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[COPYRIGHT.] A MYSTERIOUS ADVENTURE. BY ANNIE FIELDS. Author of A Son of Adam," &o. It was nine o'clock on a cold and snow-clad Christmas Eve that I stepped from the train at Ballymoreen Station and anxiously inquired as to my chance of securing a con- veyance to take me to Morecombe Hall, the home of an old college chum at whose invita- tion and-well, yes, at the invitation of somebody else, too-I had come from London to spend Christmas in the North of Ireland. The only vehicles awaiting the train were a couple of farmer's jaunting cars, but neither of them was going in the direction of Tom Norburn's house. I speedily found that if I would get there J had no other resource than to walk. The prospect was not encouraging, for the wind blew gustily from the north-east aud the snow clonds hung heavy and low in the sky, though there was nothing actually falling, and the snow already lay thick upon the ground from the storm of the past twenty- four hours. Happily, I knew my way, for I had been down spending some weeks in the autumn with Tom and Tom's aunt, who kept house for him, and his cousin, Kitty, who tyran- nised over him and who [ was proud to think bad accepted me as her devoted and willing slave for life, for, Prayer Book regulations notwithstanding, it wa?, of course, under- stood that no sane man would ever expect oVclience from Kitty. So, buttoning the collar of my thick travelling ulster close round my neck and leaving my valise to be brought on by a porter, I started. It was entirely duo to the weak-minded w indecision of the officials at Dublin that the carriage had not been^aent from the Hall to m"pt me. They had first weighed down the 1- 1 1 r 17 the North of Ireland with the intelligence that the line was blocked with snow and that no train could be got through until morn- ing,; and then, an hour laler, had calmly informed such of us as had had the persistence to again inquire that a tiain wauld start in another hour's time, though whether it would reach its destination that night or get snowed in on the road was problematical. I had already wired Tom that I was a fixture in Dublin, and, as it was still so doubt- ful whether I should reach Ballymoreen that night, I thought it better not to disturb him and worry Kitty with the uncertainty. So it came about that I had now a dark and dismal three miles walk before me along snow- bound country rounds, and which, though [ knew it not, was destined to terminate in an extraordinary adventure. When I had got a mile or a little mora on my way the snow bpgan to fall again in earnest, and the road, already well nigh im- passable, grew more and more difficult to traverse at every step. In places the wind had caused drifts through which I was obliged to wade with the snow above my knees. So it is not to be wondered at that, despite my six feet two of sturdy muscular ttature, I soon became exhausted with the violence of the exertion that every step cost me. To make matters worse, the road suddenly appeared very unfamiliar, and though at first I tried to persuado myself that its white dress accounted for the strangeness, I was speedily advised to dismiss the idea, for it became plainly apparent that I had lost my way. As I had come in a nearly straight line from the station, the only place at which it was possible for the mistake to have oocurred was at a point were the road forked. I con- cluded that I had taken the lane to the left, instead of the wider road to the right, which led almost directly to the gate of Morecombe Hall. A sensible man under these circumstances would instantly have re-traced his steps and star led again in the right path. I was not sensible. In other words, I preferred the dangers I knew not of to a repetition of the diiiicnlties 1 had already experienced. "I shall find a way through to the other road presently," I thought, "or if I do not I must come to a village or at least a farmer's house, where I can procure a trap of some kind." I Comforting myself with this thought I braced up my drooping energies and pushed on again. But the snow fell faster and faster, and its density added to the darkness of the night, so that I could not see my hand when I held it a few inches from my face. Turning there may have been houses, but if go I did not see them. I could only laboriously and bl Indiy drag one foot after the other in the direct1 on in which my face was turned. At last energy and strength gave out altogether. I knew that to sit down would be fatal, yet when, stumbling into a more than unusually deep drift, I fell upon my knees in a feeble effurt to extricate myself, I had neither the strength nor the will to attempt to renew the hopeless struggle. My brain seemed