MYSTERY or 
 
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 By 
 
 Albert 
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 Hypnotic 
 
 Story 
 
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THE MYSTERY 
 
 OF 
 
 EVELIN DELORME 
 
 A HYPNOTIC STORY 
 
 BY 
 
 ALBERT BIGELOW PAINE 
 
 BOSTON 
 
 ARENA PUBLISHING CO. 
 
 COPLEY SQUARE 
 I8 94 
 
r A. B. PAINE* 
 Mil fights reserved . , 
 
 Arena Press 
 
2. 
 
 To HENRY J. FLETCHER. 
 
 M8895 1 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 WHILE engaged in writing the 
 story of Evelin Delorme it was 
 my good fortune to make the 
 acquaintance of Dr. Herbert L. 
 Flint, the well-known hypnotist 
 briefly referred to in chapter 
 three. The science of Hypno 
 tism being a theme of absorbing 
 interest to me, I eagerly availed 
 myself of the opportunity thus 
 offered for exhaustive investiga 
 tion of the subject, and was 
 accorded frequent and prolonged 
 interviews with Dr. Flint. Dur 
 ing one of these I reviewed to 
 him briefly the outline of my 
 story and the strange mystery of 
 Evelin Delorme which had given 
 rise to the plot. I saw at once 
 
vi INTRO D UC TION. 
 
 that he was unusually moved and 
 interested. At my conclusion he 
 arose hastily and left the room, 
 returning a moment later with a 
 quantity of papers which proved 
 to be an unpublished memoir which 
 he was then preparing. From 
 this he hurriedly separated sev 
 eral sheets and placed them in 
 my hand, remarking with sup 
 pressed feeling, "Here is the 
 missing link in your narrative." 
 
 He has allowed me to publish 
 it here in his own words. 
 
 EXTRACT FROM THE UNPUBLISHED 
 MEMOIRS OF DR. FLINT. 
 
 "The following is a brief ac 
 count of a very curious case of hyp 
 notic suggestion, and one which, 
 because of the mystery surround 
 ing its final outcome, has caused 
 me no little anxiety. 
 
 "On the Qth of July, 1878, 
 there came to my office in St. 
 Louis a strikingly beautiful young 
 
INTRO D UCTION-. 
 
 woman of evident wealth and aris 
 tocratic breeding, who gave her 
 name as Eva Delorme. Her dress 
 indicated recent bereavement, and 
 her face impressed me as being 
 that of one whom death had 
 deprived of all those near and be 
 loved. She stated her errand at 
 once, and briefly. She had been 
 pursuing the study of Mesmeric 
 Sciences, and, believing herself a 
 good hypnotic subject, desired that 
 I make a trial with that end in 
 view. A simple test convinced 
 me that she was susceptible to 
 hypnotic suggestion, and further 
 experiment revealed to me that 
 she was one of the most perfect 
 subjects I have ever known. She 
 called again the day following and 
 asked me if it were possible, 
 through the aid of hypnotism, to 
 give to her a double personality ; 
 adding that she desired to be 
 come for a few hours a heartless, 
 haughty, gay woman of the world 
 precisely opposite, in fact, to 
 what she really appeared. Believ 
 ing that she wished to forget her 
 sorrow for a time, I assured her 
 
viii INTRODUCTION. 
 
 that I thought this might be ac 
 complished and that it would prob 
 ably obliterate all knowledge of 
 a previous existence for the time 
 being. To this she eagerly con 
 sented, and after some further 
 conversation concerning the de 
 tails I asked her what name she 
 desired to assume in her new 
 character. She replied that her 
 full name was Evelin March 
 Delorme, of which, in her assumed 
 personality, she would retain the 
 first two. She likewise gave me 
 a memorandum of a street and 
 number to which she was to be 
 directed ; this being, doubtless, 
 one of several of her dwelling 
 properties, for she impressed me 
 always as a person of abundant 
 wealth. With a few passes I 
 then placed her under the hyp 
 notic influence, and while in this 
 state I impressed upon her earn 
 estly the fact that she would 
 awaken a haughty and heartless 
 woman of the world, dashing and 
 gay, free from past regrets and 
 future misgivings, as she had told 
 me to do. That her name would 
 
INTR OD UC TION. 
 
 be Evelin March ; and I repeated 
 to her the street and number, 
 and some minor details which 
 she had given to me. That she 
 would retain this personality for 
 twelve hours. This I repeated to 
 her several times, then bade her 
 awaken. 
 
 "The change in her was com 
 plete and startling. Her whole 
 expression even her very feat 
 ures appeared altered. Accus 
 tomed as I am to such things I 
 could not avoid feeling somewhat 
 nervous at this wonderful trans 
 formation. In her new character 
 she was as beautiful and impe 
 rious as a queen, with a supercili 
 ous, almost coarse, expression of 
 countenance. She seemed much 
 mortified at the somber simpleness 
 of her dress, and I judge went 
 immediately to make changes. 
 
 " I did not see her again until 
 a week later, when she came to 
 my office, apparently restored to 
 her true character. She had a 
 vague semi-recollection of what 
 had been her experience in the 
 other state and desired a second 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 trial, to which I somewhat reluct 
 antly consented, though I must 
 confess I was by this time deeply 
 interested in the case. 
 
 "These transformations were 
 frequently repeated, during the 
 next few months ; then her visits 
 ceased and I did not see her until 
 a year later, when I was astounded 
 one day to meet her riding in For 
 est Park in her assumed character, 
 evidently having taken on the 
 condition unaided, either uncon 
 sciously or of her own volition. 
 
 " I never saw her again, and as 
 I had mislaid the memorandum of 
 her address and the number had 
 slipped my memory, I lost trace 
 of her entirely. I have always 
 felt a great and somewhat guilty 
 curiosity as to the final result of 
 this strange experiment." 
 
THE MYSTERY 
 
 OF 
 
 EVEL1N DELORME. 
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 JULIAN PAUL GOETZE died 
 December 2 ist, 1885. This event 
 removed the final reason for con 
 cealment of that strange story 
 whose dark reality flung a shadow 
 about his later years. 
 
 At his death Goetze was in his 
 thirty-fifth year, and for more 
 than a decade previous had been 
 considered one of the foremost 
 portrait painters of the younger 
 school. I knew him intimately 
 was a frequent visitor at his 
 studio, and, I believe, the only 
 
12 , , , ( , 77/ MYSTERY OF 
 
 confidant he Was ever known to 
 
 As I recall those years there is 
 an unreality about them that I am 
 unable to dispel. The problems 
 discussed the theories main 
 tained of life, death, art, poetry, 
 and any number of other unfath- 
 omed subjects, appear to me 
 now so preternatural the con 
 ceptions of his wonderful brain so 
 startling, that I can hardly real 
 ize having ever been a part, even 
 though but a faint reflex, of that 
 dazzling and unsated life. 
 
 In appearance he was no less 
 remarkable. His figure was rather 
 slight than otherwise, and of 
 medium height. His features, 
 though greatly modified, were 
 distinctly those of the Ameri 
 can Indian. High cheek bones, 
 slightly aquiline nose, dark olive 
 skin. His eyes and hair were a 
 blue black. You would hardly 
 
EVELIN DELORME. 13 
 
 have called him handsome, but 
 there was something in that 
 fiercely intense face, in the lithe 
 grace of movement, in the small 
 and exquisitely shaped hands 
 and feet, that made him a fasci 
 nating, if not a dangerous, com 
 panion for the other sex. All 
 of these had been bequeathed him 
 by his mother, in whose veins ran 
 the French and Indian blood in 
 equal parts. From his father, a 
 fair-haired German, he had inher 
 ited only his name. 
 
 His nature was a strange blend 
 ing of opposing forces, forever at 
 civil war and each swaying him in 
 turn. He had few friends, but 
 those few adored him for his 
 splendid genius and prodigal gen 
 erosity, pitying his darker side. 
 
 When, as not unfrequently 
 happened, he locked his studio 
 and plunged for days into abject 
 depravity, they sought him out and 
 
14 THE MYSTERY OF 
 
 led htm back to his better self. 
 After the culmination of that sin 
 gular affair narrated in these 
 papers, and for which he doubtless 
 felt himself greatly to blame, these 
 lapses became more and more fre 
 quent and protracted. The facts 
 which I have collected relating to 
 this period of his life were many 
 of them gathered bit by bit as the 
 events occurred, and later from 
 brief interviews during temporary 
 periods of consciousness just prior 
 to his death. 
 
 It was in one of these that he 
 apprised me of the existence of 
 certain private papers, the con 
 tents of which would make the 
 chain of circumstances complete. 
 Then the fires that had blazed 
 forever within him burned out his 
 life. H. L. 
 
 ST. Louis, Nov. 4th, 1890. 
 
 NOTE BY THE AUTHOR. The above, 
 accompanied by a manuscript roll of con- 
 
EVELIN DELORME. 15 
 
 siderable size, a crumpled and yellow letter 
 torn in halves, and a number of loose pages 
 covered with peculiar writing (unsigned, 
 though evidently the work of the unhappy 
 artist) lie before me. It is with hesitating 
 and unsteady hands that I separate these 
 silent voices of the past, and gather them 
 at last together into a living though 
 unworthy echo of my own. 
 
16 THE MYSTERY OF 
 
 I. 
 
 "A LITTLE more to the light, 
 please so; that is better." The 
 artist worked rapidly ; now and 
 then letting his eyes rest for a 
 moment on his sitter, then return 
 ing to the face on the canvas, that 
 was rapidly growing under his 
 hands. 
 
 The studio, a small Swiss cot 
 tage some distance from the busi 
 ness center of St. Louis, was 
 rather richly, though plainly, fur 
 nished. The walls were tinted a 
 neutral gray, an occasional piece 
 of sober-hued drapery hung here 
 and there, while a heavily cur 
 tained arch at the back connected 
 with the artist s private apart 
 ments beyond. 
 
 On the opposite side of the 
 room a door opened to the little 
 
E VELIN DEL ORME. 17 
 
 entrance hall, and near to this 
 doorway was a carved oaken man 
 tel, above which were grouped 
 together a number of curious 
 weapons, evidently gathered here 
 and there as bric-a-brac, and used, 
 perhaps, now and then, as proper 
 ties, in the arrangement of some 
 picture. 
 
 There was the long-barreled 
 and elaborately ornamented gun 
 of the Arab the scimitar of the 
 Turk the blow-gun of the South 
 American Indian the bow and 
 arrow of his northern brother. 
 At the bottom of this array was a 
 pair of French rapiers of the 
 seventeenth century. The blades 
 were crossed and rested upon a 
 brass-headed nail, and upon this 
 nail there hung, point downward, a 
 jewel-hilted Italian stiletto or dag 
 ger, suspended by a silken cord. 
 
 The room was lighted by a sky 
 light and one window only the 
 
18 THE MYSTERY OF 
 
 light of the former falling upon 
 the sitter a large Japanese 
 screen diverting all other direct 
 rays. Through the half-open 
 casement a light breath of sum 
 mer crept in, from the little gar 
 den outside, freighted with the 
 mingled odors of sweet-briar and 
 white flowering locust. A yel 
 low butterfly flitted in and out, 
 now and then making a circuit of 
 the room, resting here and there 
 for a moment to fan noiselessly 
 with its bloomy wings. A stray 
 bee buzzed drowsily in, but, find 
 ing nothing so attractive as the 
 sweets without, hastily retreated, 
 striking heavily against the win 
 dow-pane, where it sputtered and 
 fumed for a time, and gladly 
 escaped. Then all was silent in 
 the room save for the light chaf 
 ing sound made by the artist s 
 brush against the hitherto un 
 touched canvas. 
 
E VELIN DEL OR ME. 19 
 
 He at the easel was a man of 
 about thirty years Julian Paul 
 Goetze, a name already ranked 
 high among his profession. His 
 sitter was a woman of perhaps 
 twenty-three. Her figure was 
 somewhat above medium height 
 and perfectly developed. She 
 was clad in a plain, trimly fitting 
 dress of silver gray, with a neat 
 white collar at the throat. Her 
 face was a perfect oval in its con 
 tour, her complexion almost child 
 ish in its delicacy. Her hair, 
 a silky brown in color, was fast 
 ened in a knot at the back of her 
 shapely head, while in front it 
 was a fluffy mass that partially 
 concealed the forehead, and softly 
 shadowed what seemed to the 
 artist to be the sweetest face in 
 all the world. The features were 
 as delicately chiseled as one 
 would expect to find them in a 
 statue of Purity. The eyes were 
 
20 THE MYSTERY OF 
 
 a deep gray, inclining to hazel, 
 and the coloring of the cheek and 
 lips so tender that the artist 
 looked a little despairingly at the 
 tints upon his palette; while 
 through all there pervaded such 
 an expression of absolute inno 
 cence and freedom from the 
 world s taint, as to find expression 
 in but the one word, saintliness. 
 
