attracted by the sound. At last it is open, and the bright moon streams in upon her. She looks out upon the terrace, lying deep and hard beneath her; it would be a fearful leap, with but one probable result--sudden and inevitable death, but a less horrible one, to her mind, than the cruel hands, the sharp knife. The night air is laden with the heavy perfume of the clematis, the fountains in melodious murmurs are sending their bright waters up into the clear air; all is calm and quiet, nothing without in keeping with the terrible scene within. Now she hears the heavy rush of his steps again coming towards her. Once more she looks down upon the terrace, this time unflinchingly, and steps out upon the sill. In doing so her eye rests upon a projecting ledge of masonry, not a foot in breadth, which runs underneath the window, continuing along the whole length of the building. With the same strange perspicuity that had not for one moment deserted her, she sees, that though it might be possible to move sideways along the narrow ridge of stone, with no other support than that of the ivy and creepers clustering over the wall, yet the attempt would be one fraught with imminent danger, in which the chances would be a hundred-fold in favour of death against life.

Even at this awful juncture she reflects that the next window-should she succeed in reaching it-is that of an unoccupied room; and scarcely within the bounds of possibility appears the power of attaining the next, lying far beyond, belonging to her brother's room. As she hesitates the curtains behind her are shaken in the clutch of the idiot's grasp, and her resolve is taken. Death every way seems to stare her in the face. This last course is her only remaining and desperate chance of life, and without an instant's further delay she steps down on the ledge and begins her frightful and perilous attempt.

The stonework is wet with the heavy night dew, and her feet almost slip as she moves step by step on her sidelong way over the damp surface. Convulsively she clings to the ivy, her sole support. The China roses clustering amidst the leaves touch her cold cheek as she brushes by them, and the dew shaken from their bright cups falls in plentiful showers over her face. Their thorns tear and lacerate her hands, but she is unheeding of the pain. All sensation is merged in the one absorbing dread of the creature whom she has left in that dark chamber! In his mad and desperate rage he may pursue her even yet along the narrow brink; and the thought lends fresh strength to her faltering feet. She seems to see the folds of the shawl rending asunder; much longer it cannot resist those fierce hands.

She hears his steps again near the window, and now in his blind struggles he has thrust his hand through the pane. She glides on with greater rapidity, and now she has reached the first window. Between it and the next one there is a long unbroken flat, and for the first time the true sense of her awful peril thrills through her. For a moment her brain seems to reel, and there rushes upon her that sickening feeling of utter hopelessness engendered by the crisis of dire danger and risk. Again the dreaded sound of the idiot's movements fall upon her ear, nerving her trembling limbs to another effort. Passing the window she continues to creep along the narrow parapet, not daring to look down

wards: one glance at the broad white terrace below would suffice to cause her immediate fall. The unnatural tension of her mind is such that the smallest details seemed graven on her brain. She notes even the bright glistening dewdrops on the glossy ivy, and the quiver of the Virginian creeper, as the wandering air gently stirs its crimson leaves. Now an owl, startled from his nocturnal reverie on one of the gables by the unwonted apparition, rushes past her with a wild shrill hoot, his grey wing almost sweeping the loosened mass of her golden hair as it floats in careless unrestraint over her shoulders. Scarcely five minutes have elapsed since she started on her fearful journey, and yet a lifetime seems condensed in them. She feels that her strength is fast ebbing, and her hands and feet are growing numbed and nerveless. At last she has reached the second window; but oh! if her brother is asleep and cannot hear her. With a desperate effort she clings to the broad mullion, and taps once, twice, at the window. In a low, hoarse voice, sounding strange to her own ear, she calls his name; but there is no answer. Can no one hear that agonised tone, that last appeal? Must she die now, on the threshold of escape? Her grasp will soon relax. Once more she calls, and now it is answered by rushing steps and eager hands unbarring the window from within. One backward glance she turns towards that dreaded spot, and then suddenly breaks upon the night that terrible, fearful shriek which had roused me from my sleep!

From my window I could command a full and uninterrupted view of the scene without, which the bright rays of the moon lighted up with the clearness of noon day. More like a spirit than a reality was the appearance of that white form clinging to the stone mullions of the next window! Blood was flowing in a slow stream from her shoulder, staining the folds of her long dress, and the moonbeams fell upon the white face, revealing with terrible distinctness the wild stare of the large blue eyes and the rigid expression of the features. Still more appalling was the sight of that other face eagerly thrust from the terrace room; ghastly and livid in the silver light was that distorted countenance, convulsed with impotent rage and baffled hatred. Before I could realise the actual reality of this terrible scene, the figure clinging to the window suddenly disappeared, and the frightful face in the distance was as quickly withdrawn, whilst I remained rooted to the spot, almost inclined to believe myself under the influence of some horrible nightmare!

INDEX

TO THE FIFTY-FOURTH VOLUME.

Scent Memories. By Francis Jacox, Worth, The. By Frederick Enoch,

END OF THE FIFTY-FOURTII VOLUME.