, and she was
heartily interested for them. The family were unsus-
picious, and as for the rival, he had even made friendly
advances, and had induced Raleigh to smoke a cigarette
of a peculiar brand, manufactured specially for the little
Italian, but which Raleigh abominated as he did all
forms of the weed.
On February 26th, the two sisters, with their gover-
ness, drove out of the Porto del Popolo, as far as Ponte
Molle. There they left the carriage to examine the
curious grove of cork-trees. While thus engaged,
Raleigh's lady-love stumbled and sprained her ankle.
All this was a preconcerted plan, intended to mislead the
governess, and, through her, the family. The other


COUNTESS ALMARA's MURDER. 45
sister went off to find help to convey the pseudo-invalid
to her carriage ; and the latter presently sent the gover-
ness after her, on some trumped-up errand. The coast
being thus cleared, Raleigh emerged from his ambush ;
and half an hour later, the lovers were driving at full
speed down the Civita Vecchio road.
For an hour more, all went well. Then they were
startled by the report of a gun, and the carriage stopped.
Conceiving that they were attacked by banditti, Raleigh
Sprang out, ready to come to any terms, if only the car-
riage might proceed. Some dozen masked men sur-
rounded him : they would listen to no offers ; some of
them seized him, and a violent struggle ensued. Raleigh
had just shaken himself free, when a shot, fired by a
short man, whose figure, though disguised, he thought
he recognized, grazed his chest ; and the next moment
a heavy blow on the head from behind knocked him
senseless. When he came to himself, he was lying at
the side of the road, alone, and the stars were twinkling
above him. The leathern satchel containing his money
was at his side, pinned to the earth by a knife thrust
through it.
Raleigh and I agreed that this last circumstance proved
the attack to be no vulgar brigandage ; it was a rescue
by the despised rival, and indicated treachery some-
where. Be that as it may, Raleigh never saw the girl
again, though he risked everything to get some news of
her. It finally became his belief—which subsequent dis-
coveries tended to confirm—that she had been confined
in a convent. Whether she became a permanent cap-
tive has never transpired, but she was nowhere seen in
society after this unlucky adventure, and doubtless she
did take the veil; for, having lost Raleigh, there was
nothing else for her in the world.


46 CountESS ALMARA's MURDER.
The shock struck a coldness through my friend’s
sunny and ardent nature. In less than a year, he re-
sumed his painting, but I noticed that he now cared
more than before for pecuniary success, and less for pure
art. The money thus rapidly made was as rapidly spent ;
and he was often paid for pictures long before they were
painted. Yet, so great was his facility and reputation,
it seemed impossible he should ever need money. His
mode of life in other respects was marked by an in-
grained, involuntary sort of cynicism. He lived upon
the enjoyment of the passing hour, looking neither for-
ward nor upward. He deferred more to convention
than formerly—not, as he once told me, because he
deemed conventionality of any worth, but because it
made life easier. He bore himself with a certain gentle-
manly magnificence, but admitted no one behind his cur-
tains. Occasionally he would disappear, for weeks or
even months at a time ; and though he was careful to
forewarn his acquaintances of his departure, and to
account for it on some professional pretext, no one knew
whither he went, or what he really did. Some said he
sojourned among the Chinese Tartars; others, that he
smoked opium and gambled in the slums of Liverpool
and Hamburg. Such grotesque conjectures reflected the
general feeling that Raleigh’s ostensible civilization did
not adequately express the man ; that his nature de-
manded and would take some revenge on itself.
Such was he at whose studio door I knocked, after my
disappointment with Max.


52 CountESS ALMARA's MURDER.
beyond twenty-eight, I believe. Yes, I have missed an
opportunity. It is too late. Mexico is a poor substi-
tute l’” -
Taleigh had made his last few speeches in rather an
excited manner, and he was restless in his movements,
walking about, standing or leaning in various attitudes,
and touching or displacing different objects in the room.
He now happened to approach me, and noticed the
pocketbook and handkerchief on the table. He snatched
them up hastily, and thrust them in the pockets of his
velvet lounging-jacket.
“Disorderly beggar, I am ſ” said he ; “always leav-
ing my things about, and forgetting them. I wish I
could choose what to leave and what to forget ! The
things I would ransack the universe for I never find ;
the other things are always turning up. How original
my remarks are this evening ! I must be entering my
second childhood. Probably I have lived long enough.
Here is a curious thing—this morning I was going to im-
agine myself doing something (which I mean to do next
week), and behold, my imagination was a blank I
couldn’t think of myself as doing anything after Sunday
next. Did such a thing ever happen to you ?”
“Very likely—I don't remember.”
“In Africa, once, as I was riding along a plain, all at
once the familiar horizon line seemed to subside, and the
next minute I was on the brink of one of those vertical
precipices. It was the same sort of feeling as this. The
world (as far as you are concerned) stops short at your
feet, instead of keeping fifteen or twenty miles in
advance, as usual. And the only warning is that
strange blank—as if you were on the verge of nothing-
ness l’’
“Does next week seem nothingness to you, then º’’