 And yet there was something 
 
 j & 
 
 about the face of his sitter that 
 brought a troubled expression to 
 that of the artist. As with bold, 
 rapid strokes he laid in the ground 
 work for the hair he looked puz 
 zled. As he traced the exquisite 
 outline of the ear his look was 
 almost one of vexation. Once he 
 left his easel, and, going to an 
 other canvas that rested on the 
 floor, face to the wall, he turned 
 it partly about and looked at it 
 intently for a few moments. Then 
 he resumed his work, evidently 
 
E VELIN DEL OR MR. 2 1 
 
 in deep thought. For awhile he 
 painted on in silence. He was 
 inclined by nature to be diffident 
 at first with his sitters, and with 
 this fair being the beginning of a 
 conversation seemed to him a 
 thing as difficult as it was desira 
 ble. There was a suggestion of 
 wearkiess in her face, too, which 
 he felt would disappear with 
 awakened interest. 
 
 "I I beg pardon," he said, 
 somewhat abruptly at length ; 
 "have you ever had a portrait 
 before ? " 
 
 His voice was rich and musical, 
 and the face before him bright 
 ened. 
 
 "Oh, no! And it is only by 
 accident that I am having one 
 now. I was passing and saw your 
 name; I knew it by reputation, 
 and it occurred to me all at once 
 that I would sit for my picture. 
 Perhaps I should have waited and 
 
22 THE MYSTERY OF 
 
 worn a different dress. It was 
 only a passing impulse. It never 
 occurred to me before ; I cannot 
 tell why it did now." 
 
 The animation and the faint 
 blush that had crept over her face 
 while she spoke were enchanting. 
 The artist was delighted. 
 
 "Your dress could not have 
 been better chosen, and the 
 impulse was surely an inspira 
 tion," he said, smiling; "and per 
 haps," he added, "you may have 
 a friend or a a relative who 
 has had, or is having a portrait, 
 which suggested the idea." 
 
 As he paused he looked at her 
 inquiringly. The look of weari 
 ness had returned to her face. 
 
 "No; I have no relatives, 
 and" she blushed deeply arid 
 was silent. 
 
 " Forgive me," he said, earn 
 estly ; "I did not intend to be 
 inquisitive." 
 
E VEL IN DEL OR ME. 23 
 
 She did not reply in words, but 
 as she lifted her eyes there was a 
 tenderness there that awakened 
 within him all the sympathy, the 
 nobleness and the affection of his 
 purer and better nature. Their 
 eyes met, and in a single moment 
 there was formed between them 
 an invisible bond which both felt 
 and neither sought to conceal. 
 No word was spoken. The artist 
 painted on in silence ; but a new 
 light had come into his sitter s 
 face, and a new source of inspira 
 tion into his own heart. 
 
 For a long time neither spoke. 
 A dreamy hush seemed to creep 
 in with the sweet odors from the 
 garden, and, with them, a summer 
 restfulness and peace. The yel 
 low butterfly that had been hover 
 ing about them, flitting this way 
 and that, came closer and closer, 
 and at last settled fearlessly upon 
 one of the gloved hands that lay 
 
24 THE MYSTERY OF 
 
 folded in the sitter s lap. She 
 watched it for a moment, then 
 looked up at the painter with a 
 smile. 
 
 "The insect has a true in 
 stinct," he said, gently; "it has 
 no fear of capture." 
 
 "No; I should only hurt it and 
 destroy its beauty." 
 
 "Butterflies," said the artist, 
 "are like beautiful thoughts. 
 They hover mistily about us, 
 flitting away whenever we attempt 
 to capture them ; and if at last we 
 are successful we find only too 
 often that their wings have lost 
 the delicacy of their bloom." 
 
 "Yes; I have felt that many 
 times." 
 
 While she spoke the insect 
 rose hastily in the air as if fright 
 ened, and, circling about for a 
 moment above them, darted out 
 through the open window. 
 
 "I have heard they are emblems 
 
E VELIN DELORME. 25 
 
 of inconstancy, too," she said, 
 thoughtfully, as it disappeared. 
 
 A faint glow of crimson suf 
 fused for an instant the olive face 
 before her, but he forced a smile 
 and did not reply. 
 
 The rest of the afternoon 
 slipped away with but little inter 
 change of words between artist 
 and sitter. When either spoke 
 the words were few and simple, 
 but there was a tenderness in 
 their voices that uttered more 
 than the spoken syllables. 
 
 The face on the canvas was 
 growing rapidly. He had already 
 worked longer than he usually 
 did at the first sitting, and yet he 
 could not bear to let her go. He 
 had seen her for the first time 
 less than two hours before ; he did 
 not even know her name. The 
 little white card which she had 
 given him he had glanced at with 
 out reading. He had only seen 
 
26 THE MYSTERY OF 
 
 her features, and heard only the 
 gentle voice that had made known 
 her errand. And now he won 
 dered if it were possible that only 
 a few hours before she had had no 
 part in his life ; a life wherein 
 there had been many lights and 
 shadows, and the shadows had 
 been ever as broad and somber as 
 the lights had been bold and 
 brilliant. 
 
E VEL IN DEL OR ME. 27 
 
 II. 
 
 AN hour later Julian Goetze 
 was standing alone in his studio. 
 The sketch fresh from his brush 
 was before him, and beneath it, 
 resting upon the floor, was another 
 somewhat farther advanced. 
 
 He had painted until the light 
 had begun to grow yellow and 
 dim, then he had reluctantly told 
 his sitter that he could do no 
 more for that day. 
 
 "And when shall I come 
 again?" she had asked. 
 
 He would have said, " Come 
 to-morrow," had he dared; but 
 remembering other engagements, 
 and knowing that the work could 
 not be continued so soon, he had 
 hesitated before replying. 
 
28 THE MYSTERY OF 
 
 "I can go on with the picture 
 in two or three clays ; come as 
 soon after that as as you wish," 
 he said, softly. 
 
 Their eyes met for a moment ; 
 the delicate color deepened in her 
 cheeks, her lips murmured a half 
 inaudible word of adieu, and she 
 was gone. 
 
 Julian left alone had flung him 
 self into a large chair that stood 
 near the window, and looked out 
 upon the little garden beyond. It 
 was June. The days were long 
 and the sun was still touching the 
 tops of the locust trees. He was 
 away from the bustle of the city, 
 and an atmosphere of peace almost 
 like that of the country was about 
 him. All at once he covered his 
 face with his hands, pressing his 
 fingers hard into his eyes. 
 
 "I love her, I love her," he 
 groaned ; " she is an angel from 
 heaven, and I oh, my God! if 
 she knew she would hate me." 
 
EVELIN DELORME. 29 
 
 He rose and stood before the 
 face on the easel ; then, as if sud 
 denly recollecting, he approached 
 the canvas that was turned face to 
 the wall, and which once before 
 that day had claimed his attention, 
 and, facing it nervously about, 
 placed it beneath the other. 
 
 It was the portrait of a woman. 
 Like the one above her, she was 
 fair and beautiful ; but here all 
 resemblance apparently ceased. 
 Nothing could be more widely 
 different than the characters that 
 had stamped themselves upon the 
 faces of these two. 
 
 The picture on the floor was 
 that of a woman whose age might 
 be anywhere from twenty-five to 
 thirty-five ; a woman of the great 
 world of fashion, of folly, of 
 intrigue, perhaps of vice. Her 
 dress was a rich ball costume, 
 exposing the white flesh of her 
 beautiful arms, her perfect shoul- 
 
30 THE MYSTERY OF 
 
 ders, and her pearly tinted throat 
 and bosom. Like the other, her 
 face was oval in shape, but seemed 
 less perfect in its contour. There 
 was a certain lack of delicacy and 
 softness about the outline that 
 suggested the fierce chase after 
 the sham pleasures of the great 
 social world. 
 
 The rest of the features were 
 in harmony with this idea. The 
 beautiful mouth was hard and 
 cruel. The lips and cheeks were 
 bright as if artificially tinted, or 
 flushed with wine. The eyes 
 were bold and the pupils seemed 
 expanded as with belladonna. 
 The nostrils of the finely shaped 
 nose were full and sensual. Her 
 luxuriant brown hair, singularly 
 like that of the portrait above her 
 in color, she wore in the late French 
 mode, combed back from her high, 
 broad forehead and twisted into a 
 massive device at the top. Her 
 
EVELIN DELORME, 31 
 
 eyebrows were unnaturally dark. 
 An artificial air pervaded the 
 entire picture one felt that she 
 had an artificial soul. A perfect 
 prototype of Folly s feverish and 
 heartless world. 
 
 As the artist stood gazing from 
 one to the other, the curious vexed 
 and puzzled expression that had 
 come into his face once before 
 that day returned. He approached 
 closely to the work as if to examine 
 it more minutely. As he bent 
 low over the face on the easel he 
 heard the street door open. He 
 started guiltily, and hastily turned 
 both pictures to the wall. A 
 moment later a tall, fair-haired 
 man of about his own age entered 
 without knocking. It was Harry 
 Lawton, the artist s most intimate 
 friend. 
 
 "Julian, old boy, how goes it ?" 
 he said, cheerily. 
 
 " Pretty well, Harry ; come in." 
 
32 THE MYSTERY OF 
 
 " Yes, I should do that any way. 
 I don t seem to be any too wel 
 come, hqwever." 
 
 " Nonsense, Harry, of course 
 you are welcome ; I am very glad, 
 in fact, to see you, just now." 
 
 "Well, that s better; although 
 I must say your face doesn t indi 
 cate excessive joy." 
 
 "Sit down; not there here 
 by the door ; I want to show you 
 something." 
 
 "Oh, some new and wonderful 
 work of your transcendent genius, 
 I suppose. By the way, how is 
 the picture for the Salon getting 
 along ? " 
 
 "Tediously, Harry; I seem to 
 have lost the spirit of the thing." 
 
 " Found too much spirit of 
 another kind, perhaps." 
 
 "No, not that. I have been a 
 model of abstinence of late." 
 
 " And the heavens do not fall ? " 
 
 " No yes that is let your 
 
E VELIN DEL ORME. 33 
 
 tongue rest for a moment, please, 
 and use your eyes." 
 
 While the artist had been speak 
 ing he had taken the large screen 
 from before the window and 
 moved his easel into a stronger 
 light. Upon it he now placed the 
 two portraits in their former posi 
 tion. The effect upon the other 
 was vigorous and immediate. 
 
 " Heavens ! Julian, where did 
 you get that angel and that dev 
 I beg pardon, that extraordinary 
 pair of beauties? Oh, I see! 
 why, of course ! a new idea for the 
 Salon. A modern Guinevere and 
 Elaine ; Siren and Saint ; Sense 
 and Innocence. I congratulate 
 you, old boy ; they are wonder 
 ful "- 
 
 "Please be quiet for a moment, 
 Harry; they are not for the 
 Salon. They are two sitters of 
 mine. The one beneath has been 
 here twice the first time about 
 
34 THE MYSTERY OF 
 
 a week ago ; the second time day 
 before yesterday. The other 
 came for the first time to-day." 
 
 "And they are real, live 
 women, then ? " 
 
 " Yes. I was in hopes you 
 might recognize one or both of 
 them." 
 
 The other shook his head, and 
 gazed from one to the other in 
 silence. 
 
 "Do you see any any resem 
 blance between them ? " asked the 
 artist, after a pause. 
 
 "Resemblance! Good Lord, 
 no ! Why ? Are they related 
 in any way ? " 
 
 " Not that I am aware of ; in 
 fact, I am quite sure they are not. 
 She told me she had no rela 
 tives." 
 
 " Um and which do you 
 refer to as she ?" 
 
 "Oh, the upper one, of course." 
 
 "Well, I don t see any of 
 
EVE LIN DEL OR ME. 35 
 
 course about it. She was here 
 to-day for the first time. I don t 
 see why she should begin by 
 exchanging family confidences. 
 All things considered, I should 
 have thought it more than likely 
 you referred to the other. How 
 ever, I suppose you are famil 
 iar with her family history, too." 
 
 " Don t be sarcastic, Harry. I 
 know nothing of either of them ; 
 at least not in that way. The 
 one who came first gave her 
 name as Evelin March. She 
 came in suddenly, one morning 
 last week, and asked for a sit 
 ting. She had on a light wrap, 
 which she laid off and stood be 
 fore me as you see her. During 
 the sitting she was inclined to be 
 lively and talkative. Her voice 
 is just a trifle harsh, but she is a 
 remarkably brilliant talker and a 
 very fascinating woman. I had 
 not met the other, then, and fool- 
 
36 THE MYSTERY OF 
 
 ishly allowed myself to say some 
 rather silly things to her. When 
 she came again I did more. You 
 know what a rash fool I am, 
 Harry. Well, I made love to 
 her, off-hand. She stirred me 
 up terribly for some reason. Of 
 course, there was nothing of real 
 love in what I felt for her ; it was 
 a brief madness of the head. 
 You know about what I would 
 say under the circumstances." 
 