clogged with snow as well as my feet, for as 1 gradually slid down into its soft and yielding whiteness I felt happy in a sense of rest even while I knew its danger. I remember vainly trying to keep my eyes open, and lying in a deliciously dreamy state on the borderland of another world; then something warm and moist touched my face, a noise rang in my ears, and I knew no more. I cannot say how long after it may have been that I recovered consciousness, but when I did it was to find myself lying on a couoh and a man in the early prime of life bending over me, and with a spoon gently pouring some line old cognac down my throat. "Thank God I have saved your life," he said fervently, as I opened my eyes. i Where am I P" I asked faintly. "You are at Tollevbrook Grange," he answered courteously, II and I muoh regret that I have no better accommodation than this to offer you." I looked around and saw that the room I was in was large and handsomely furnished. A bright fire burned in the grate, and wax candles in sconces on the walls; heavy plush curtains hung before windows and doors, effectually shutting out the inclemency of the outer world; and lying on the rug before the fire was a very large, bat painfully thin and emaciated St. Bernard dog, the sight of which re-called the last impression that had been in my mind when I lay in the snow. Did the dog find me ?" I asked. Yes, Roy found you, but in the mercy of Providence I was permitted to carry you here and save your life." I looked at the speaker in surprise. He was a small, slimly-built man, who looked incapable of carrying half my weight. He replied to my unspoken thought without hesitation. I did not find you heavy," he said, I brought you here easily. Take a little more brandy—you are still very weak." I obediently drank from the glass he held to my lips; it put heat and strength and new life into me, and I was presontly able to lift I my head and call the dog to my side. He came and stood patiently while I spoke to him and patted his head but I was surprised to I find that he was even more painfully thin to the touch than he had seemed to the sight. His master read my thought as he had done before. Poor fellow," he said, he is very faithful; though he is terribly starved, they cannot induce him to accept another home." But this is your house, is it not ?" It used to be," he answered quietly, and I am sorry that I can offer you nothing but a night's shelter; the house, unhappily, is unoccupied, so that it is out of my power to afford you the bare hospitality of a supper and a bed, though the weather will not*permit' of your continuing your journey to-night." I am very comfortable here," I said, though concerned to detain you from more agreeable quarters at this festive season." Yon are not detaining me," he replied imperturbably, I am obliged to pass Christ- mas Eve here; but by God's mercy I was per- mitted to save your life to-night, and I dare to hope that this will be my last visit to Tolleybrook Grange." The latter part of this speech was spoken more in reverie than addressed to me; and it was so singular that it struck me with a feel- ing of uneasiness, though the impression Felix Clymer lepl into the air to fa1' bart lifeless o i JfyraVs corpse. passed from my mind in the sudden recollec- tion that I had not yet thanked him for rescuing me from a grave in the snow. 1 cannot tell you," I said, how grateful I am, but if the life you have saved can at any time, or in any way, be of service to you, believe me it is yours to command." Saying this I raised myself on the couch and impulsively held out my hand; but with averted eyes he waved it aside. My dear sir," he said gravely, you owe me nothing; I am in your debt for the opportunity you afforded me to succour you in your necessity. See, you have not emptied your glass yet; let me add a little more to it and give you a toast." Without waiting for my reply, he poured some more of the spirit from a dirty and cobwebhed bottle, which stood beside him on the table, and held it out. I give you," he said solemnly, Allan Massing. May his spirit rest in peace, now and for evermore I" I started and looked at him in amazement not unmixed with fear; such a toast, so sug- gestive of the graveyard, was anything but enlivening in this silent and deserted house. My delay appeared to irritate him; he frowned darkly, and pointing imperatively to the glass, desired me to drink, Instinotively I obeyed. Who was Allan Massing ?" I asked the moment I took the glass from my lips. He looked at me, and a somewhat grim smile flickered around his lips. I was Allan Massing," he said quietly. My previous uneasiness became intensified. I could not believe that ho was insane, for his clear grey eye and calm