The yellow book: an illustrated quarterly (4.1895)

By H. B. Marriott Watson 79

ing still. They bereaved him of his powers, and under the spell of
their stränge and horrible attraction he sweated in cold beads.
They burned upon him from the distance, two great hollows of
light, like shining stars, holding that awful look of wistful fear.
There was no room in his mind for any Sensation save the one ;
he could not think ; he had no reckoning of the time his agony
endured. But outside, at last, the bell of a clock-tower boomed
far away and some hour was struck. And suddenly it seemed
to him that the lustre of those great eyes grew dimmer ; the look
of sad expectation died slowly away. They stared with a kinder
light. It was his fancy, perhaps, but at least it seemed that
no Strange creature now regarded him with unfamiliar terror, but
his own dear Letty watched him again with soft affectionate eyes.
His limbs grew laxer under him, and, with a little sob of relief,
he stole forward, an uncertain smile of greeting growing round his
mouth.

“ Letty ” he whispered, cc my darling, are you better ? ”

He drew near the bed, and put out his arm eagerly and
gently ; but in an instant a Start rose quickly in her face, the
eyes kindled with a horrible look of panic, and with a faint
repulsive gesture of the hands she shrank deeper into the wrap-
pings. A little sigh followed ; the limbs feil slowly back, and
the eyes, with their dreadful terror, stared vacantly into Farrell’s
ghastly face.

The coverlet went on rustling as the bed-clothes settled down.