 " Oh, perfectly. You swore 
 that her eyes were as arc lights in 
 a midnight desert ; that her tints 
 would rival the roseate pearl of a 
 June sunset; that her smiles 
 would be your only diet hence 
 forth and forever ; that her frown 
 would be as terrible as the day of 
 judgment. And now what has 
 the other one to do with it?" 
 
 " Lawton, you will think I am 
 crazy, and I am, perhaps but I 
 love her; and more than that, I 
 
E VELIN DEL OR ME. 37 
 
 believe she loves me. No word 
 of it has passed between us, but 
 we understand." 
 
 "Oh, we do, eh? We we 
 understand," imitated Lawton. 
 "Well, this is exceedingly interest 
 ing, I must say, although quite 
 the thing to be expected from one 
 of your temperament. How very 
 fortunate you are in the choice of 
 subjects, too." 
 
 "What do you mean, Harry?" 
 
 "Well, I should judge you 
 might divide up your affections 
 on those two without any serious 
 confliction of sentiments." 
 
 "You are mistaken, though; I 
 do not care for Evelin March at 
 all, now. I am sorry I ever met 
 her. I shall stop this foolish 
 flirtation with her, at once." 
 
 " Quite likely. And when does 
 Evelin come again ? " 
 
 "To-morrow, perhaps." 
 
 "So; well, I ll just drop in 
 
38 THE MYSTERY OF 
 
 to-morrow evening for the latest. 
 Evelin seems to be a trifle out 
 classed just at present." 
 
 "Harry, you are unkind. I 
 tell you I love that innocent girl 
 on the easel there and mean to 
 marry her." 
 
 "Oh, of course; I haven t the 
 least doubt of it. And now, what 
 about the resemblance?" 
 
 "Why, look! do you see their 
 hair? The shade of each is 
 exactly the same the same silk- 
 mess and glow through it ; it is 
 very peculiar. And notice the 
 ear; the outline and formation of 
 each is identical. You may not 
 have noticed these things as I 
 have, but it is very rare that the 
 ear is anatomically the same in 
 two people. There is a simi 
 larity, too, about the oval of the 
 face, although less marked and 
 not unusual ; and there \s a faint 
 suggestion of something else, 
 
EVELIN DELORME. 
 
 which I feel but cannot locate. 
 I noticed these things, and they 
 struck me at once as being a tie 
 of kinship. I hinted, in a miser 
 ably awkward manner, as to rela 
 tives who might be having their 
 portraits painted. It was then 
 she told me that she had no 
 relatives, and I believe started to 
 tell me she had no friends, but 
 she hesitated and was near burst 
 ing into tears. From that mo 
 ment I loved her ; I shall love her 
 always." 
 
 " Charming, Julian. And yet 
 I fancy she is not wholly alone in 
 the world. A beautiful and afflu 
 ent maiden is not calculated to be 
 friendless; and you will admit 
 that one who is able to gratify a 
 passing impulse for one of Julian 
 Paul Goetze s justly celebrated 
 portraits is not likely to be desti 
 tute. Still, I will allow that there 
 are cases, even among the wealthy, 
 
40 THE MYSTERY OF 
 
 that are not entirely undeserv 
 ing of .sympathy ; and, if I may 
 judge from this incipient work 
 of your magic brush, I think I 
 should be willing to lavish any 
 amount of that article on its orig 
 inal. However, you haven t told 
 me her name as yet ; I trust it is 
 not disappointing." 
 
 "I do not even know it myself. 
 She gave me her card ; I laid it 
 down and haven t thought of it 
 since." 
 
 "Well, really, if your love is no 
 greater than your curiosity, your 
 case does not present any very 
 alarming features, as yet." 
 
 The artist had approached a 
 small table in the center of the 
 room, from which he now picked 
 up a slip of white pasteboard and 
 held it to the light, then he started 
 a little and was silent. 
 
 "Well ? " said his friend, inquir 
 ingly; "is it Mary Mullally or 
 Nancy Muggins ?" 
 
EVE LIN DELORME. 41 
 
 The artist turned to the table 
 again and selected another card, 
 somewhat larger, from a little 
 silver tray ; then he returned to 
 Lawton and held them before him, 
 one above the other, like the pic 
 tures. On the lower one, written 
 in a bold, dashing hand, were the 
 words : 
 
 EVELIN MARCH. 
 
 And on the other, in a neat and 
 beautiful penmanship : 
 
 EVA DELORME. 
 
 " Capital, old fellow !" exclaimed 
 Lawton. " There is an air of har 
 mony about the name, the hand 
 writing, and the face of your 
 charmer that is delightful. What 
 a blessing she has no relatives." 
 
 "But do you notice nothing 
 strange about these names, 
 Harry ?" 
 
 " Nothing, except that both are 
 strangely bewitching. What more 
 is there ?" 
 
42 THE MYSTERY OF 
 
 "Why, the similarity of the 
 first names. Eva Evelin ; one 
 is frequently a contraction of the 
 other. I don t like this, Harry; 
 it troubles me." 
 
 "Now, Julian, you are posi 
 tively absurd. Here are two 
 women of natures manifestly as 
 different as light and darkness. 
 By a coincidence, or a distant 
 family tie, or both, their hair hap 
 pens to be the same color (not a 
 very unusual one, either, by the 
 way) ; a similarity in their names ; 
 also, perhaps, one or two other 
 trifling resemblances, more or less 
 marked. I will admit, myself, 
 that there is something in the 
 face of that siren that had she 
 kept herself unspotted from the 
 world might have suggested the 
 other that rare being there on 
 the easel who told you she had no 
 relatives or friends, and for which 
 reason you are deeply troubled. 
 
EVE LIN DELORME. 43 
 
 It is probable she told you the 
 exact truth. I have seen people 
 who were almost counterparts of 
 each other between whom there 
 existed no known tie of kinship. 
 There was once a man in New 
 York who resembled Jay Gould 
 so strikingly as to deceive their 
 best friends. And besides, the 
 girl may have relatives of whom 
 she knows nothing. Most of us 
 have cousins whom we have never 
 seen, or even heard of. Should 
 Guinevere prove to be the 
 unknown cousin of Elaine, I can 
 not see that the purity and charm 
 of Elaine is in any manner affected 
 thereby." 
 
 "Yes, Harry; that is so. 
 Besides " 
 
 "Besides, the resemblance is 
 positively trivial. No one but 
 an artist would think of it. I 
 should never have suspected it 
 without your assistance. In the 
 
44 TffE MYSTERY OF 
 
 one face there is written all that 
 is good, and pure, and holy ; in 
 the other, all that is reckless, 
 unscrupulous, soulless, and if not 
 vicious might easily become so. 
 It does not take a physiognomist 
 to see that. I beg pardon for 
 saying so, Julian, but it seems to 
 me that there is no more similarity 
 between the two than there is 
 between the opposing elements of 
 your own strange nature. The 
 one all that is good, and the other, 
 well not all that is bad, but 
 very different, you know, old boy. 
 And it is probably these forces 
 within you that answer to the 
 charms of these two beings who 
 are so manifestly opposites. The 
 one inspiring only the nobleness 
 of a blameless love ; the other 
 suggesting the abandonment of a 
 reckless passion." 
 
EVE LIN DELORME. 45 
 
 III. 
 
 THE light in the studio was 
 growing dim. Goetze had risen 
 to his feet and was walking back 
 and forth in front of the portraits. 
 When he spoke he seemed to have 
 forgotten them, except as the 
 representation of an abstract prin 
 ciple ; or, perhaps, he was think 
 ing of his own nature, and what 
 his friend had said of it. 
 
 "Good and bad are relative 
 terms only," he said, as one pro 
 nouncing a text. " Every man 
 fulfills his purpose. I can put a 
 stroke of paint on my canvas, and 
 you will call it white. I put 
 another beside it, and by contrast 
 the first appears gray. Still 
 another, and the second has be 
 come gray, and the first still 
 
46 THE MYSTERY OF 
 
 darker. And so on, until I have 
 reached the purest white we 
 know. It is the same with human 
 ity. Men are only dark or light 
 as they are contrasted with others ; 
 nor can they avoid the place they 
 occupy on God s canvas any more 
 than my colors can choose their 
 places on mine. The world is a 
 great picture. God is the great 
 est of all artists. His is the mas 
 ter hand the unerring touch 
 that lays on the lights, the half 
 tones and the shadows. Each 
 fulfills its purpose. Without the 
 shadows there would be no lights. 
 " What is true of masses is like 
 wise true of individuals," he con 
 tinued, after a moment s pause. 
 " In a landscape, every blade of 
 grass, every pebble, has its light 
 and its dark side. If you see only 
 the light side of an object, it is 
 only because the shadow is turned 
 from you. It is so with men; 
 
E VELIN DEL OR ME. 47 
 
 one side is sun, the other shadow. 
 Sometimes the light, only, is pre 
 sented to view, but the darker 
 side is none the less there because 
 unseen. Nature is never unbal 
 anced. Whatever of brightness 
 there is toward the sun there 
 must be an equal amount of 
 shadow opposing, with all the 
 intergradations between. If the 
 light is dim the shadow is soft; 
 if the light is brilliant the shadow 
 is black. Some of us are turned 
 white side to the world, some the 
 reverse ; some show the white and 
 the black alternately." 
 
 The man in the chair settled 
 himself comfortably to listen. He 
 liked nothing better than to see the 
 artist in his present mood, offering 
 a word now and then that was like 
 ly to draw out his peculiar ideas. 
 
 "You believe in fate, then, and 
 the absence of moral freedom," he 
 said, reflectively. 
 
48 THE MYSTERY OF 
 
 " I believe nothing. Belief is 
 not the word. What is, is right. 
 To assert otherwise is an insult 
 to the Supreme. He is all power 
 ful, hence wrong cannot exist." 
 
 11 1 should be glad to hear your 
 argument in support of that 
 position." 
 
 " Argument! It is a self-evi 
 dent truth ! Argument is not 
 necessary ! Argument is never 
 necessary ! If an assertion is not 
 true no amount of discussion 
 will make it so, while the truth 
 requires no support." 
 
 The other had lighted a pipe, 
 and was smoking lazily. 
 
 "Well," he said, as the artist 
 paused ; " at least those who have 
 crossed over have solved the 
 mystery." 
 
 " Oh, they have ! And how do 
 you know that anyone has crossed 
 over? You do not believe in 
 the mortality nor the slumber of 
 
E VELIN DEL ORME. 49 
 
 the soul ; no more do I ; but time 
 exists only with life. A man dies 
 and in the same instant opens his 
 eyes upon eternity, and yet a 
 million of years may have been 
 swept away in that instant. As a 
 tired child you have fallen asleep. 
 A moment later you have been 
 called by your mother to break 
 fast. And yet, in that moment of 
 dreamless sleep, the long winter 
 night had passed. Adam, the first 
 man, closing his eyes in death ; you 
 ani I, who will do the same ten, 
 twenty, forty years hence, and the 
 generations who will follow us for 
 a million years, perhaps, will waken 
 to eternity, if there be a waking, 
 in one and the same instant of 
 time, without a knowledge of the 
 intervening years. There were no 
 years. Eternity has no begin 
 ning, no end, no measurement." 
 
 He paused a moment, then suS- 
 denly burst out again. 
 
50 THE MYSTERY OF 
 
 "Nothing in life is real it is 
 all a dream. You think your 
 being is reality and that you hear 
 my voice speaking. I tell you it 
 is but fancy. We are the fig 
 ures the mimes in some vast 
 hypnotic exhibition the shad 
 ows in some gigantic spirit s 
 disordered dream. Hypnotism," 
 he continued, pursuing a line of 
 thought which* his impulsive words 
 had suggested, " has, in fact, 
 proven that no one can distin 
 guish the real from the unreal. 
 You remember, when we went to 
 see Flint, the great hypnotist, 
 how his subjects passed from one 
 condition to another and took on 
 any personality at the operator s 
 will; capering and grimacing 
 about the stage with all the char 
 acteristics and even the facial 
 expression of monkeys, one min- 
 ut!, and simpering as silly school 
 girls the next ; and to them it was 
 
E VELIN DELORME. 5 1 
 
 all real as real as this room, 
 these bodies, these pictures are to 
 us. I read some lines once that 
 seemed to express the idea : 
 
 I sometimes think life but a 
 
 dream 
 Of some great soul in some 
 
 great sphere, 
 And what appear as truths but 
 
 seem, 
 
 And what seem truths do but 
 appear." 
 