intellectual face seemed unhesitatingly to give the lie to such a thought. Suddenly the suspicion occurred to me that he was contemplating suicide; and in exaggerated language, which perhaps suited his humour, spoke of himself as already passed from this world. I think he read what was in my mind, though he gavo no sign of having done so, as he busied himself with shaking up the pillows of my coaoh. Corno," he said persuasively, "you need rest. Do you not feel that you could sleep now ? If No" 1 answered excitedly, "you have so aroused my curiosity that I cannot sleep until you satisfy it. What does your strange toast mean ? He smiled again, and lightly put the nngera of one hand on my forehead while hfs eyes looked down into mine. Seeing him so is the last waking recollection I have of him. A drowsiness more sudden and as impossible to resist as the drowsiness I bad felt in the snow settled again upon my mind, and, without even ohanging my position, I fell asleep. In my sleep I dreamed a strange dream. I saw before me a series of tableaux from my host's life. I saw him kneeling by the altar, and by iiis [ Ride a bride of unusual beauty. His eyes rested upon her proudly and lovingly, and she met his glance with a smile of happy con- fidence. Never was wedding more auspicious of future happiness. The season of the year was spring. In the next scene I saw the bride reclining on a oouoh, and bending over her a tall and handsome man. Though I had never seen him befor I knew him; his name was Felix Clymer, and he was the local medioal practi- tioner, called in for somet rifling ailment. While I looked I saw him drop a closely- folded note upon the oouch, which was silently and deftly covered with a long hanging aleeve of her dressing gown. I saw, too, what they did not, that Allan Massing, seated on the other side of the room, had also notioed the folded envelope, and that his brow was clouded with jealous doubt and suspicion. This was in the summer. Again Allan Massing and his wife were Again Allan Massing and his wife were alone. She was pleading with him to remain at Tolleybrook Grange, and he harshly and sneeringly replied that within one week the house should be closed, probably to remain so for years. The contemptuousness of his manner changed her entreaty into indigna- tion, and she answered him in passionate anger. Still he was obdurate, and at last, in tears, she left him. I knew that, beset by jealous doubts of his wife's faithfulness, he was about to transport his household sum- marily to Dublin. The beginning of winter was then near at hand. The next scene was in Dublin. Allan Massing and his wife were at breakfast. His face wore a happier and better expression, though his eyes, resting suspiciously on her face, saw, as I did, that she looked sadly worried and anxious as she gathered up the letters she had received by the morning's post and left the table. By a fateful acci- dent one of the letters fell from her hand almost at her husband's feet. He stooped to pick it up, and as be did so an enclosure fell from it, The handwriting on the envelope was a woman's; the handwriting of the enclosure was a man's. He recognised both, and in some inexplicable manner, just as I saw everything with his eyes so did his under- standing supply what my own laoked, I knew the woman's writing to be his wife's sister's, and the man's to be Felix CJymer's. In an instant Allan Massing had torn open the note. He read no more than its opening sentence "My dearest Norah," and then, with an excla- mation of anger and alarm, his wife snatched it from his hand and flung it hastily to the glowing fire. He sprang forward fiercely to recover it, but she was too quick for him she threw herself upon him, and in the seoond that she detained him the eager flame seized it and it became a thin crumbling mass of black ashes. Allan Massing's rage was uncontrollable. He uttered language which made his wife's cheek pale and her eyes flash then he thrust her from him with a force that was more than half a blow, and strode from the room. This was the day before Christmas Eve. Later on the same day I saw him alone. In bis hands he held a letter. He read it silently; yet as be did so I learnt its contents, This is what it said:- Your treatment of me this morning has deter- mined mo lo leave you until I can prove how unjust and conlempiible are your wicked suspicions. The change which 1 have noticed in you in the past few months lias caused me sorrow and surprise, but never for one moment did I think, until your language this morning made it plain to me, that you could esteem me so little as to harbour in your mind jealous nnd degrading suspicions of my faithfulness as a wife. I am going away with my sister; do not attempt to find me, for yon will not succeed." NORAH." Flinging the note aside Allan, Massing left the house. I saw him hurrying through the streets to a post-office. He despatched this telegram:— To Colonel St. Clere, Ballymoreen Park, Ballymoreen. Is Molly at home ? if not, please wire her address.