COUNTESS ALMARA'S MURDER. 53
“Yes, and no, too ! Once I rowed out to sea in an
open skiff, and between fog and currents and an easterly
gale I was soon out of sight of land. I was out all
night, and by next morning had given up hope of out-
living the adventure. Nothing around me but mist and
blankness, out of which came great, sliding, toppling
waves. All the world seemed dispersed forever. And
yet I never felt so overpowering a sense of my own
personality. That boundless vagueness round me seemed
to crush me into myself, instead of crushing me out.
Not only the physical man—I wasn’t so much conscious
of that—but that in a man which says ‘I,’ and is made
up of memory and tendency. It was that which became
more vivid and compact as the end drew near, and the
waves ran higher, and I thought to myself, ‘whatever
happens to my flesh and bones, the thing that says I will
be just as capable of saying it an eternity hence as at
this moment.” But soon afterward, the fog drifted
aside and revealed the shore a few miles away. And
no sooner did I clap eyes on it than the pressure of the
eternities and immensities relaxed, and I felt less alive
than at any time since death was near.”
“Odd, I never heard you tell that yarn before 1”
“Well, perhaps you’ll never catch me again in the
gushing mood. I do feel a kind of light-heartedness,
like a man who has just got money to settle an old score
that has been galling him. Unluckily, there’s no war-
rant for such relief in my case—quite the contrary 1
But, as we said at school (there I go again, you see )
‘What's the odds a hundred years hence 3’ The mas-
ter may thrash us, but that's soon over, and by and by
we shall receive our diplomas just the same !”
“So Max is really not to have his beauty immortal-
ized,” said I, getting up to depart. “If you had seen


IV.
It was certainly not surprising that I should have
dreamed of Raleigh that night; in what I had heard
and seen and thought during my visit to him, there was
ample material to furnish a basis for dreams. Never-
theless, I am not satisfied by the common explanations—
which explain nothing—of dreams. At least, I hold
dreams to be of two kinds—those devised by the dream-
er's own helpless and rudderless brain, and those in
which the helm is taken by some independent intelli-
gence, and his mind guided to regions unattainable by
any force inherent in itself. Everybody, I suppose, has
had dreams or visions of this kind. The dream I am
about to relate was as vivid and consistent as reality
itself; and the mark it left on my memory was that of
an intimate personal adventure.
It seemed to me that I had decided, for some reason
that I have forgotten, to see Raleigh again before he
left. I believe I had something of importance to give
him ; perhaps a piece of advice, perhaps a commission
for Havana cigars; but no matter. I was in a great
hurry, my impression being that he was on the point of
setting out on his journey, and that I was behindhand.
I hailed a cab, and promised the driver an extra quarter
to drive fast. As we rattled along, I noticed the shops
were closed ; it was (in my dream) Sunday, though in
reality it was Friday night.
At the studio door I paid and dismissed my cab, and
rang the bell. I heard it sound upstairs, but there was


W.
WHILE the first impression of this dream—which
seemed rather like a vision than a dream, so vivid was
it—was still strong upon me, I had no other thought
than to go straight to Raleigh and relate it to him. This
was early in the morning, however, too early to knock
up Raleigh, even had the necessity been more immedi-
ate ; and by the time I had completed my toilet and
eaten my breakfast, and smoked a cigarette or two, I
found it possible to look at the matter from a more com-
mon-sensible point of view.
A dream is not a reality, after all, however vivid it
may appear; and what seems to the sleeper terrible may
wear another complexion when viewed in broad day-
light. Moreover, the waking mind will sometimes, un-
consciously, impart to the disordered scenes of a dream
a logical sequence and precision which the dream itself
did not actually possess. Again, the obtrusion of the
familiar facts and things of every-day life—the chairs
and tables, the view from the window, the rattle of
vehicles in the street, the voices of men and women—
all conspire to make the fantasy of the night more un-
substantial than a thought.
By ten o’clock, accordingly, I had resolved to post-
pone my intention of bursting headlong in upon Raleigh
with a tale of horror and warning ; I even questioned
whether it were worth while to call upon him at all pre-
vious to his departure. And, should I do so, and the
subject of the dream were to be introduced, I made up