 He repeated these words with 
 slaw earnestness, adding solemnly, 
 " Who knows ? Who knows ? " 
 
 The man who sat listening 
 drew a long breath. He was a 
 rich idler with a good deal of 
 worldly wisdom, but he loved and 
 admired his erratic friend. He 
 felt that much of what he said 
 was sophistry, wholly or in part; 
 but there was a charm about the 
 earnest manner, the musical voice, 
 and the flashing brevity of state- 
 
52 THE MYSTERY OF 
 
 ment, more pleasing to his ear 
 than sounder logic from a surer 
 reasoner. 
 
 It was nearly dark now in the 
 studio. The artist halted in his 
 march, and offered to light the 
 gas. 
 
 "Not for the world, Julian; I 
 am far too happy in the dark. I 
 was just thinking what a glorious 
 agitator you would make ; you 
 would carry all before you. I 
 wonder you have never dabbled 
 in politics or socialism. Now I 
 think of it, I have never heard you 
 mention these things. I suppose 
 you belong to one or the other of 
 the great parties, however." 
 
 " Politics ? Party ? Good heav 
 ens, no ! I never meddle with 
 such things ; it is one step lower 
 than I have ever gone." 
 
 "But a man must stand some 
 where. He that stands nowhere 
 stands upon nothing." 
 
EVE LIN DEL OR ME. 53 
 
 The artist paused before the 
 open window and stood looking 
 out upon the dusk of the little 
 scented garden. A faint reflected 
 glimmer from some far-away lamp 
 dimly illuminated one side of his 
 face, silhouetting his striking pro 
 file sharply against a ground of 
 blackness. 
 
 "If you mean," he began, 
 slowly, "that I should have some 
 opinions, then I will tell you what 
 they are. 
 
 " I believe neither in tariff nor 
 trade. Currency nor coin. Traf 
 fic nor toil. I believe in noth 
 ing but the absolute freedom of 
 every living being. Freedom ! 
 freedom from the curse of creeds, 
 the blight of bigotry, and the 
 leprosy of the law. Freedom to 
 go and to come, to live and to die. 
 Life without loathing, love with 
 out bondage. To live in some 
 sunlit valley, where the bud is 
 
54 THE MYSTERY OF 
 
 ever bursting into flower, the 
 flower fading to fruit, and the 
 fruit ripening to sustenance. The 
 untouched bosom of Nature would 
 yield enough for her children 
 had not the curse of greed been 
 implanted in their bosoms." 
 
 Goetze had turned away from the 
 window and was again striding up 
 and down the floor in the dark. 
 
 "A beautiful poem, Julian," 
 said the other, dreamily; "but a 
 sort of delightful barbarism, I m 
 afraid." 
 
 " Barbarism ? No ! A higher, 
 purer intellectuality than we have 
 ever yet known a civilization 
 that knows not the curse of ava 
 rice nor the miseries of crime 
 the weariness of wealth nor the 
 pangs of poverty. The garden of 
 Eden is still about us, but we 
 have torn up the flowers, and des 
 ecrated it with the lust of gain. 
 Man was never driven out of that 
 
E VELIN DEL ORME. 55 
 
 garden. Greed was planted in 
 his heart and he destroyed it. 
 
 "Come," he continued, sud 
 denly changing the subject, " I 
 have made you tired and hungry; 
 let us go out, somewhere, to sup 
 per." 
 
 "Thanks," said the other, 
 laughing; "I supposed a man in 
 your condition had no need of 
 bodily sustenance. You are com 
 fortably situated here, Julian," 
 he added, as they passed out into 
 the street. 
 
 "Yes, it is quiet here no 
 bother with servants nor landla 
 dies. Once a week my washerwo 
 man comes and stays to put my 
 establishment in order; the rest 
 of the time I am disturbed only 
 by my sitters." 
 
 " You forget me." 
 
 "Yes, Harry," said the artist, 
 taking his arm affectionately; 
 "and by you, of course." 
 
56 THE MYSTERY OF 
 
 IV. 
 
 WHEN Julian Goetze arose the 
 next morning he felt strong with 
 in himself to withstand and con 
 quer those fierce impulses of his 
 savage heritage that had answered 
 to the blandishments of Evelin 
 March. And yet he was greatly 
 troubled. He felt that in a large 
 measure he had been to blame. 
 He blushed hotly as he recalled 
 some of the things he had said 
 to this woman whom Harry had 
 called a siren. 
 
 "Men are all scoundrels," he 
 said, savagely ; " I wonder if there 
 are really any who are not so at 
 heart." 
 
 He rapidly formulated his plan 
 of action, and even the sentences 
 
E VELIN DEL ORME. 57 
 
 with which he was to meet and 
 conquer this modern Circe. 
 
 "I will keep Eva s face before 
 me," he thought, "and I will 
 treat her coldly. She is high- 
 spirited and keen ; she will notice 
 the change at once and resent it. 
 She is too proud to demand an 
 explanation." 
 
 He felt himself equal to the 
 ordeal. He was anxious now for 
 her to come that it might be 
 safely passed. As the hours went 
 by he grew impatient ; he placed 
 her portrait on the easel and fan 
 cied the original was before him. 
 He went through an imaginary 
 dialogue with it in which he 
 was wholly victorious. He no 
 longer felt any emotion for this 
 woman. 
 
 " I will begin a new life," he 
 said, as he strode rapidly up and 
 down the room; "a new life." 
 But there was a feverishness in 
 
58 THE MYSTERY OF 
 
 his voice that did not bode well 
 for his resolution. 
 
 "I wish she would come," he 
 muttered, fretfully. 
 
 His cheeks were hot and 
 flushed, and his hands were like 
 ice, and trembling. And the 
 
 result was that he failed 
 
 failed miserably and completely. 
 When, an hour later, Evelin March 
 entered the studio and, throwing 
 off her wrap, stood before him, 
 imperious, soulless and beauti 
 ful a delicate odor, as of pansies, 
 from her white flesh, stealing into 
 his brain his pledges of faith 
 and his fair resolves melted away 
 like walls of mist, and the face of 
 Eva Delorme shrank back into 
 the silent recesses of his heart, 
 and only a small voice within him 
 whispered, " Coward traitor 
 fool." 
 
 She glanced at him sharply. 
 
 "Something troubles you, won 
 
E VELIN- DEL OR ME. 59 
 
 ami. You are not overjoyed at 
 my coming. I have been fancy 
 ing to myself how impatiently you 
 were waiting." 
 
 His hands were no longer 
 trembling. He was calm enough, 
 now, but it was the calmness of 
 defeat of having yielded to the 
 inevitable. 
 
 "I have indeed been waiting 
 impatiently/ he said, smiling. 
 "You see that I have been even 
 consoling myself with your pic 
 ture," and he pointed to the easel. 
 
 " From an artistic point of 
 view, only, I fancy." 
 
 "That is unkind. I have been 
 holding a conversation with it 
 that I fear I should hesitate to 
 repeat with the original." 
 
 " How interesting ! A rehearsal, 
 perhaps." 
 
 "Perhaps; and I was testing 
 the powers of my work as com 
 pared to those of the original." 
 
60 THE MYSTERY OF 
 
 "And with the result " 
 "That my work is a failure." 
 "How humiliating! May I ask 
 in what way ? " 
 
 "I could withstand the charms 
 of the picture, but with the orig 
 inal " 
 
 "Well, and with the original ?" 
 "I failed." 
 
 The face before him was radi 
 ant ; but down in his heart the 
 small voice, growing very faint, 
 still whispered, "Coward trai 
 tor fool." 
 
 That evening Harry Lawton 
 found him sitting gloomily before 
 the window looking out upon 
 the shadows that were gathering 
 in the little garden beneath. As 
 the door opened he glanced up 
 and nodded without speaking. 
 " Circe came ? " 
 Again the artist nodded. 
 "And conquered?" 
 Another nod. 
 
E VELIN DEL ORME. 61 
 
 "Did you suppose for a mo 
 ment that she wouldn t ? " 
 
 No answer. 
 
 Lawton assumed a dignified 
 attitude, and began with mock 
 earnestness : 
 
 "Oh, wise man thou who 
 knowest so well the heart and 
 the face of Nature how little 
 thou knowest of thine own 
 soul!" 
 
 A shade of anguish swept over 
 the artist s face, but he made no 
 reply. 
 
 " Most gentle and gifted man ! 
 Last night I listened long and 
 patiently to the scintillating wis 
 dom of your wonderful brain. 
 Let me now speak, while you, in 
 turn, give ear. 
 
 "When, last night, you showed 
 me the portraits and told me 
 their history, I foresaw this 
 moment. You are plunged into 
 despair at the contemplation of 
 
62 THE MYSTERY OF 
 
 your own weakness. You have 
 been abusing your soul with hard 
 names. Now, I would whisper to 
 you with great gentleness that 
 what you observed to me last 
 night, about the sunlight and 
 shadow of every life, is true; and 
 that the brightness of the sun 
 cannot illuminate, but only inten 
 sifies the blackness of the shade. 
 Pursuing the same line of reason 
 ing, I add that flowers bloom in 
 the sunlight, while mushrooms 
 thrive in the darkness. That 
 because man is fond of mush 
 rooms is no reason why he should 
 be deprived of flowers. That 
 because your purer and spiritual 
 self reaches out for the stainless 
 lily, is no reason why your mate 
 rial and grosser nature should be 
 left starving. Because you are 
 for a time intoxicated with Evelin 
 March is no reason why, in your 
 calmer and nobler existence, you 
 
E VELIN DEL OR ME. 63 
 
 should not love truly and sin- 
 lessly, Eva Delorme. 
 
 "I am aware that my logic is 
 not wholly in accord with gener 
 ally accepted theory. It accords 
 much more nearly, perhaps, with 
 universal practice of course I 
 refer only to men in the single 
 walks of life. It is well known 
 that all men after marriage are 
 irreproachable. And when you 
 have plucked your stainless lily, 
 you, like the rest, will subsist 
 only upon its fragrance. But 
 really, for the present, I cannot 
 see that your affair with Miss 
 March in any way conflicts with 
 your sentiments for Miss Del 
 orme ; and especially as you have 
 known the latter but a few hours 
 in all hardly sufficient, I should 
 think, to inspire a lifelong devo 
 tion. Truly, Julian, I would 
 advise you not to take matters 
 quite so seriously, and let the 
 
THE MYSTERY OF 
 
 tide drift as it will for the 
 present." 
 
 Throughout this long harangue 
 Julian Goetze had listened in 
 silence. 
 
 "Oh, Harry," he groaned, as 
 the other paused, "you don t 
 know what a traitor I am ! " 
 
 "Well, possibly my sensibilities 
 are not over fine, but I think you 
 will be more comfortable for tak 
 ing my advice/ 
 
 Without replying, the artist 
 rose and going into the adjoining 
 room returned a moment later 
 with a decanter and glasses. 
 
 "I am tired," he said, apologeti 
 cally, as he caught the look of 
 disapproval in his friend s eye ; 
 "it will do me good." 
 
 "None for me, Julian, before 
 supper, and-- I don t think, if - 
 if I were you, I would take any, 
 either." 
 
 " I am exhausted, Harry ; 1 am 
 
EVE LIN DELORME. 65 
 
 not going to supper and I need 
 it," he said, fretfully. 
 
 The other sighed and did not 
 reply. Goetze filled one of the 
 glasses and drank it off, then he 
 resumed his seat by the window. 
 A little later his friend took leave 
 of him ; reaching the street door 
 he hesitated as if about to turn 
 back, then he lifted the latch and 
 passed slowly out into the lighted 
 street, closing the door gently 
 behind him. 
 
 The next morning the studio 
 of Julian Goetze was locked. It 
 remained locked all day, and 
 within, stretched upon the floor, 
 unconscious, lay the gifted man, 
 and by his side was an empty 
 flask. 
 
60 THE MYSTERY OF 
 
 V. 
 
 PERHAPS Julian Goetze did not 
 willingly abide by the somewhat 
 fallacious reasoning of his friend. 
 It is more than probable that 
 each time he succumbed to the 
 savage elements of his nature, he 
 did so with reluctance and shame, 
 with subsequent remorse, and good 
 resolutions formed a score of times, 
 perhaps, to be as often broken. 
 
 As the weeks went by he 
 became more and more .involved 
 in this singular affair. In a way 
 he had found it possible, as his 
 friend had once suggested, to be 
 in love with two women at one 
 time. 
 
 When he was with Eva 
 Delorme his love for the pure, 
 beautiful girl seemed to take entire 
 
EVE LIN DELORME. 07 
 
 possession of his life. Evelin 
 March, for the time, was as hateful 
 to him as his own weakness, or 
 was wholly forgotten. 
 
 When in the presence of Evelin 
 March his better self shrank away 
 before the fierce heredity within 
 him, and the face of Eva Delorme 
 became only a dim, haunting 
 ghost that taunted him with his 
 treachery. 
 