-Allan." He was too impatient to leave the office, and by-and-by came the answer:- Molly went yesterday to Dublin to stay with Norah. Has she not arrived? Wire; reply at once.—Patrick St. Clere." Allan Massing seized a telegram form and wrote:— I am going down to Ballymoreen by next train.—Allan." It was Christmas Eve. I knew, as in this strange dream I had known so many things that were not apparent to the sight, that Allan Massing had journeyed many miles to and fro in search of his wife during the hours which bad intervened between the time when he had despatched his second telegram to his father-in-law and this midnight hour in which he stood alone before the front door of his gloomy and desolate house at Bally- moreen. Silently and cautiously as a thief he opened the door with a key and stepped into the hall. A light, of which not a glimmer could Lo seen outside, shone brightly through the half open door of a room on the right. He showed no surprise at this evidence of occupation in a house which he had designedly left quite untenanted, and I knew that he had expected to find it just as it was. His whole nature was stirred with a passion which blanched his cheek and caused his eye to glisten and his limbs to tremble; the insanity of jealous rage was shown in the fierce distortion of his face and the rapid but silent manner in which his pallid lips inoes- santly moved. With one hand buried in the pocket of his heavy overcoat, he crept along the wall towards the open door. He reached it, and peering in, stealthily saw his hated rival sitting with his face buried in his hands, and Norah standing beside him, with her hand resting affectionately on his neck and the tears rolling unheeded down her cheeks. And it has been for this that we have schemed, and practised deceptions even on our dearest friends," said Clymer presently with a break in his voice that was almost a groan. Ob, Norah, had it not been for your father's pride, how different might have been the ending of such love as ours." Norah's lips opened to reply, but before one word came from them she fell forward at Cljmer's feet, and the loud report of a pistol explained to him what had happened. With a cry he bent over her and saw at a glance that she was beyond the reach of his medical skill; the bullet had entered her heart. As he straightened himself again after his brief examination he saw Allan Massing before him, the fierce wildness of a maniac in his face and manner, and holding in hi3 hand a still smoking revolver. In the name of Heaven why have you done this ?" cried Clymer in horror. Scoundrel, betrayer, you own lips have convicted you," yelled Massing. So do I avenge the dishonour of a Massing and a St. Clere." With these frenzied words he levelled his pistol at Clymer, but the latter with a quick blow threw it from his hand. It hardly touched the floor, however, before Massing recovered it and turned again upon Clymer hissing words of fierce execration between his closed teeth. "Stop!" said Clymer sternly, as he saw the pistol pointed at him the second time. Explain yourself. What is it you mean when you talk of dishonour ?" For a moment Massing wavered, and then the recollection of the confession he had over- heard from Clymer's own lips came into his mind. "You miserable our I" he shouted. "Ask your conscience, if you have any, what my meaning is. Do you think I will spare you after this ?'" and he pointed with bitter con- tempt to the dead body of his wife. Again he raised the pistol; there was another loud report, and Felix Clymer leapt into the air to fall back lifeless on Norah's corpse. I Laying the pistol on the table, Massing seated Himself on a chair and looked down stolidly on the two dead bodies. So for an 1 hour he sat, motionless and grim, and then as the church clock struck one he roused himself, and, going into the kitchen, looked about him with evident purpose. Presently he fetched a small box of oarpenter's tools, and, taking off his coat, began to remove several of the boards from the floor of the servants' hall. Beneath these was a flag pavement—the boards being an after addition to the original floor. With an iron bar he raised some half-dozeu of these stones and then, fetching a spade, he began to dig and threw up the soil, until at lfngth there jinn ii .thl.frifit, « Tf was a grave m whicO it was his purpose To" hid%the dead bodies of his wife and Felix Clymer. jinn ii .thl.frifit, « Tf was a grave m whicO it was his purpose To" hid%the dead bodies of his wife and Felix I shrink from relating in detail all the horrors of that long and terrible task. Though he laboured unceasingly and unshrinkingly, the clook was striking tbe hour of five as he drove the last nail in the .last phnk of the flooring again and with a brush carefully re- moved ail trace of his night's work. He washed himself in a basin at the sink in the back kitchen, and returning tc the hall put on his overcoat and prepared to leave the house then, suddenly, a faint cry broke upon his ear. With a half superstitious fear he listened for its repetition. 