COUNTESS ALMARA's MURDER. 61
my mind to tell it from the humorous point of view,
leaving my friend to draw from it what conclusions he
might see fit.
In this convenient frame of mind, I sat down in my
easy-chair and unfolded my Saturday newspaper. I had
not reached the end of my second editorial when
Raleigh himself was announced. He was, to all appear-
ances, in excellent spirits, and the vigor and liveliness of
his aspect reflected a rather absurd light upon my mis-
givings of the night before. -
“Don’t disarrange yourself, my dear fellow,” he
said ; “I only looked in for a couple of minutes. I in-
tend to leave town, you know, by this evening’s train.
I merely wished to say that you will find the studio at
your disposal, if you should take it into your head to
drop in there at any time. I have taken the duplicate
pass-key from my old housekeeper ; so you must be
careful not to lose the one I gave you, or you would be
locked out till I came back from Mexico.”
“I thought, perhaps, you would decide to remain in
town over Sunday ?” I could not help saying.
“No ; not so far as I have reason to think at pres-
ent,” he replied, without betraying any sign of compre-
hending my drift. “The truth is, I am in a hurry to
be off. I am homesick upside down—I’m sick of home !
I want to see palm-trees, and black eyes, and Aztec
temples | My sensibilities have been growing very stale
of late. Such morbid sloughs of despond as you saw
me wallowing in yesterday must be abandoned, for good
and all. When you see me next, you will behold a
transfiguration ſ”
“Have you any last messages for your forlorn
friends º' I asked, smiling. -
Raleigh Smiled too, but, methought, with a somewhat


62 COUNTESS ALMARA's MURDER.
ambiguous expression. “There are some friends of
mine to whom it might be well to leave a parting
word,” he replied. “But, as they don’t happen to be
people with whom you are acquainted—and as the mes-
Sage might not be considered complimentary—it is no
matter. By the by, you will find in the top drawer of
the old mirror-cabinet—you know the one I mean—a
bundle of etchings that I would like you to look at. I
picked them up in Amsterdam last year, and have only
just come across them again, while unpacking a trunk.
I think one of them is an undoubted Rembrandt.”
“As to that, I shall reserve my opinion. Well, may
you enjoy the Aztec eyes, and come back again safe and
sound !”
“Ah l if one could but leave nine tenths of himself
behind, when one makes a journey—or, at any rate, as
large a bundle of his disreputable appurtenances as
Christian lugged on his shoulders—what a wholesome
thing our holiday jaunts would become, and how much
at a loss to recognize us would our friends be, when we
returned If coming back safe and sound means coming
back with as dead a weight of moral adipose tissue as you
set out with, it is hardly so friendly a wish as I presume
you meant it to be. But—well—I am only wasting
your time, and spending too much of my own. I didn’t
want to leave you with such an impression of me as you
must have got yesterday on your mind. Forget my
moral and metaphysical hypochondriasis, and remember
me as you see me now !”
“All that is too late, Raleigh,” I said. “We have
known each other for a good many years, and my im-
pressions of you have long ceased to be detached, and
have become composite. I don’t believe anything could
greatly modify it, one way or the other. Your lights
*


COUNTESS ALMARA’s MURDER. 63
and your shadows, as I have been accustomed to see
them, make up your reality for me, and I could hardily
imagine you as either better or worse. I don’t think I
should want to see you transfigured—until I had become
transfigured myself ''
“Upon the whole,” he remarked, musingly, “that is
as comfortable a thing as you could have said to me.
And yet, it tempts me to put you to the test with—with
Some confession or other, which, perhaps, would not
tend altogether toward the transfiguration ſ” He paused
a few moments, gazing at me doubtfully. “No ſ” he
suddenly said, “No, I won’t risk it—bother you with
it, I mean—at any rate, not this morning ; for it would
be a long time before I should have an opportunity to
counteract the bad impression. It's enough if I hold it
over you for some future occasion. For the present,
then, let the lights and shadows remain as they are.”
He laughed, grasped my hand with more than usual
heartiness, and went away, leaving me to resume my
communion with the Saturday newspaper. If I recol-
lect aright, however, I did not read any more that day.
I went to the club, lunched there, dawdled through the
afternoon, and dined at Mrs. Blessington Wagner’s,
where I half expected (a musical soirée being in pros-
pect) that I might meet the Countess Almara. But she
failed to make her appearance, and I returned home at
eleven o’clock, tired, and somewhat depressed.
As a general thing, I don’t go to church, and Sunday
is apt to be a rather long day with me. But, on this
particular Sunday, it happened to occur to me that the
Countess was under an engagement to sing the anthem at
a certain fashionable house of worship not far from my
abode ; so I betook myself thither, and sat in a retired
pew, behind a marble column, and listened to that grand
:


VI.
THE door of the studio stood half open. As I pushed
it wide and entered, the room seemed very dusky ; the
green shade of the main window was drawn, and the
shutters of the other windows were closed. The air,
too, was close and oppressive. I groped my way across
the floor, found the cord of the green shade, and pulled
it up ; then I went to the small window in the alcove,
which I opened top and bottom. Having thus relieved
the gloom and freshened the atmosphere, I turned to the
cabinet. It was a handsome piece of furniture, stand-
ing against the wall at the end of the room farthest from
the door. The upper part consisted mainly of folding-
doors, opening on shelves; in the panels were set mir-
rors of plate glass with bevelled edges. At the side was
a sort of light scaffolding of brackets, supported on slen-
der carved pillars, each bracket bearing a small vase of
some quaint design. The lower portion of the cabinet
was a chest of solidly made ebony drawers, with handles
of polished brass. It was in the uppermost of these
drawers that the etchings were kept.
Seating myself before the cabinet, and pulling open
the drawer, I began the examination of the collection.
There was a mass of scraps of paper, of different sizes,
colors and textures, each with some drawing or other
upon it; but I had no difficulty in picking out the etch-
ings; they were inclosed by themselves in a sheet of
large letter-paper. There were not more than half a
dozen in all ; but one of them, certainly, looked marvel-


66 COUNTESS ALMARA's MURDER.
lously like a Rembrandt. Yet, if so, it was from a plate
that I had never seen or heard of. It represented a man
seated in a chair, in a dusky light, in an attitude of deep
meditation ; a woman stood behind him, her figure dark
against the window in the background. Upon scrutiniz-
ing this figure, I saw that she held something in her
hand that looked like a small knife or dagger, and some-
thing in her expression and stealthy attitude inspired me
with the notion that she entertained sinister designs
against the meditative man’s throat.
While studying this strange design, my eye was at-
tracted by a peculiar dark stain on the edge of the paper.
It was neither black nor brown, and could not have been
caused, as I had at first supposed, by ink. It was not
even quite dry, and the paper was slightly wrinkled, the
result of the unusual contraction occasioned by moisture.
For some reason this spot fascinated my attention. It
repelled me, but I was on that account only the more
strongly impelled to examine it. What had caused it !
There was nothing in the spot itself to answer the ques-
tion; but I presently bethought me to seek an explana-
tion in the drawer. Upon pulling the contents about a
little, I finally brought out an object which I at first
took to be one of Raleigh's painting-rags, such as he
employed for wiping his brushes or smearing his canvas.
It was clewed up in a small bundle, scarcely so large as
a clenched fist, and was much discolored. Taking hold
of it gingerly, by its least soiled part, I shook it out, and
held it up to the light.
Its folds stuck together with a kind of glutinous te-
nacity. The coloring matter with which it had been sat-
urated was still damp ; here and there it had a faint glis-
ten, and in one place, where the light shone through, the
hue was of a deep, clouded red. What could have pos-


COUNTESS ALMARA's MURDER. 67
sessed Raleigh, naturally a very fastidious man, to put
this unclean rag into a drawer full of priceless etchings?
It could not have been there long—hardly longer than
since the day previous. But, on that day, Raleigh had
expected to be on his way south. Yet, if he had not
put it there, who could have done so 7 At this moment
my heart began to beat quickly; I looked at the thing
more closely. A strange odor—resembling no other odor
in the world—now became perceptible. As I recognized
its nature, it forced me to the conviction against which,
from the first, I had been unconfessedly struggling. That
odor was the smell of human blood
The moisture dried up in my mouth and throat, and
there was a fluttering in the nerves of my head nearly re-
sulting in faintness. But I soon got the better of this
weakness, reminding myself that either there was worse
to come—in which case all my self-possession would be
needed—or else this was all, and, in that case, there was
nothing worth disturbing one’s self about. &
The rag, upon further scrutiny, appeared to be not
a rag, but a handkerchief, of fine make and material,
apparently cambric. One corner of it had been either
cut off or torn away. It was heavy with blood; more
than could have flowed from any ordinary wound. My
mind had now—in self-defence, as it were—adopted a
strictly logical humor; all imaginative speculations were
rigidly suppressed. My determination was, to take noth-
ing for granted, until sensible evidence had assured me
of its truth. If any disaster had happened, it must have
happened within the four walls of this studio, and I must
inevitably come upon further traces of it in due time.
Having laid the handkerchief across the edge of the
open drawer, I prepared to rise from my chair, and begin
an exploration of the room. I was inclined to think that


