round to do justice to the repast.

Mabel and Jessie Winthrop were orphan sisters, the one fifteen years the elder, and was mother as well as sister to her idolized charge. Her own life romance was a buried chapter, and now she was chiefly concerned for the happiness of the two young persons seated there.

George Randolph was a distant cousin, and was to be married to Jessie Winthrop in two weeks' time. They had come down to make ready the seaside villa, which was their favorite home. It stood upon a winding river close to shore, and commanded a view of the surrounding country for many miles.

It was an immense house, containing some twenty-five rooms, and full of unexpected niches, nooks, and crannies. It was kept furnished throughout, but was locked up in the winter months. An unlooked-for cold wave, speeding from the northwest, had made the coming of the prospective bridal party a somewhat dreary affair.

A few happy touches here and there transformed the gloom into cheer, and it was with renewed animation that they arose from their repast an hour later.

George was to return to the city next day, but would run down frequently before the wedding day. Meanwhile this, their first evening, passed quickly and agreeably for all.

The ensuing week was a busy one. A whole army of sweepers, dusters and renovators were turned loose in and about the villa, and the good work went on with a will.

Michael took charge of a pony phaeton, and the sisters often drove in to the village shops, two miles away, where the nearest railroad station was. It was necessary, however, that Mabel should make a final trip to the city to purchase some articles, and she arranged her time so that George could return with her on the evening train.

"You won't be afraid, darling?" was Mabel's fond question, as she made out her list.

"Afraid?" echoed the other. "Why, no; what is there to be afraid of? It is perfectly safe here."

"Yes, I know; otherwise, I would not leave you even for the day."

"The house is big," said Jessie, "but we have near neighbors. Besides, there's Mike and Katie, and Mrs. Lawrence. Oh, I'm all right, Mabel dear."

"See that the house is securely fastened;" was Mabel's parting injunction as she kissed her sister goodbye. "Look for us at the sound of the whistle to-night."

"Indade, Miss Jessie," said Katie a little later, her face in a pucker, "indade it's not right for the loikes af yees to be here all alone."

"Why, Katie, what's the matter," laughed the girl; "you don't call this being alone, do you?"

"Ah, but haven't yees heard the quare noises in the tower, Miss Jessie? An' shure there's a ghost in this house—Holy Mother defind us!" and Katie piously crossed herself in real terror.

"A ghost, Katie! I'm ashamed of you. It is only the wind. It blows here fearfully. You might turn a regiment loose in the house, and they could scarcely make more noise than these big, rattling windows."

"Arrah, me jewel," protested Katie; "there's a turrible walkin' about in the tower ivery night these two noights. An' didn't yees hear about the awful murther in the town over beyant us an' the murtherer iscapin'? Sich a quare murther, too, with the finger rings all left on, and the money purse in the pocket. Ah, Miss Jessie, a murtherin' ghost won't niver be laid."

"You silly Kate!" said Jessie merrily. "Don't be afraid, I'll take care of the ghosts. We are all right."

After a cup of tea and a bit of toast, Jessie repaired to her chamber on the second floor and picked up some trifle she was embroidering, to beguile the time of waiting. Mabel and George would get in about nine, when they were to relate the day's doings around a good warm supper.

Katie was to follow and sit with her mistress, after she had done some righting up down stairs. Mike was bent upon routing an army of rats in the barn. Mrs. Lawrence had retired to her room with a nervous headache.

The high winds from the sea had lulled, and for once the house was utterly quiet—so quiet that the stillness became oppressive. Meanwhile the young girl sat in her bower of luxury, softly humming a favorite air, and very happy in thoughts of her approaching marriage. While deep in her smiling reverie, a stealthy footstep distinctly sounded outside her door.

Raising her head, she had not time to feel a sensation of real fear, when cautiously her doorknob was turned and a head intruded itself which struck her as dumb as though Medusa had appeared, and drove the life-blood in a frozen current to her head.

The face was ghastly, the hair black and curling upon high, narrow shoulders, the figure slight and spare, and a pair of restless black eyes were glittering swiftly and cunningly around the room.

"Hist!" he said to the horror-stricken girl, softly closing the door and turning the key; and if Jessie had a distinct thought in that awful moment, it was of thankfulness that the winter dampness had so warped the door that the key would not fairly catch in the lock,—a bit of repairing thus far overlooked in the wedding preparations.

"Don't be frightened," he continued, in his sibilant whisper; "you will take care of me, won't you?"

But the girl's eyes only riveted themselves in more hopeless, helpless terror upon the apparition. Every muscle seemed paralyzed.

He drew a chair to the open grate as if the fire were most welcome.

"You see," he said in his quaint, soft voice, "if they track me here they may hang me, and they would be wrong—all wrong. I did not intend to kill her, but she would not hold still."

At this he gave a blood-curdling laugh, and the horrible truth burst upon the listener's dazed senses. She was alone with a maniac. All the stories she had ever read rushed to her memory, and the only clear idea she had was the conviction that she must, if possible, humor his vagaries till help came. She was a petted, spoiled darling, but she had great strength of will, and she now called it into requisition.

She hurriedly glanced at the clock, and calculated how long it would be before the train whistle could signal the coming of her dear ones. Alas! it was just eight. What, oh, what must she do? Of whom did he speak? Kill her? Kill whom? Then the mystery of the murdered girl darted into her mind. Katie had been right then. There was in truth a murdered girl. Was this awful creature her slayer?

Suddenly, with a confidential gesture he bade her sit down with him.

"I'll tell you about it," he said; "if she had only kept still! But she screamed and tried to run away, I can't stand noise!" He clapped his hands over his ears as if to shut out the echo of it. "I must have this blood—this pure, young, life-giving stream. But she would not listen to me. Poor thing! It was too bad, wasn't it? Hey? Speak!" and he grasped her delicate wrist with a grip of steel.

Trembling at the sound of her own voice, the girl commanded herself to say:

"Yes; who was she?"

"I don't know," he replied, seriously. "She was beautiful and fresh; she was almost as fair as you," letting his wild eyes roam over her. "I was getting away from that cursed place. Think of confining a man of my learning in a madhouse! But that was just it. I had mastered the new theory—the transfusion of blood. They wanted to steal my glory, so they locked me in. But I outwitted them; I captured these and ran away."

Laughing wildly but still under his breath, he took from his jacket a black case of bright, new surgical instruments.

"These were what I needed," he continued, with a low chuckle; "I could not attain the goal without these