18 less than half a minute he beard it again there could be no mistake, this time as to what it was—plainly and undoubtedly it was the feeble wail of a very young infant. Taking up the candle which lighted him, Allan Massing went quickly upstairs, guided by the smull, weak voice, to the bedroom which had been his own and Norah's. As he pushed open the door a bright flood of light from two large wax candles greeted him. The dying embers of a fire smouldered in the grate, and he saw with amazement the form of a woman lying upon the bed. Creeping cautiously towards it he saw that it was Molly, his wife's twin sister; a step nearer, and he knew that she was dead. Another whining cry drew his attention to the hearthrug; there, warmly wrapped in a blanket and lying in a large, open basket, was the atom of humanity whose feeble voice had guided his steps to this singular dis- covery. A terrible thought flashed into his mind in the moment that he bent over the unconscious infant to soothe its discontent. It was the awful conviction that the double crime he had committed was without excuse. In that one instant he saw it in all its hideous brutality, robbed of the vain plea of righteous vengeance with which he had arrogated to ¡,his erring human hand the prerogative of Divine justice. Hastily he turned to the woman on the bed. Her hands lay outside the coverlet. He eagerly sfiized the left, and moving the couple of handsome gem rings upon its third finger discovered beneath them the plain gold band which he sought. Solemnly and reverently he laid the hand down again upon the bed, and his eyes roving wildly around fell upon a small Bible lying upon the pillow. Half unconsciously he picked it up, and from its leaves fell a paper-the marriage certificate, dated eighteen months before, of j. Mary Patricia St. Clere and Felix Anthony Clymer. With a groan the wretched man cast him- liielf on his knees by the bedside. He knew it all now; clearly and concisely, as though human tongue had told him, it disclosed itself to his mind. Norah, the wife he had so madly loved, had been in the confidence of her hap- less sister, and the man he had falsely sup- posed to be Norah's lover was the unacknow- ledged husband of Molly. And Molly herself had here, in secrecy and fear, given her life for the wailing infant on the hearthrug, oared and sorrowed for alone by those two whom he had murdered. By-and-bye the child's cry was silenced in sleep; the cinders in the grate grew blacker and blacker; the keen outaide air penetrated the ourtain windows; the wind whistled dis- mally against the outer walls, and rushed with melancholy howl through the corridors and empty rooms and still Allan Massing knelt between the sleeping babe and the dltad mother. An hour passed, yet he knelt there motionless, save that occasionally his lips trembled and a few broken words fell from them in a whisper. He was trying to pray— trying, alas, in vain, for before his eyes rose

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a canopy of blood which shut out him from the mercy seat of God. Presently he drew towards him the Bible which Jay open on the bed where he had thrown it, and, rising from his knees, he car- ried it to the light of the candles. This book of much healing, had it no word of comfort for one so guilty as he ? His eyes fell on the open page, and, as his own sentence delivered from on high, he read Then thou shalt give life for life'1' With a hoarse cry he threw aside the book, and glared around him with a return of hit former madness. Then, muttering in an un- intelligible whisper to himself, he rushed frantically downstairs. In a small room devoted to his use he had an assortment of curiously-wrought daggers of foreign work- manship. Rapidly turning them over, and examining the blade of each between hit finger and thumb, Massing speedily elected one. Holding it in his band, he flung himself upon his knees and said over and over again the sentence of Mosaic law which in its appli- cability to himself he had so strangely hap- pened upon, alternating with itsome half-dozen words of wild supplication, and which together