68 COUNTESS ALMARA's MURDER.
the worst thing discoverable could not be in the studio,
because, had it been there, I could hardly have failed to
notice it on my first entrance. But an instant's reflection
admonished me that the blinds had then been drawn, not
only obscuring objects in the studio, but leading me to
confine most of my attention to setting the blinds to
rights.
As these thoughts strayed across my brain, I was sit-
ting facing the mirror in one of the panels, and my eyes
dwelt in a preoccupied way upon its surface, on which
appeared a round whitish spot, caused, as I supposed, by
a defect in the quicksilver. It stood out against the dark-
ness of the reflected room behind it—not that the room
was really dark any longer, but it seemed so in the mir-
ror. Moving my head a little, however, I noticed that
the white spot remained in the same place, relatively to
the background, instead of traversing it, as would have
been the case had it been on the surface of the glass.
For the first time, I now looked past the surface into the
depths. The white object had a pallid appearance, and
seemed to rest on the back of a chair. Was it a “tidy” 8
No. It was of an oval shape, and had two darker spots
on its upper part. I strained my eyes yet farther.
All at once the truth came over me with a sharp pang.
The white object was a human face—the face of a man
seated in the chair, and apparently returning my gaze.
Who could this man be, unless he were Raleigh himself Ż
It was Raleigh And what was he doing there ? Had
he been playing a practical joke, to scare me out of my
wits 2 or was he asleep 2 At all events, there he was. I
did not turn my head to look at him, however; but, still
keeping my eyes upon the reflection, I said in a low voice :
“Well, Raleigh ſº
My voice sounded faint and hollow in that great room ;


COUNTESS ALMARA’s MURDER. 69
and there was no response whatever from Raleigh. After
waiting a moment, my feeling of suspended alarm—if I
may so call it—experienced a revulsion, and made me
realize how profoundly and certainly I had foreboded
calamity. I was now alive with a sensation of indescrib-
able horror. Slowly raising myself in my chair, I once
more gazed in the mirror. I could not control a slight
tremor of my head, which rendered distinct vision diffi-
cult; but I could see that Raleigh’s face was posed in an
odd and awkward attitude. It was inclined toward his
right shoulder in a way that put me in mind of the
grotesque contortion of some grimacing clown at a pan-
tomime. But the clown’s contortion was momentary,
whereas Raleigh had retained his attitude ever since I
had first caught sight of him—and, possibly, very much
- longer. The entire figure, as well as I could discern it
in the glass, had a sort of rigid twist in it, much at vari-
ance with Raleigh's habitual poses of robust grace. One
of his hands was clenched, and partly raised from the
arm of the chair; but the attitude of the head was the
most unnatural of all.
Of course I was humoring myself—struggling to delay
the inrush of the truth until I could gain nerve to face it
resolutely. But the feeling that the thing I dreaded was
behind me, and, as it were, staring over my shoulder,
became at this point unendurable. I rose from my
chair abruptly, turned round, and, with measured but
leaden steps, walked up to the seated figure and com-
pelled myself to look at it.
Hideous to contemplate is the ungainly immobility of
death. Its unstudied effects, its unshrinking sincerity,
put life to shame. The soul, as if to show its contempt
for the clay it has ceased to inhabit, throws it, at part-
ing, into some antic posture of forlornness that would


COUNTESS ALMARA's MURDER. 71
I glanced about the room in search of whatever traces
of the murderer might present themselves. But nothing
of a suspicious character was to be seen. Upon the rug
in front of the fireplace I noticed some torn scraps of
paper, and upon the hearth below the grate a number of
similar scraps had been burned. I picked up the largest
of these scraps, and examined it ; it had only one com-
plete word written on it, and that was the name of a
town in Holland—Amsterdam. The handwriting was
Raleigh's. He had probably been destroying some old
letters before leaving town.
There seemed to be nothing further for me to do; for
the task of tracing the murderer devolved upon others
than I. My only duty was to apprise the police of what
had happened, give them such information and sugges-
tions as I might find it possible to afford, and let them
set about their work.
Before leaving the studio, I returned to the body of
the man whom I had sincerely loved, and contemplated
it attentively for a long time. My first nervous agitation
had now passed away, and I was glad to note how little
the dead reminded me of the living. Yes, the effigy was
a poor one ; many a caricaturist, methought, would have
succeeded better. Taleigh, my friend, had been a being
quite different from this.
The remnant of the cigarette still lay in the silver ash-
tray. I picked it up and put it in my cigarette-case, for
it recurred to my memory how I had seen it in my dream
two nights before—a dream which I now half fancied
had been prophetic. Then, before leaving the studio
hastily, I descended the stairs and hurried off to the
nearest police-station. An officer was detailed to accom-
pany me back to the studio.