 Of the lives of these two he 
 knew absolutely nothing. The 
 evident distress which his refer 
 ence to relatives and friends had 
 occasioned Eva during their first 
 meeting, had caused him carefully 
 to avoid the subject afterward; 
 and the other, who had never 
 referred to her family, he had not 
 cared to know. He had never 
 even considered whether she was 
 wife, maid or widow, until he sud 
 denly became aware that the sen 
 timent he had awakened within 
 
G8 THE MYSTERY OF 
 
 her was not, as he had at first 
 supposed, a passing fancy, but a 
 fierce passion of jealous and 
 tyrannical love. She no longer 
 rallied him, and parried his com 
 pliments with her light, pointed 
 sarcasm, as she had done at first, 
 but assumed an unmistakable 
 bearing of ownership and posses 
 sion questioning him closely 
 regarding other sitters and female 
 acquaintances while he writhed 
 helplessly in the exquisite misery 
 of a spell which he felt himself 
 powerless to break. 
 
 Thus far he had never surren 
 dered himself entirely to this pas 
 sion. More than once he had 
 hesitated on the very brink of the 
 precipice. Whether it was the 
 haunting face of Eva Delorme that 
 stayed him, or something in the 
 manner of the other, he could not 
 tell. 
 
 One day he suddenly caught 
 
E VELIN DEL OR ME. 09 
 
 her in his arms. She suffered 
 his embrace for a moment, then 
 drew away from him. 
 
 "When we are married, Paul," 
 she said, tenderly, "I will take 
 you to Italy, where in some beau 
 tiful villa we will give ourselves 
 up wholly to our love. I am rich, 
 Paul, rich ; and it is all yours, but 
 we must wait." 
 
 He turned white and was silent. 
 The thought of marriage with this 
 woman had never entered his 
 head. He had already asked Eva 
 Delorme to be his wife. She had 
 long since confessed her love for 
 him, but had deferred her answer 
 from week to week, and with 
 such evident distress of mind that 
 the young artist felt that a secret 
 sorrow lay heavily uj^pn her life. 
 He longed to fly with her to some 
 far country, away from it all, and 
 from the dark shadows that 
 encompassed his own. 
 
70 THE MYSTERY OF 
 
 The similarity of features which 
 he had at first noticed in his two 
 sitters was at times almost forgot- 
 
 o 
 
 ten ; at others it had recurred to 
 him and haunted him like a night- 
 
 o 
 
 mare. More than once he had 
 imagined he saw the fleeting 
 something in one woman that 
 reminded him of the other. He 
 had dallied over the portraits, mak 
 ing them photographically minute 
 for comparison. He had hesitated 
 guiltily about showing either of 
 these to the other woman. He 
 had sometimes longed, and always 
 dreaded, to see them side by side 
 in person. They did not always 
 come at their appointed time, 
 and he was in constant terror 
 lest they should meet in the 
 studio ; and^. yet the thought 
 had in it a fascination for him 
 that made him feverish for its 
 realization. It was strange that 
 they had never met in his 
 
E VELIN DEL OR ME. 71 
 
 rooms he did not realize, 
 perhaps, how strange. 
 
 As the months slipped away, 
 and he had become more and 
 more distracted by the contend 
 ing forces that were eating deeply 
 into his life, he had grown almost 
 indifferent to his curiosity and 
 only dreaded their meeting. 
 
 It was now October. The por 
 traits had been practically finished 
 long since. Day after day he had 
 resolved to send that of Evelin 
 March to the dealer for framing. 
 He felt that he could then break 
 away from her. But still he had 
 hesitated and lingered, and now, 
 when in a moment of recklessness 
 he had taken a step nearer the 
 brink of the precipice, she had 
 spoken to him of their marriage. 
 The idea stunned him ; he could not 
 reply. She believed his emotion 
 had been caused by her rebuff, and 
 laid her hand gently on his arm. 
 
72 THE MYSTERY OF 
 
 "Don t be angry, Paul," she 
 whispered. 
 
 He had never seen her so sub 
 dued and beautiful as she was at 
 that moment. He was nearer to 
 loving her than he had ever been. 
 
 "Yes," he said, with some agi 
 tation, "we must wait." 
 
 That night after supper he 
 sought Harry Lawton, and unbur 
 dened himself. 
 
 "What shall I do, Harry?" he 
 said, piteously ; " what must I do ? " 
 
 " Marry Eva Delorme and take 
 a year s trip to Europe." 
 
 " But Eva hesitates she has 
 never yet given me a decided 
 answer." 
 
 " Insist upon it. Then take her 
 to the preacher at once, and fly." 
 
 "Oh, Harry, what a villain I 
 am ! Evelin is really in love with 
 me, and I have given her just 
 cause. I never saw her look as 
 she did to-day." 
 
E VELIN DELORME. 73 
 
 "Nonsense! She is a schemer 
 and an actress. I did not suppose 
 she wanted to marry you, but 
 since that is her idea I can see 
 right through her. This being 
 the case, and your determination 
 to marry the other fixed, the 
 sooner you do it and get away, the 
 better." 
 
 " I am afraid you are right, 
 
 Harry ; there seems to be no 
 
 other course. I haven t the 
 
 moral courage to tell her the 
 
 truth." 
 
 "No need of it, whatever. It 
 wouldn t help matters in the least. 
 Just marry and go away quietly, 
 and don t return until you get 
 ready. If you need money draw 
 on me at sight." 
 
 "Thank you, Harry. I expect 
 Eva soon. I am going to put 
 the final touches on her picture, 
 and I will urge my suit. If she 
 accepts me I will take her away 
 
74 THE MYSTERY OF 
 
 at once. Evelin s picture is 
 ready for framing; I will send it 
 to the dealer s to-morrow. I wish 
 to God I could get away before 
 she comes again ! " 
 
 "Why not? You have noth 
 ing to keep you. If the girl really 
 loves you she will marry you out 
 of hand, and be only too glad to 
 cut loose from all unpleasant asso 
 ciations. And now let s take a 
 last look at the pictures," he said, 
 briskly. 
 
 They had been walking slowly 
 in the direction of Goetze s cot 
 tage. They entered now, and the 
 artist lighted the gas. Then he 
 arranged the portraits of the two 
 women as he had done for his 
 friend s inspection nearly a half- 
 year previous. Both were think 
 ing of that evening now. How 
 long ago it seemed. Harry sat 
 silent before them for a long 
 time. 
 
EVE LIN DELORME. 75 
 
 " They are wonderful portraits, 
 Goetze," he said, at length ; "but, 
 do you know, it doesn t seem to 
 me that they have quite the art 
 istic value of the first sketches." 
 
 " You are right, Harry ; they 
 are too minute. I shall destroy 
 some of that to-morrow." 
 
 The other was silent. After a 
 long pause he said, thoughtfully, 
 "There is something I can t 
 tell where it is, either ; but it is 
 certainly there." 
 
 " You refer to the resem 
 blance ? " 
 
 " Yes ; it is hardly that, how 
 ever." 
 
 " I have thought very little 
 about it lately. It troubled me 
 terribly for a while." 
 
 "Well, good-night, Julian," 
 said Lawton, rising. " If there are 
 to be any orange-blossoms, I sup 
 pose I am best man." 
 
 "Yes, Harry. Good-night!" 
 
76 THE MYSTERY OF 
 
 Two days later, when Eva Del- 
 orme came to the studio, the 
 artist thought he had never seen 
 her so beautiful. 
 
 And now the whiteness of his 
 own soul was turned to view. 
 He resembled as little the man 
 who had trembled before Evelin 
 March, as Evelin March was like 
 this beautiful being before him. 
 
 With all the ardor and fervid elo 
 quence of his nature he urged his 
 suit ; and she, tearful and trem 
 bling before him, half consented. 
 He caught her to his breast and 
 covered her face with kisses. 
 
 "My darling my darling," 
 he murmured, "we will leave this 
 smoky, dingy city ; I will take 
 you to a beautiful land where the 
 flowers never fade and the air is 
 forever filled with their fragrance. 
 Where the blue skies of an eter 
 nal summer are above us, and the 
 blue waves of a whispering sea 
 
E VELIN DEL ORME. 77 
 
 shall lull us to peace. There is a 
 tiny island in the Mediterranean 
 on the coast of France. I was 
 there once; it is like heaven. I 
 will take you there. Say that 
 you will go, sweetheart ; we will 
 start to-day." 
 
 The girl lifted her face to his, 
 and kissed him on the forehead. 
 
 "It would be heaven, indeed, 
 Julian ; but we must wait." 
 
 The artist started and grew 
 pale. Her final words had been 
 the same as those used by Evelin 
 March. She did not seem to 
 notice his emotion, or mistook its 
 cause. 
 
 "You know that I love you, 
 Julian," she continued, "and I 
 will do anything for your happi 
 ness ; but oh, Julian " 
 
 She burst into tears and hid 
 her face on his shoulder. He 
 felt that some mystery of grief 
 weighed upon her, and he longed 
 
78 THE MYSTERY OF 
 
 to urge her confidence, but re 
 frained. He soothed her gently 
 with tender words and caresses. 
 By and by she grew calm. 
 
 "Julian," she said, " I am in no 
 condition to-day to give you a sit 
 ting. I will come to-morrow, and 
 then I will give you a final 
 answer, and oh, my love, do 
 not urge me further to-day ; I I 
 cannot endure it." 
 
 Then suddenly throwing her 
 arms about his neck she pressed 
 one fierce kiss upon his lips and 
 hurried from the room. 
 
 After she was gone the artist 
 walked up and down the studio 
 for a long time in deep thought. 
 He was wildly happy in her love, 
 and yet he was troubled. It was 
 strange that her words should 
 have been the same as those of 
 Evelin March. Her manner, too, 
 during the last moment had been 
 unusual. Something about it 
 
E VELIN DEL OR ME. 79 
 
 had jarred him almost remind 
 ed him of the other woman. 
 What was it between these two ? 
 
 By and by, he noticed some 
 thing white lying on the floor. 
 It was a woman s handkerchief 
 a bit of cambric and lace exhaling 
 the delicate odor of violets. He 
 pressed it to his lips repeatedly, 
 and whispered her name over and 
 over, then hid it away in his 
 bosom. He had not noticed, in 
 the dim light, that in one corner, 
 in small, delicate letters, were the 
 initials, E. M. D. 
 
80 THE MYSTERY OF 
 
 VI. 
 
 THE next morning was bright 
 and crisp, and the artist felt bet 
 ter than he had for many weeks. 
 He arose happy in the thought 
 that he should again see Eva Del- 
 orme so soon, and in the confi 
 dence that she would accept his 
 offer of marriage. He was hap 
 pier still in the prospect of cutting 
 free from all the feverish torture 
 of the past few months ; of leav 
 ing behind all the unpleasant 
 associations that clouded both 
 their lives, along with the soot, 
 and fumes, and temptations of 
 this grimy city; and of dreaming 
 away the winter with Eva on the 
 coast of France. 
 
 He rose early and set out for 
 a morning walk. His favorite 
 
E VELIN DEL OR ME. 81 
 
 
 
 restaurant was near the heart of 
 the city; he would go there for 
 breakfast. The distance was con 
 siderable, but the brisk exercise 
 was in harmony with his thoughts. 
 The blood was circulating rhyth 
 mically through his veins ; he 
 threw back his shoulders and 
 breathed in the fresh frosty air. 
 He wanted to sing. In another 
 week he would be away from 
 all that was disagreeable and 
 disgraceful perhaps to-morrow. 
 They would spend a whole year in 
 Europe; may be they would not 
 come back at all. 
 
 After breakfast he met two or 
 three acquaintances ; they re 
 marked his unusual spirits. 
 
 " You must have made a big 
 strike, Goetze ; can t you tell us ? " 
 
 "Yes, by and by; not now 
 later." 
 
 " Congratulations are in order, 
 of course." 
 
82 THE MYSTERY OF 
 
 " Hardly yet; pretty soon." 
 He returned to his studio. 
 Eva had named no hour, but he 
 hoped she would come early. As 
 he opened the street door he saw 
 a long, thin, delicately tinted 
 envelope that had been pushed 
 beneath it in his absence. He 
 knew instinctively that it was 
 from Eva, and hastened into the 
 studio to read it. It was not 
 sealed and there was no address. 
 Trembling with agitation he tore 
 off the covering and read : 
 
 " DEAREST JULIAN : 
 
 "I am feeling badly this morn 
 ing, so will not come for my 
 sitting to-day, and since my por 
 trait is so nearly finished I suppose 
 there is really no need of my 
 coming again for that purpose. 
 I should have come, however, 
 as I promised, had it been possible. 
 And now, my dear friend, as 
 regards the decision which so 
 concerns us both, I will ask your 
 
EVE LIN DELORME. 83 
 
 kind patience until to-morrow eve. 
 
 "On West L Street, between 
 1 8th and iQth, near the park, 
 there is a large, old-fashioned, 
 brick mansion. It is No. 74, 
 east side you cannot miss it. 
 There is an arc electric light 
 directly in front of it. 
 