formed a sort of rude liturgy. The ecstasy of fervour with which he poured this forth, his violent gestures, and the rapt eagerness of his manner seemed to rival in horror the religious fana- ticism and barbarity of a dervish. Throughout all this terrible exoitement endured, I think, all that I supposed him to endure. Every fevered imagining of his disordered brain was refleoted with poignant and striking fidelity in my own mind. Words fail to convey what I suffered; even now, at this distance of time, I oannot think of it without a shudder. The climax of my agony was reached at length when Massing, rising from his knees, sud- denly drew himself ereot and plunged the sharp steel deep into his breast. For a moment he swayed, and immediately a slight gurgling rose in his throat, and he Wl on his face upon the ground. Following this came the strangest impres- sion of all this strange dream. At first I heard a faint wail from the far distance which drew gradually nearer and nearer as if borne on the wings of the wind, and out of it came the olamour of voices, and they oried with terrible tongue that his expiation was incomplbti?. A life for a life," they shrieked, and thou has taken two I" itiri isftBiW" UaiBh wnd Jiaooi'<lmif voioea still ringing in my ears I awoke. The wind was howling dismally, the fire had gone out, and the poor starved dog, possibly for warmth or companionship, had left the hearthrug and stood by the aide of the couch, his head pressed against my breast. One candle stilt flickered in the socket; the others had burnt out. Oppressed with a superstitious reoollec- tion of my dream, I looked around uneasily for my strange host. Not a sign of him could I see. The brandy bottle, the glass from which I had drunk his startling toaat, the dog, and my own presence in this unfa- miliar room were the sole evidences that even my aqventure in the snow had not also been a part of my somnambulic romance. I hastily flung aside the heavy wool rug which I found covering me, and, going to the' window, drew aside the blind. It was day- light, a fine clear morning, though the keen north-east wind still howled fitfully in the bare branches of the trees and the face of Nature looked dreary and chill. Wrapping my coat around me and picking up my hat from a chair, I went through the gloomy hall, and, opening the front door, stepped out into the untrodden snow. Instinc- tively I knew that I should never again see the lithe and graceful figure of my last night's host. I had reached the end of the long pine avenue, when something rubbing against my coat drew my attention to the fact that the dog had followed me. I laid my hand upon his head and patted him; he feebly wagged his tail in response and trotted on again, keeping close to my side. Once in the road I knew my way. I remem- bered to have driven along there several tiTnes in my autumn visit to Ballymoreen, and the snow being hard I was tbier to make good pro- gress, so within half an hour was ringing a lusty peal on the door-bell at Moreoombe Hall. Tom had not yet left his room, and going at once upstairs I found him dressing. His greeting was heartiness and cordiality itself, and he hailed Roy's appearance with prompt recognition. The dog had refused to leave my side for a moment, so that perforce I took him with me upstairs. "Halioa!" said Tom, "where did you get that dog, and how or- earth did you prevail upon him to accept your companionship ?" The boot's on the wrong foot," J answered; he prevailed on me to accept his com- panionship, and he's so peculiarly attentive that I couldn't even induce him to remain downstairs without me." fhen I told him how Roy had found me in the snow, and how Roy's matter had suo* coured me in my extremity. I even detailed, as I have told it here, the singulardream which had so impressed me that I had already begun to regard it in the light of a mysterious And occult vision. Tom interrupted me at frequent intervals with exdamations of astonishment. But, of course you knew the story of Allan Massing's death before," he said wh«n I had finished. « j never had even heard his name before; but did you say his death ?" I asked. Was it not Allan Massing, then, who saved my ]jfe a short, slightly-built fellow, aark and good looking, with a closely trimmed beard and moustache ?" '< That's his description," said Tom, gravely; "but, of course, it's all nonsense. Massing committed suicide three years ago last night, just as you saw hhn in your dream, and even this adventure of yours won't make me believe in the twaddle the village people talk about his ghost haunting the Grange. My impres- gion is that some idiot is amusing himself with a practical joke, and having happily had brains enough to save your life, indulged in