COUNTESS ALMARA's MURDER. 73
aware that you were so intimately his friend. Will you
not, some day, find an hour to come here and talk with
me about him : I have something to say. The other
day I found your card here, so you know where I live.
To-morrow evening, after seven o’clock, I shall be at
home, if you could come then.
“Very sincerely yours,
“ALMARA.”
I have not as yet found an opportunity to do more
than allude to the Countess. My acquaintance with her,
though not of long standing, was to me a fact of no
trifling moment. I had found her to be a woman capa-
ble of affording, to a mature and somewhat fastidious
man of the world like myself, a companionship for
which I had cause to be morally and intellectually grate-
ful. Very few women of this type, I should suppose,
exist; the combination of qualities essential to their evo-
lution must be rare. Though inwardly and emotionally
feminine, they possess an almost masculine breadth and
temper of mind, and they manifest a vein of sympathetic
kindliness not incompatible with an arch and subtle kind
of wit. Such women have had a varied and genuine ex-
perience of life, which they use as a sort of magic wand,
to touch into significance the topic of the moment.
What particular form of religious belief they hold is of
small import, provided its tenets constitute the real basis
and criterion of their activity; for mere scepticism fatally
unsexes the woman who, in other respects, may be all
loveliness. Furthermore, they possess, and dare to use,
the power of beguiling men into becoming oblivious of
their external charms, in the enjoyment of that spiritual
correspondence of beauty, which is neither intellect nor
education, but, rather, the graceful conformation and


74 COUNTESS ALMARA's MURDER.
behavior of both. To secure this end, however, their
physical attractions must not be too poignant ; a moder-
ate comeliness is enough, but I apprehend that genuine
homeliness is better. The man is then relieved of the
conventional obligation to be complimentary, and the
woman from the distraction of expecting compliments,
and both are as much at ease as—and yet under a much
finer social stimulus than—either could be in the com-
pany of his or her respective sex.
To return to the Countess. She was a woman cer-
tainly not less than thirty years old, and probably not
more than five-and-thirty. What her nationality might
be, I knew not ; her husband, I believe, had been a Pole ;
and she spoke several languages with ease and accuracy.
Her marriage was understood to have taken place at a
comparatively early age ; and she soon became a widow
under somewhat tragic circumstances. After her hus-
band's death she lived in Paris, Berlin, and other Euro-
pean capitals, and was on a footing of familiarity with
the best society. She was believed, moreover, to be ac-
quainted with the inside history of many of the chief
political movements of the day. At the outbreak of the
Franco-German War her sympathies were on the French
side. She was with the army in the capacity of nurse,
and appears to have been the object of the same kind of
affection, among the soldiers, that Florence Nightingale
inspired fourteen years before in the Crimea. There
were many anecdotes of her courage and devotion. At
the epoch of the Commune she was in Paris; and after-.
ward she lived for a time in Italy.
When I first met her, a few months previous to the
date of which I am now writing, she had not been in
America more than a year. Her fortunes were at a low
ebb, but she bravely supported herself by the exercise of


COUNTESS ALMARA's MURDER. 75
her extraordinary talent for music. She sang in the
choirs of more than one church, set songs to music, and
took pupils for instruction. Meanwhile, by dint of the
sterling value of her mind and talents, and by a pleasant
and quiet geniality of manner, she made and kept many
warm friends among both the men and the women of our
best society. Such is a brief epitome of so much as was
generally known of what would seem to have been a noble
and self-sacrificing life, deeply tinged with sadness and
misfortune, but never losing heart, or forfeiting the re-
spect of honorable people.
For my own part, however, I had never concerned
myself much with Countess Almara's past career. My
theory was, that a human being is worth to me exactly
as much as I find in him or her; and that to allow my
opinion of a friend to be influenced by the echoes, good
or bad, of her previous history, would be as good as to
give up friendship altogether. In Almara I saw a woman
to whom I could express such shy thoughts as reside in
the most secluded part of a man’s mind, assured that
they would be received by her with kindness and com-
prehension, and would call forth from her a responsive
and suggestive train of reflection and comment. Her
influence upon me from the first had been at once sooth-
ing and awakening ; her receptiveness enabled me to re-
veal to her whatever small stores of wisdom or avenues
of speculation I had chanced upon ; and she cast a fresh
life upon my most novel ideas. She really understood
my true character better than any other woman or man
has done ; and I, in return, could flatter myself that I
had a deeper insight than most of her friends into the
motives and conclusions of her own life.
Let it not be inferred, however, that our conversation
always took a personal turn. On the contrary, it was
---------
-º-, sº
ſº *N
Gºversity
|
- * //