 " Go to this place to-morrow 
 night, exactly at six o clock. If 
 the door is fastened, ring, and the 
 servant will admit you. There 
 wait in the hall-way until I corne. 
 If the door is unlocked, enter and 
 wait likewise, unless I am already 
 within to meet you. Then I will 
 give you my answer ; and oh, my 
 friend, if it be possible I will 
 unfold to you the history and sad 
 mystery of my poor life, which 
 you have so kindly never sought 
 to know. 
 
 "EVA." 
 
 Julian read this note again and 
 again now with pleasure, again 
 with anxiety. Surely she meant 
 to accept him or she would not 
 have written thus ; she would 
 
84 THE MYSTERY OF 
 
 not have appointed a meeting 
 with him at this old mansion. 
 And why at this old mansion? 
 Was it her home ? No, that was 
 not likely, or why was he to wait 
 until she came ? If her home, 
 she would be waiting there for 
 him. Probably the home of some 
 friend of whom she had made a 
 confidant, and who was in sympa 
 thy with her love affair. Yes, it 
 must be this ; and the mystery of 
 her life, what could that be but 
 some pre-natal pledge of marriage 
 with one whom she despised, or 
 tyrannical guardians, or both. She 
 would probably be disinherited if 
 she disobeyed. What did he 
 care; money was not the end 
 of God s judgment. He would 
 take her away from it all ; his 
 precious darling, and she was ill, 
 too ; she was in pain and he could 
 not go to her. He longed to sit 
 by her side, and hold her hand 
 
EVELIN DELORME. 85 
 
 and pour out his love. He was 
 bitterly disappointed at not see 
 ing her to-day, but he almost for 
 got that, now, as he thought of her 
 ill and suffering. He read and 
 re-read the lines of her letter, and 
 tried to comfort himself with the 
 thought that it was no more than 
 a headache brought on by her 
 mental strain. 
 
 By and by, something else 
 about this letter began to puzzle 
 him. He had not thought of it 
 at first, but gradually it dawned 
 upon him that the handwriting 
 was not exactly like that upon 
 the card of Eva Delorme. It 
 seemed to him that it was less 
 delicate and more irregular. He 
 took her card from the little tray 
 on the table, and compared them. 
 He decided that they were the 
 same, after all. The letter was 
 written hurriedly and she was ill ; 
 but the formation of the charac- 
 
86 THE MYSTERY OF 
 
 ters was much the same. As he 
 replaced the card his eye fell 
 upon that of Evelin March. 
 There was no similarity between 
 the writing on the two cards, but 
 as he glanced now from that of 
 Evelin March to the letter he fan 
 cied one suggested faintly the 
 nervous, dashing style of the 
 other. The haunting curiosity 
 that had once possessed him 
 returned for a moment. There 
 was a strange fear in his heart 
 which he could not name. He 
 compared the two more closely, 
 and as he did so the fancy disap 
 peared. It was like certain faint 
 odors that are only perceptible at 
 a distance. He heaved a sigh of 
 relief. 
 
 " I am a consummate ass, 
 among other things," he mut 
 tered. 
 
 His mind reverted to Eva. 
 How would he get through the 
 
E VELIN DEL OR ME. 87 
 
 time until to-morrow ? To-mor 
 row there would be a sitting with 
 Evelin. As he thought of her 
 his face flushed with shame, and a 
 feeling of dread came upon him. 
 He would send her portrait to the 
 dealer to-day it was finished 
 then there would be no excuse 
 for her staying. No, he would 
 go away and lock the studio all 
 day. What a fool he had been to 
 allow himself to be fascinated by 
 her dashing beauty. What a 
 traitor he had been to make even 
 a semblance of love to this bold, 
 flashy woman of the world a 
 woman who, until recently, had 
 not even commanded his respect. 
 
 "I have been a villain," he 
 muttered, to himself; "a villain 
 and a traitor, but I will be so no 
 more. I will curb this savage 
 nature within me. I will abstain 
 from drink. I will be a new 
 man." 
 
THE MYSTERY OF 
 
 He sealed his resolution with a 
 kiss pressed upon the little, tinted 
 letter, then placing it in an inner 
 pocket he arranged the canvas of 
 Eva Delorme on the easel before 
 him and walked backward and for 
 ward in front of it thinking, paus 
 ing now and then to gaze long 
 upon the beautiful, saintly feat 
 ures. 
 
 "It does not do her justice," 
 he said, at last ; " there is some 
 thing about the lips and the 
 expression that I have not caught. 
 It is too minute ; I must 
 darken the ground ; there is 
 not enough relief not enough 
 depth." 
 
 Hastily removing his coat and 
 the wide felt hat which he always 
 wore on the street, he hung them 
 on a rack in the adjoining room, 
 and donning his velvet studio 
 jacket, returned to the easel. 
 Seizing his palette and brushes 
 
EVE LIN DELORME. 89 
 
 he fell to work rapidly, and with 
 the enthusiasm of one who is in 
 love with his task. 
 
 As he dashed on the broad 
 sweeps of color from his pal 
 ette, the background gradually 
 assumed the effect of having 
 faded away, and the rare face 
 before it to have become a thing 
 of flesh and blood. It was a mar 
 vel of skill. He had never done 
 anything like this before. He 
 became so absorbed in his work 
 that he forgot the passing hours. 
 The background of the portrait 
 complete, he began adding touches 
 of light and shadow and color to 
 the drapery, to the hair, to the 
 perfect features. He felt that he 
 had never painted half so 
 well. It seemed to him that he 
 was inspired. He remembered 
 the story of the artist who had 
 painted the portrait of his beloved, 
 drawing the tints so truly from 
 
90 THE MYSTERY OF 
 
 her life, that when he had finished 
 and turned to look at her with an 
 exclamation of triumph on his lips, 
 she was dead. It seemed to him 
 at this moment that he was draw 
 ing his tints from her very life. 
 That the intense workings of his 
 brain must in some manner affect 
 her own. He paused and his 
 hand trembled. She was ill; 
 what if she were to die ! Pshaw ! 
 it was but a fable. He would 
 paint the picture as truly, but 
 only that the world might bow 
 before the beauty of his mistress. 
 He would exhibit it in Paris, and 
 the multitude would worship the 
 beautiful face that should win 
 him a world-wide fame. Then he 
 would take it away from the gap 
 ing throng and lay it, with the 
 fame it brought him, at her feet. 
 
 The little clock on the mantel 
 had long since chimed noon, and 
 the -hour hand had crept around 
 
E VELIN DEL OR ME. 91 
 
 the circle nearly to five before he 
 finally laid aside his brushes and 
 palette, and stepped back to view 
 his finished work. 
 
 " It is wonderful wonderful," 
 he said, aloud. " Oh, my precious 
 darling! " 
 
 There was a sound behind 
 him as of some one choking. He 
 turned and stood face to face with 
 Evelin March. She was very pale, 
 and her eyes burned like two stars. 
 
 "Who is that woman?" she 
 said, fiercely. 
 
 He knew that she had over 
 heard him, but he endeavored to 
 address her calmly. He felt the 
 cowardliness of his nature rising, 
 and he cursed himself inwardly. 
 
 "I I was not expecting you 
 to-day, Evelin," he stammered; 
 " to-morrow, you know, is the day 
 for your sitting." 
 
 She did not take her eyes from 
 the portrait ; she had gone very 
 
92 THE MYSTERY OF 
 
 close to it and as she turned upon 
 him to reply there was a mingled 
 look of terror and ferocity in her 
 face. 
 
 " No, it is quite evident that 
 you did not expect me, and that 
 you were too much absorbed to 
 remember or care when my sit 
 ting was due. And now you will 
 please to answer my question. 
 Who is that woman ? " 
 
 What would he not have given, 
 at that moment, to have had cour 
 age to say, " She is to be my wife ;" 
 but the magnificent fury of the 
 woman before him, and the recol 
 lection of the shameful words of 
 love he had spoken to her, over 
 whelmed him. 
 
 "She is a a Miss Delorme, I 
 believe ; a sitter of mine," he man 
 aged to say at last. 
 
 " You believe! You lie ! You 
 know who she is, and you love 
 her ! You love that nun-faced 
 
EVE LIN DEL ORME. 93 
 
 baby ! I heard your words. You 
 believe you " 
 
 "Evelin, stop!" 
 
 " Don t speak to me, you trai 
 tor! Your precious darling. 
 Oh, I could kill her ! I will kill 
 her ! " 
 
 He could not understand this 
 wild fury, that seemed to be half 
 inspired by a sort of terror. She 
 had turned to the portrait again 
 and was examining it, oblivious, 
 for the moment, to all else. Then 
 suddenly she turned upon him 
 again with blazing eyes. 
 
 "I will kill her!" she hissed. 
 "I could kill her with that," and 
 she pointed to the jeweled sti 
 letto on the wall. 
 
 She was so magnificent in her 
 rage that he could not help admir 
 ing her through it all. The love 
 for him which had aroused this 
 tempest was so fierce that he felt 
 his savage blood beginning to 
 
04 THE MYSTERY OF 
 
 throb with an answering glow. 
 He felt that once more he was 
 about to be a traitor to all that 
 was good within him. The 
 ground was slipping from under 
 his feet. The glamour of her 
 voluptuous beauty was filling his 
 brain like the fumes of liquor. 
 His eyes, too, were beginning to 
 shine fiercely, but not with anger. 
 
 "Evelin," he said, "listen. You 
 know I love you and have from 
 the first. She is nothing to me. 
 The words that you -overheard 
 were addressed only to the pic 
 ture. It is my masterpiece. I 
 was not thinking of the original." 
 And down in his heart the small 
 voice was whispering, "Coward 
 traitor fool ! " 
 
 But the hot blood of passion 
 was sweeping through his veins, 
 and he heeded it not. He put 
 out his hand and laid it upon her 
 arm. 
 
EVE LIN DELORME. 95 
 
 "Don t touch me!" she said, 
 angrily, but the expression in her 
 eyes softened. He saw his advant 
 age and followed it up. 
 
 "Evelin," he said, huskily, "I 
 love you I love you!" Again 
 he laid his hand upon her and 
 this time she allowed it to remain. 
 They were standing near the 
 curtained arch of the adjoining 
 room. He parted back the heavy 
 draperies, and gently drew her 
 within. 
 
 The savage blood was rioting 
 fiercely within him. He caught 
 both her hands in his and drew her 
 to his embrace. She hid her face 
 upon his shoulder, and would not 
 let him touch her lips. Other than 
 this she made no further resist 
 ance. Half dragging, and half 
 carrying her he approached a 
 large divan that stood in a 
 little alcove on the opposite side 
 of the room. Suddenly he took 
 
96 THE MYSTERY OF 
 
 her bodily in his arms and they 
 sank down upon it together. For 
 a second, only; then, with a quick 
 powerful effort she threw him 
 backward and sprang to her feet, 
 staring about her with a wild, 
 startled look in her eyes. 
 
 Goetze, wholly at a loss to 
 account for the suddenness and 
 fierceness of the resistance, was 
 for a moment stunned. As he 
 recovered himself and made a 
 movement toward her, she gave 
 him one quick, piteous look a 
 look that recalled to him suddenly 
 and strangely the beautiful, inno 
 cent girl whom he had wronged 
 and forgotten the face of Eva 
 Delorme then, as if seized with 
 sudden panic she sped from the 
 room, out through the dim stu 
 dio and into the dusky hall-way 
 beyond. 
 
 He heard the opening and clos 
 ing of the outside door, and knew 
 
E VELIN D EL OR ME. 97 
 
 that she was gone. Then the 
 tide of reaction swept over him. 
 The glamour of conquest had 
 passed, and there remained only 
 the shame, the treachery and the 
 remorse. 
 
 With a curse of anguish he 
 flung himself down upon the 
 floor, and lay groveling with his 
 face in the dust. The moments 
 flew by unheeded. An hour 
 passed. The electric lamps were 
 turned on, and a white ray of 
 light shot in through the half-cur 
 tained window. The little clock 
 on the mantel chimed the hour. 
 
 The sound roused him. Start 
 ing to his feet he gazed stupidly 
 about him for a moment as if 
 undecided what to do, then seiz 
 ing his hat from the wall 
 rack he hurried out through the 
 studio and the dark hall-way with 
 out pausing to remove his work 
 ing jacket, or to lock the door. 
 
98 THE MYSTERY OF 
 
 Out into the street where people 
 were hurrying home, chattering 
 and laughing, and glancing only 
 for a second at the figure in the 
 velvet studio coat and broad 
 hat, wondering a little at the 
 dark, intense face that flashed 
 so swiftly past them toward the 
 glare and confusion of the busi 
 ness center. 
 
 He did not know where he 
 was going. He did not care. 
 He was trying to get away from 
 himself. He walked faster and 
 faster; twice he started to run. 
 