76 COUNTESS ALMARA'S MURDER.
seldom that either of us introduced (save in the way of
illustration) any mention of particular facts or persons.
Our intercourse proceeded on a loftier plane, and our
pleasure in it resulted largely from this elevation. There
was something deeper than friendship in my regard for
Almara ; and if it had never kindled into love, it was
because she had not offered, nor had I sought any pas-
sionate grounds of sympathy. The bloom of the world
was, perhaps, somewhat sullied for both of us; nor had
I confidence to try, with the jaded pinions of forty years,
the romantic flights which had failed at twenty-seven.
And yet, had I thought about it, I might have per-
ceived that the Countess was not less capable than she
had ever been of winning a man’s heart. Handsome she
certainly was not ; I should rather say she was noticeable
for a wholesome and intelligent style of ugliness. It was
a likeable and interesting ugliness; the parts were good,
though the combination was eccentric. She was a trifle
above the average height of women ; her shoulders were
square and high, and her neck short. The lower part of
her face was resolute and somewhat heavy ; her mouth
was large, but the upper lip was finely and sensitively
moulded. Her nose was straight and well formed, with
expanding nostrils; her eyes were far apart, and as black
as Erebus. Her hands and feet were beautifully shaped ;
and her hair, which she wore short, was wavy and fine,
and matched her eyes in color. The movements of her
features, under the influence of thought and feeling,
were more eloquent than their form ; and her gestures,
and a way she had, while talking, of suddenly leaning
forward and resting her elbow on her knee—these, and
other unstudied things that she did, and which the ab-
sence of regular beauty enabled her to do with impunity,
imparted to her conversation a force and character that
-


COUNTESS ALMARA'S MURDER. 77.
kept her interlocutor agreeably alert. Her voice was
soft and clear, and susceptible of the most delicate shades
of emphasis, and her smile was quick and intelligent.
I was sometimes myself surprised at my knowledge
of these and similar details of the Countess Almara’s
personal appearance and bearing, for my opportunities
of observing her had not been numerous, nor under es-
pecially favorable conditions. We had met only in the
way that people are accustomed to meet in New York
society—in drawing-rooms, at afternoon and evening re-
ceptions, at dinners and musical gatherings, in the box
at the opera, at art galleries. A hundred other men had
the same opportunities, and any one might have over-
heard almost every word we uttered. But a familiar
experience of social forms enables one to use them pliantly
for one’s occasions, instead of being hampered by them ;
and often they afforded a freedom and independence not
so easily gained in circumstances less ostensibly public.
There is pleasure and profit in many kinds of outward
restraint and etiquette ; they stimulate the mind to live-
liness, and give the precision of touch necessary for ac-
complishing a purpose. I knew that the Countess gave
afternoon teas at her little house on every other Friday;
but I had never as yet happened to attend one—partly
from accident, partly, no doubt, because I was aware
that my chances of conversation with her would be less
in her own parlor than in any one else's. Nor had I
ever called upon her alone (except upon that one oc-
casion when I did not find her at home). I being a
bachelor and she a widow, it seemed advisable to give
no opening to the forays of idle tongues—though, doubt-
less, we might have afforded to disregard them.
But at a juncture so exceptional as the present, ordi-
nary rules may safely be disregarded ; and I recognized


78 COUNTESS ALMARA's MURDER.
the fitness of the Countess's straightforward invitation.
Hitherto we had met upon impersonal grounds; but now,
a common friend had, by his death, imposed upon us a
more confidential sort of communion. I answered her
note at once, and, between seven and eight o’clock, I
rang at her door.


86 COUNTESS ALMARA's MURDER.
other topics; and, while mystery still shrouded Raleigh's
fate, we tacitly refrained from any too personal allusions.
One surprise the Countess had in store for me. I
found her one day with a little boy between her knees,
who was absorbed in watching her make a paper cocked
hat. As the child looked up, I recognized my friend,
Max, of Central Park. Almara smiled.
“Do you remember me, Max * I asked.
“Yes, I remember,” said Max, in his childish French.
“You gave me an apple. But Auntie would not let me
go for my portrait.”
“And who is Auntie "I further inquired.
“I will resolve the mystery,” said the Countess,
laughing. “I am responsible for Max's failure to keep
his appointment. I feared—foolishly, perhaps—that to
let him go to the studio would seem like an indirect ap-
proach on my part. Max is my little nephew,” she
added, “but I am his papa and mamma as well.”
“This is a new page in the romance,” I remarked.
“It refers to an earlier page, which I was intending
to read to you. Max is associated with my relations with
Taleigh. His father died some years after my husband.
The child was already motherless, and he had no one but
me. But I was then in Paris, and Max was in Poland.
I had met Raleigh about that time; he discovered, some-
how, how the case stood—that Max could not get to me,
nor I to him—for, in that part of the world, I should
have been liable to arrest. Without saying anything to
me, he travelled to Poland, found Max, and returned to
me with him. That was not all. Just before leaving
Paris, I received a draft for a large sum of money ; no
name went with it, but I knew it was from him. I
wrote, thanking him ; but it was long before an answer
came, and then it was cold and evasive ; he declared I


COUNTESS ALMARA'S MURDER. 89
a liquor saloon, where they had taken fright and bolted.
The sleigh had sustained such injuries as to make it un-
available for my projected drive ; so, after scolding the
coachman, I sent him back, with the team, to the stable.
But, meantime, the man in the gray overcoat had disap-
peared.
It was with a strange feeling that I rang for the second
time at the Countess's door; but again I resolved to say
nothing that might mar our enjoyment of the afternoon.
Desides, if Duffield were right in his prognostications,
the man I had seen was either not the murderer, or he
would be arrested in a few hours. Let the intervening
time be peaceful, therefore.
The Countess had returned, and would be down in a
few minutes; but I waited for what seemed a much
longer time. At last she entered, apparently in unusual
spirits. Her dress was a dark crimson silk, made with
an opening at the throat, and it became her well. She
took my hand between both of hers.
“This is my birthday,” she said. “They have not
always been happy days, but this shall be so, because
you are here. Sit down on this sofa. Your hand is so
cold ! You are not ill, I hope ; Let me feel your pulse
—I am an old nurse, remember, and, if you fall sick, I
shall come and do for you ! But you ought to be well
and happy always l Ah me !”
“That sigh was not a happy one.”
“No ; but I’m an ugly old woman, and these deli-
cious days cannot last forever—not even many weeks
longer. Where shall I be on my next birthday ?”
“No farther from me than now, I trust.”
“I go to Dresden in January, to—well, to make my
living. I am offered a settled income, which I must ac-
cept for Max's sake. There will be no birthdays there !


90 COUNTESS ALMARA's MURDER.
Besides, I dreamt last night that this would be my last
birthday of all.”
“Do you believe in dreams ?”
“In some dreams—very much. You do nothing so
irrational 2"
“I had a dream I believed in last summer.”
“Tell me about it ! Was it all a dream '''
“A prophetic vision, perhaps. But I made up my
mind not to talk of anything unpleasant to-day.”
“Can an interesting thing be unpleasant } A pro-
phetic vision You must tell me ! Then I will give
you something I know you like. Prophetic of what ?”
“It was two days before Raleigh's death. I dreamt I
was present at the whole scene—saw the man and all—
up to just before the deed was done. Then I awoke.”
Almara had turned pale and relinquished my hand.
“The man, did you say ?” she asked, in a low tone.
“But you did not see the deed How can you tell it
was to be a murder º’”
“I saw the razor in the man’s pocket, and the purpose
in his mind. He was the one I met the day before in
the street. I saw him tear up some letters and pretend
to ask forgiveness; and, on the Monday afterward, I
found scraps of letters on the floor, and Raleigh's hand-
writing on them. The coincidences were all strange.
Dut nothing has come of them. Why did you ask me !
You are superstitious, and I’ve startled you !”
She gazed fixedly at me for a long time ; I will not
interpret the expression on her face. At length she said,
in a guarded tone, “Why did you not tell me before ?”
“Teally, I don't know. There might be nothing in
it. But I hate the subject. Let us drop it.”
She arose and walked about the room, finally pausing
before me.


92 COUNTESS ALMARA's MURDER.
But she had kindled in me a fervor stronger than the
fervor of youth. She had fully revealed how great a
woman she was. Her words were but words; but to say
them as she did, with her gestures, tones, language of
eye and hand—to do that was in the power of no woman
besides Almara herself. And her expanding made me
great ; her revelation of herself revealed to me also the
truth that there was something in me to match her.
I took her hand and kissed it. She withdrew it after
a moment and laid it against her cheek. -
“You do not know what you have done,” she said.
“We both know,” I answered, gravely. “I did not
mean to speak till to-morrow.”
“I am content ; to-morrow may never come. But it
is my birthday ! Let us be children—and naughty chil-
dren, too ! I promised just now to give you something.”
She took from her pocket a small enamelled case, on
the back of which was written in diamonds the name
“Almara.” It was filled with cigarettes, which exhaled
a delicate aroma. She held them toward me with a
smile. When I had taken one, she did the same.
“These are very good,” I remarked.
“They were made especially for me. I taste no other
tobacco.”
“I have wondered you never smoked. All Poles do.”
“I am not a Pole.”
“French, then, or Spanish 8 You might be anything
except English.”
“I am a Roman.”
“Roman l’’
She nodded, breathing the smoke through her nostrils.
“There was no family nobler or more ancient than
mine. My sister—she was not like me—she was the
loveliest girl in Rome. A young American fell in love


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