 He was drawing nearer to the 
 bustle of the city. Small shops 
 were scattered along between the 
 rows of brick dwellings, and at 
 one corner the light of a saloon 
 flared out upon the pavement. 
 Entering, he called for brandy. 
 The bar-keeper stared at him 
 and set out a bottle and a glass. 
 Twice he filled it to the brim and 
 
EVELIN DELORME. 99 
 
 drank it off with hardly a pause 
 between. Then, throwing down a 
 silver dollar, he hastened out with 
 out waiting for change. 
 
 The shops were getting thick 
 er and larger. Dwelling-houses 
 were fewer and more old fash 
 ioned. Here and there news 
 boys were crying the evening 
 papers. Street-cars, filled with 
 lights and faces, rolled swiftly by 
 him and in front of him, jangling 
 their bells. The buzz and whirl 
 of the city was around him. He 
 was drawing near to its great, 
 throbbing heart. 
 
 Splendid shop windows threw a 
 flood of light upon the pavement, 
 making it like day. The shouts 
 of the newsboys and street vend 
 ers, the jangling of the car-bells, 
 the rushing cabs and carriages, 
 the hurrying crowds, the brilliant 
 lights, the liquor in his brain, 
 all whirled together and sent the 
 
100 THE MYSTERY OF 
 
 blood racing through his arteries, 
 tingling to the surface now and 
 again in burning waves of misery 
 and shame. 
 
 People paused for a moment to 
 look at the strange figure, and hur 
 ried on. Everybody was hurry 
 ing hurrying somewhere. He, 
 too, was hurrying, as one pur 
 sued by furies ; but where ? 
 
 Suddenly, in front of an illumin 
 ated window, he paused ; why, 
 he did not know. There was 
 nothing there to attract him. It 
 was a place where they sold shoes. 
 Numberless shoes were arranged 
 for display, and in the midst of 
 them a little white lamp-globe 
 revolving by clock-work with two 
 words painted on it in black 
 letters : 
 
 GENTLEMEN S SHOES. 
 
 He read the words over and over 
 as the little globe came round, 
 
E VELIN EtELORME. 101 
 
 and round, and- -round:; V Gentle^ 
 men s shoes Gentlemen s shoes 
 Gentlemen s shoes." The thing 
 fascinated him. It was such a 
 funny little globe. It reminded 
 hin of a merry-go-round he had 
 once ridden on as a child. He 
 wondered how many times a day 
 it spelled out the words, and if it 
 kept on going, there in the dark, 
 after the place was closed. Then 
 he hurried on, but the little white 
 globe and its black, flying letters 
 were still before him. They had 
 impressed their image upon his 
 brain. More than once he re 
 peated the words aloud. They 
 seemed to have blended them 
 selves into his whirling senses 
 and become a monotonous under 
 tone. 
 
 "Gentlemen s shoes Gentle 
 men s shoes Gentlemen s shoes." 
 
 Here and there he stopped 
 at a saloon and drank. He 
 
1C2 THE MYSTER Y OF 
 
 drank .deeply ana, the liquor was 
 strong. 
 
 The lights were beginning to 
 grow fewer. He had turned in 
 his walk, and was leaving the 
 whirl and glare behind him. He 
 did not know what direction he 
 had taken. He only knew that 
 he was going, going, going, in 
 a mad effort to get away from 
 himself. 
 
 The people that passed him he 
 did not see. He saw only the 
 white face of Eva Delorme, and 
 that piteous look in the eyes of 
 the other, that had, in one instant, 
 revived within him, and with ten 
 fold vigor, all the strange, tortur 
 ing suspicions he had once felt 
 regarding these two mysterious 
 lives. The faces that turned to 
 look at him, he did not notice; 
 he saw only these two, and min 
 gled with them, and whirling 
 round, and round, and round, the 
 
E VELIN DEL ORME. 103 
 
 little white globe with its black 
 letters, "Gentlemen s shoes 
 Gentlemen s shoes Gentlemen s 
 shoes." 
 
 After a long time he noticed 
 that he was passing a small sub 
 urban railway station. There was 
 a bustle of preparation as though 
 a train was expected to arrive. 
 He crossed the shining steel 
 tracks and entered. A number 
 of people were inside, chattering, 
 laughing and waiting. Waiting to 
 go somewhere. Everybody was 
 going somewhere everybody but 
 him. Suddenly a group in one 
 corner attracted him as had the 
 lighted window and the revolving 
 globe. 
 
 A hatchet-faced woman, wear 
 ing a faded straw hat of antique 
 pattern, a cloak to match, and a 
 soiled and largely plaided dress, 
 was vainly endeavoring to still 
 the cries of a miserable babe 
 
104 THE MYSTERY OF 
 
 swaddled in an assortment of 
 dirty garments. 
 
 Two children, of ages evidently 
 beginning at prompt and regu 
 lar intervals from the one in her 
 arms, extended from her at right- 
 angles on the bench, their legs 
 straddled about with a childish dis 
 regard of modesty. They were 
 asleep at least one of them was, 
 and the other was equally silent. 
 
 By and by, the woman arose 
 and walked the floor with the 
 babe. At this, the child who was 
 not asleep arose also and stared 
 at its mother with wide, round 
 eyes. Then, as she approached it 
 and turned in her march, it began 
 to follow her, keeping close be 
 hind and in step. 
 
 The other slept on uncon 
 sciously. The lamps flared and 
 flickered ; the babe, partially 
 soothed, sobbed and moaned, and 
 the squalid pair marched on. 
 
E VELIN DEL OK ME. 105 
 
 Begotten in bliss brought 
 forth in suffering reared in 
 privation. 
 
 Suddenly there is a prolonged, 
 shrill shriek in the night, a tram 
 pling of many feet, a shouting of 
 discordant voices, and the mid 
 night train is snorting at the 
 platform. 
 
 Hastily the mother gathers up 
 the sleeping child, and bidding 
 the other cling close to her skirts, 
 hurries out into the night, past 
 the fiery-eyed Polyphemus, on 
 toward the coaches behind. 
 
 The people that are going 
 somewhere jostle against her in 
 their haste to get into the coaches 
 and secure seats. Mechanically 
 the artist follows. Everybody is 
 going somewhere ; he will go, too. 
 
 The monster ahead begins to 
 puff and grunt, and the bell that 
 is fastened to its back, to ring 
 wildly. 
 
106 THE MYSTERY OF 
 
 The men who are loading bag 
 gage shout and swear and hurl 
 coarse jokes at each other, and 
 the midnight train begins to 
 move. The bell still clangs fran 
 tically, the demon puffs and 
 grunts faster and faster, and the 
 light from its one fearful eye pen 
 etrates farther and farther into 
 the darkness ahead. 
 
 Faster, and faster, and faster 
 the sound of the wheels falling 
 into a regular measure, until it has 
 become a weird, rhythmical mon 
 otone. 
 
 " Gentlemen s shoes Gentle 
 men s shoes Gentlemen s shoes." 
 
 Then there is a momentary 
 flare of light, a final, blood-curd 
 ling scream, and the one-eyed 
 demon the faded and soiled 
 woman the sobbing baby 
 the sleeping child the marching 
 child with the big, round eyes 
 the people who are going some- 
 
E VELIN DEL ORME. 107 
 
 where, and the artist who is going 
 nowhere, are on their way. 
 
 He has taken a seat facing 
 the faded woman, and is uncon 
 sciously studying her face. She 
 is still hushing the babe to rest. 
 On one side the sleeper is hud 
 dled up against her. On the 
 other, next to the window and 
 resting upon its knees, the child 
 with the big, round eyes stares 
 out into the darkness. 
 
 The coach is warm. The heat 
 and the strong liquor are begin 
 ning to tell on him. The face 
 before him begins to mingle with 
 all sorts of impossible fancies. 
 The roar of the flying train is in 
 his ears, but it seems the roar of 
 some mighty sea that is about to 
 overwhelm him. The conductor, 
 coming through, shakes his arm 
 to rouse him. 
 
 " Tickets!" 
 
 "Oh, yes!" he forgot. He 
 
108 THE MYSTERY OF 
 
 thrusts a bill into the conductor s 
 hand. "Keep the change, I will 
 ride it out." 
 
 The drowsiness is again steal 
 ing upon him. He still sees the 
 wretched face before him and is 
 studying it ; but always between 
 them are those other faces the 
 face of Eva Delorme and of Evelin 
 March and the piteous, fright 
 ened look that rests now upon one, 
 now upon the other, and now 
 the two are melting melting 
 into one, like the blending out 
 lines of a dissolving view and 
 both fade out into the little white 
 globe with its whirling black 
 words, that the hum of the train 
 flying through the night keeps 
 repeating over, and over, and over, 
 " Gentlemen s shoes Gentle 
 men s shoes Gentlemen s shoes." 
 
E VEL IN D EL OR ME. 109 
 
 VII. 
 
 THE sky was beginning to get 
 gray with morning when the night 
 express, more than a hundred and 
 fifty miles from its starting point, 
 rushed into a little station and 
 halted a moment for water, pant 
 ing and fretting to be on its way. 
 A figure stepped from it to the 
 platform, staggering a little as 
 from the motion of the train. It 
 was a young man. His eyes were 
 bloodshot, his face stained with 
 the grime of travel. His soft felt 
 hat and his short, velvet coat 
 were covered with cinders and 
 dust. One would hardly have rec 
 ognized the artist, Julian Goetze. 
 
 The station agent stood a few 
 
110 THE MYSTERY OF 
 
 feet away with a lantern. He 
 looked up somewhat astonished as 
 this odd figure approached him. 
 " Some drunken showman," he 
 thought. 
 
 The man came closer, as if to 
 speak to him. 
 
 " How far back to Saint Louis ? " 
 he asked, anxiously. 
 
 "One hundred and fifty-three 
 miles." 
 
 "When can I get a train ? " 
 
 "At eleven-thirty, if it s on 
 time." 
 
 " Is it usually on time ? " 
 
 "Hardly ever; four hours late 
 yesterday." 
 
 "Good God! Is there no other 
 train ?" 
 
 "There s a cattle train lying up 
 there on the switch now. Pulls 
 out soon as this one leaves." 
 
 "And what time will that reach 
 Saint Louis ? " 
 
 "No telling; depends upon 
 
E VEL IN DEL OR ME. 1 1 1 
 
 what luck it has ; possibly by 
 four or five o clock." 
 
 The artist did not wait to hear 
 more. Anything was better than 
 remaining here on an uncertainty. 
 He sped away up the track to 
 where lay the long line of waiting 
 cars. 
 
 He had been awakened by the 
 stopping of the train, and a reali 
 zation of affairs had flashed over 
 him like lightning. He was far 
 away from Saint Louis, and at six 
 o clock that night he had an 
 appointment with Eva Delorme. 
 
 The effects of his self-abase- 
 mei.t and the strong liquor had 
 worn away. The fever and the de 
 lirium of last night were as a bad 
 dream. He would hasten back to 
 Eva. He had sinned fallen al 
 most to the lowest depth but it 
 was over now. He would see 
 Evelin March no more. If Eva 
 accepted him they would go away 
 
112 THE MYSTERY OF 
 
 at once. Oh, if kind Providence 
 would but help him to reach the 
 appointment in time ! 
 
 The conductor whom he asked, 
 noting his anxiety, assured him 
 that it was quite probable they 
 would reach the city by five 
 o clock. 
 
 It was growing light rather 
 slowly. The sky was overcast 
 with clouds, and the air had the 
 feeling of a storm. It seemed to 
 Julian that the train crept along 
 like a farm wagon. For a long 
 time he looked out at the gray 
 monotonous landscape, then he lay 
 down on the cushioned benches 
 of the caboose and tried to sleep. 
 Now and then he would doze a 
 little, but his mind was too full of 
 anxiety and impatience to obtain 
 rest. Terrifying dreams forced 
 themselves upon him, and he 
 awoke often, sick and frightened. 
 
 And so through that dreary 
 
E VELIN DEL OR ME. 113 
 
 autumn day the heavy train rum 
 bled along across the wide stretch 
 of country that divided him from 
 that which fate was at that mo 
 ment busily preparing an expe 
 rience as strange, as weird, as 
 terribly fantastic as was ever 
 accorded to human being before. 
 
 The little Swiss cottage of 
 Julian Goetze was very silent that 
 clay. All through the forenoon 
 no one entered, although the 
 street door was unlocked and the 
 studio door was open. As the 
 afternoon wore away, the clouds 
 and smoke that hung heavily over 
 the city seemed to settle lower 
 and lower, until within the narrow 
 hall-way it was almost dark. 
 
 Just after the clock on the 
 mantel of the inner room had 
 chimed three, a cloaked figure 
 passed through the hall and en 
 tered the studio. It was Evelin 
 March. Her eye fell upon the 
 
114 THE MYSTERY OF 
 
 portrait of Eva Delorme still rest 
 ing upon the easel, and she 
 glanced about hastily for the art 
 ist. He was not there. For 
 some reason she did not remove 
 her wrap, but stood still, listening. 
 A wagon rattled by outside, but 
 within all was silent. 
 
 "Paul!" she called, softly. 
 
 There was no reply. 
 
 " He has stepped out for a mo 
 ment," she thought; "he will be 
 back presently." 
 
 She approached the face on the 
 easel, cautiously, as though it 
 were alive. 
 
 " I wonder who she is," she 
 muttered ; " I have seen her some 
 where before or I have dreamed 
 it. He said it was his master 
 piece. I hate her ! " 
 
 She seated herself before the 
 picture, studying it silently. Lit 
 tle by little a fear invaded her 
 bosom a strange fear, such as 
 
EVE LIN DELORME. 115 
 
 she had never known before. A 
 fear of this portrait, of the lonely 
 room, of the weapons upon the 
 wall. It seemed to her that 
 something horrible was about to 
 happen. 
 
 She started up and began to 
 pace up and down the room to 
 drive away this feeling. Why 
 did the artist not come? She 
 parted back the draperies and 
 looked into the room beyond. 
 He could not have gone far; his 
 coat was hanging upon the rack, 
 and his velvet studio jacket was 
 gone. Entering, she approached 
 the coat and put her hand against 
 it in a sort of caress. 
 
 How she loved him ! She 
 seemed to have forgotten or 
 forgiven the offered insult of yes 
 terday. Turning back the gar 
 ment she touched her lips to the 
 silk lining where it had covered 
 his heart. As she did so she 
 
116 THE MYSTERY OF 
 
 noticed the tinted edge of a nar 
 row envelope in the inner pocket. 
 In an instant she was seized with 
 a passion of curiosity. All her 
 jealousy and suspicions of the 
 sweet-faced girl in gray came 
 rushing back. She listened at 
 the curtained arch for a moment, 
 but there was no sound of ap 
 proaching footsteps ; then, her 
 eyes flashing, and her cheeks flam 
 ing guiltily, she snatched the deli 
 cate missive from its concealment, 
 and with trembling hands tore it 
 from its covering. In another 
 instant her suspicions were veri 
 fied. The woman reading seemed 
 suddenly to have become de 
 ranged. 
 
 " Coward ! liar! cur ! " she 
 screamed. 
 
 She tore the letter in halves, 
 crumpled it in her hands, and 
 flung it upon the floor. Then 
 suddenly becoming calm she gath- 
 
EVE LIN DELORME. 117 
 
 ered up the pieces hastily and 
 concealed them in her bosom. A 
 look of peculiar cunning had 
 come into her eyes. 
 
 "So he is going to meet her," 
 she muttered, savagely ; " but they 
 will not meet alone. I, too, will 
 
 go to No. 74 West L Street, 
 
 east side." Then she hesitated. 
 " Perhaps I would not be admit 
 ted," she thought. 
 
 Plans for overcoming this obsta 
 cle flashed through her brain like 
 lightning. She seized upon what 
 appeared to her the most feasible. 
 
 "I will counterfeit her," she 
 said, feverishly ; " I will disguise 
 myself." 
 
 She hurried back into the stu 
 dio and stood for a moment before 
 the easel. Yes, yes ; she could 
 do it. Her figure was much the 
 same, dress gray and plain, hair 
 low upon the forehead a veil 
 would make it complete. 
 
118 THE MYSTERY OF 
 
 "Oh," she muttered, "how I 
 hate your baby face ! Look ! I 
 will kill you, you fool you fool ! " 
 
 Again that sickening, fascin 
 ating terror of this unknown 
 woman came upon her. Hastily 
 turning from the portrait she list 
 ened a second for the artist s step. 
 As she did so her eye caught the 
 weapons on the wall. Without a 
 moment s hesitation she plucked 
 the jewel-hilted stiletto from its 
 place, and concealing it beneath 
 her cloak hurried from the house. 
 
 An hour later the artist burst 
 into the studio. His bloodshot 
 eyes, and face blackened with 
 travel, made him almost unrecog 
 nizable. Hurrying through to his 
 room beyond he glanced eagerly 
 at the clock. It was on the 
 stroke of five. 
 
 "Just time to make myself 
 
E VELIN DEL OR ME. 1 19 
 
 presentable and reach the place 
 by six," he thought. 
 
 Then, turning, he surveyed him 
 self in a mirror. 
 
 "Good heavens, what a specta 
 cle I am ! People must have 
 thought I was a maniac and 
 they were not far from wrong 
 but I am all right now. I am 
 gcing to Eva and confess my vil 
 lainy, and ask her forgiveness. I 
 will swear my faith to her. She 
 will forgive me she must for 
 give me. And as for Evelin, all 
 is over with her after what passed 
 last night. Last night ! was it only 
 last night ? It seemed an age." 
 
 He made a quick motion as if 
 to drive away an unpleasant mem 
 ory, then throwing off his outer 
 garments he opened the door of a 
 little dressing-room. 
 
 " I will bathe, and confess, and 
 be born again," he said, with a lit 
 tle laugh. 
 
120 THE MYSTERY OF 
 
 Twenty minutes afterward he 
 emerged a new man in reality as 
 far as outward appearances were 
 concerned. Cleanly shaven and 
 scrupulously attired, no one would 
 have recognized in him the dusty, 
 wild-looking figure of an hour 
 before. He glanced at the 
 clock. 
 
 " Yes I have plenty of time," 
 he thought. "No. 74 West L 
 Street, east side ; I will look at 
 her letter again to make sure. 
 Bless her sweet face ! I can hardly 
 wait until I see it again. If she 
 only is not ill, but good God, it 
 is gone ! " 
 
 He had looked in the breast 
 pocket of his street coat, that still 
 hung on the rack ; it was empty. 
 He stood holding the coat, with a 
 puzzled expression on his face, 
 trying to think. 
 
 " I know I put it in that pocket 
 I recollect it distinctly," he 
 
E VELIN DEL OR ME. 121 
 
 said, aloud ; " perhaps it fell out 
 when I took off my coat." 
 
 He looked hastily about the 
 floor, then hurried out into the 
 studio, searching rapidly and care 
 fully. His face grew more and 
 more troubled. Could anyone 
 have come in during his absence 
 and picked it up ? Perhaps Harry 
 had been here ; if so, it was safe. 
 As he stood there reflecting, try 
 ing to solve the mystery, he was 
 looking directly at the weapons 
 upon the wall. All at once he 
 noticed that there was something 
 different about their arrangement. 
 Something was missing. It was 
 the dagger ! Then it all came 
 to him. "Evelin!" he shouted. 
 " Good God ! " 
 
 He had wasted valuable time 
 searching for the letter. He 
 could hardly reach the place of 
 appointment by six unless he could 
 catch some kind of a vehicle. 
 
122 THE MYSTERY OF 
 
 "My God my God ! she will 
 kill her she will kill her! and 
 all through my treachery." 
 
 He had fled from the house 
 and was now speeding wildly 
 westward. No cab was in sight 
 and he could not wait to find one. 
 
 " She will kill her she will kill 
 her!" he groaned, over and over. 
 " Oh, my God my God ! " 
 
EVELIN DELORME. 123 
 
 VIII. 
 
 AT a quarter before six, a 
 woman ascended the marble steps 
 of the old mansion at No. 74 
 West L -Street, east side. 
 She wore a plain dress of silver- 
 gray material, a rich Persian 
 shawl, a neat walking hat, her 
 face thickly veiled. Reaching the 
 door, she laid her gloved hand on 
 the knob, then hesitated, as if 
 undecided whether to enter at 
 once or ring. 
 
 The heavy clouds hung oppress 
 ively low, and it was already 
 dusk. A few flakes of snow were 
 falling, but it was not cold. 
 
 All at once the woman removed 
 her hand from the door, slipped 
 off her shawl and threw it across 
 her arm. As she did so some 
 
124 THE MYSTERY OF 
 
 thing glittered bright, which she 
 hastily concealed beneath the 
 shawl. As she stood now she 
 was the exact counterpart of Eva 
 Delorme. Then without further 
 hesitation she laid hold of and 
 turned the heavy knob of the mas 
 sive black door. It yielded noise 
 lessly, and she entered, closing it 
 as noiselessly behind her. 
 
 Within all was dark. A faint 
 ray of light crept in through the 
 transom, penetrating a few feet 
 into the blackness. She stood 
 almost against the door, listening 
 and hardly breathing. All was 
 silent. She had expected the 
 other to be there before her, wait 
 ing for his coming. She put out 
 her hand and felt about her. She 
 touched a chair at her left and 
 softly laid her shawl upon it, 
 keeping firm hold upon the keen 
 weapon she had carried beneath 
 it. She listened again ; still no 
 
EVE LIN DELORME. 125 
 
 sound. She was growing impa 
 tient. She took a few steps for 
 ward, keeping one hand extended 
 in front of her to avoid collision. 
 Then she turned and retraced her 
 steps. 
 
 She had been very cool thus far, 
 but she was losing control of her 
 self. Why did she not come? 
 She had said in her letter that 
 she was ill pshaw! it was but 
 a trick to arouse his sympathy. 
 She must come she must come ! 
 
 She paced back and forth in 
 the small space which she had 
 explored and found free from ob 
 struction. Three steps forward 
 and turn three steps back and 
 turn ; pausing each time to hold 
 her breath and listen, while the 
 fingers of her left hand involun 
 tarily crept down and pressed 
 against the keen point of the 
 dagger until it pierced through her 
 glove and entered the tender flesh. 
 
126 THE MYSTERY OF 
 
 Suddenly a white ray of light 
 shot through the transom above 
 her, falling at an angle against a 
 projection in the wall at her left, 
 and dimly illuminating the entire 
 place. It was six o clock, and the 
 large arc light just outside was 
 turned on. Then, as she reached 
 the door and whirled quickly in 
 her march, she saw her for whom 
 she waited standing at the ex 
 treme farther end of the long 
 hall. Between them was what 
 appeared to be a narrow and orna 
 mented archway. 
 
 She could dimly distinguish the 
 figure clad in gray. The face, 
 like her own, was veiled. She 
 noticed with quick satisfaction 
 that her disguise was perfect 
 the counterpart was exact even 
 to the smallest detail. 
 
 Without hesitation, and con 
 cealing the dagger in the folds of 
 her dress, she advanced quickly 
 
E VELIN DEL ORME. 127 
 
 and silently toward her rival, who, 
 somewhat to her surprise, instead 
 of fleeing or crying out, also ad 
 vanced. She was going to try 
 strength with her. 
 
 "I will kill her with a blow," 
 she muttered. 
 
 They were now within a few 
 feet of each other the orna 
 mented arch exactly between them. 
 Suddenly Evelin March snatched 
 the dagger from its concealment 
 and raised it aloft to strike. As 
 she did so her rival made pre 
 cisely the same movement, and 
 something glittered in her hand 
 also. Both took a quick, forward 
 step, and each, at the same in 
 stant, struck fiercely with a swing 
 ing, downward blow. 
 
 A hissing metallic report, a low 
 moan and the sound of a falling 
 body then silence. 
 
 A moment later the hall door 
 burst open for a second time, and 
 
128 THE MYSTERY OF 
 
 in the flood of electric light that 
 poured in, Julian Paul Goetze saw 
 a gray, veiled figure, stretched 
 upon the floor, the gloved hand 
 clasping a jeweled hilt, the blade 
 of which was buried in her bosom. 
 A stream of crimson was discolor 
 ing the fabric of her dress, and 
 spreading in a dark pool on the 
 rich carpet. 
 
 Rushing forward he caught up 
 the prostrate form and tore away 
 the veil. 
 
 Then, as if by magic, a revela 
 tion swept over him in one mighty 
 wave of horror. The strange, 
 piteous look he had once seen on 
 the face of Evelin March was 
 again before him, and while he 
 gazed he saw it melting melt- 
 ing, almost insensibly, like the 
 blending outlines of a dissolving 
 view into the saintly loveliness 
 of Eva Delorme. 
 
 The mists of doubt, the shad- 
 
E VELIN DEL ORA1E. 129 
 
 ows of suspicion, and the fever of 
 curiosity that had troubled him 
 during those feverish months, were 
 suddenly swept away. Eva Del- 
 orme Evelin March one and 
 the same. One body, one soul, 
 one heart ; by some strange freak 
 of nature some wild mental 
 vagary or devilish witchery of which 
 he could not know made two in 
 life, but only one in death. 
 
 Above her was a heavy French- 
 plate mirror, in an ornamented 
 frame, cracked entirely across. 
 From its polished surface the self- 
 aimed, glancing dagger had found 
 its way to the one troubled heart 
 of those two strange lives, and 
 brought to it silence and restful- 
 ness forever. 
 
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