IN THE NEXT ROOM.

Taranaki Daily News, Volume LII, Issue 17, 13 February 1909, Page 4

IN THE NEXT ROOM.

(By 11. K. Cowan.) , We were smoking in llumlyn's rooms j one evening. The talk hud wandered I from card tricks to Hindoo jugglery, and from these to dreams and second sight. | One. or ura of us had experiences to i ■ oiler of our own or other people's, only to be mercilessly disposed of and explained away by Sterling's crude common sense. llamlyn alone was silent, Presently I he leant forward and helped himself from the box of cigarettes. I "1 once had rather a curious experience," hi- said slowly, tapping the end I of die cigarette on his thumb-nail. "I don't, think any of you have heard it, liecause afterwards—well, there were reasons why it rather hurt to speak "f it: but time has worn oil' and blunted those sensations now, and if it doesn't bore you to listen I'll tell you about it. Sterling." with a grin at that hardheaded Scot, "will give us his opinion afterwards—such a keen student of abnormal phasis of the mind will have , no difficulty in explaining the incident, for 1 acknowledge my condition might i have been termed out of the normal i just then.''

Sterling stretched his legs nearer the lire wilih a grunt that might have signilied resignation or boredom, while the j others professed themselves eager lo listen, rather curious to hear this exj perieuce, for Haiulyu in Ms way was a as matter-of-fact as Sterling, and quite [ as little of a visionary or dreamer. ,1 "It happened one spring about six . years ago. J was not in this Hat thcvi. j I had rooms near my work, which I left u after—well, after what happened. It was a drizaly .March afternoon. 1 was t l shivering over the lire, aching in head ~ and limb, in the grip of the fiend influenza, and worried by the thought that my column for the Morning Flail was still unwritten, for the slightest effort '> to write, or even read, only increased V the pain in my head. 11 "It was nearly six. Below, in the- '! violet shadow of the street, orange B " points of light started out one by one "■' audi gleamed mistily through damp air, K varied now and again by the frosty blue '" of an electric lam]). Shovelling on more •" coal, 1 tried to poke the blackened mass 10 into a blaze and longed for an intcrrups tion, however trivial, to distract my " thoughts. Then the clip clop and jangle > l ' of a hansom came down the street, and "• the 'horse was pulled up short at the L 'i door. I hoped some pal had come to ■'' look me up, and crossed the room to the 10 window. Through the rain - blurred " r glass and gloom I saw the cab with " s luggage piled on top, New lodgers, I n " reflected, disappointed, who had taken ,v the vacant rooms above mine. As I -'" watched, two ladies got out and went ''" indoors.

"Presently heavy steps ascended the stairs, a box bumped against the baluster, and was later deposited with a thud on the floor above, then the same steps descended, once more, I went back to the lire, with my head throbbing front the movement and noise, rail vigorously consigned the lodgers, their boxes and cabman, to warmer latitudes, when 1 heard steps again. This time they were light and quick and paused on the landing outside my door. I could, hear their owner speaking in low tones to the servant, and though Iho words-l were uudistingiiislialilc, the voice stirr.'tl me unaccountably. It was slow, almost drawling, lull very clear, and I wondered if the newcomer's personality and looks matched il= curious charm. "Utter my landlady, a kind-hearted soul, came up to enquire for me. Shewas ready, with very slight prompting, to become llueut on the topic of her \\f\\' lodgers. She had known them since' they were children: their father hadbeen vicar in her native village. Now he was dead, and they were left alone and almost penniless. They had come to Loudon to try to make a living as typists. Eve, the youngest, had already: been promised a post in a City ollice through the influence of some friends"t turned in some hours before my usual lime, but only to toss feverishly from side to side, now half sleeping, then as wide awake as ever. It was long before 1 at last dropped into a heavy, uneasy sleep. "And now, that you may understand the rest, I must tell you what my room was like. It was drab in tint, with all the limitations and disregard for artistic ell'ecl and comfort common to it* class. Opposite my bed was a door opening into another room similar in si'.e and shape to my own. The room was. empty, but 1 had removed the key from the door leading to my room, not knowing how long it might be unoccupied. '■On the night of which 1 am speaking 1 had slept perhaps two hours, when I suddenly heard a strange sound 1 . I listened, uncertain what it was. Then gradually 1 realised that someone was sobbing—the low, gasping sobs of a | woman who made unavailing efforts I-J choke back and control her grief. And the mourner was in the room next to mini—the empty room! "A nameless terror seemed to paralyse me—a haunting fear that the trouble concerned me as nearly as that unseen mourner, and yet I was powerless to cry out or move hand or foot. Then at last the sounds ceased, and, unable to bear the mystery longer, I sprang from my bed. ••Crossing the floor of my room, I pushed upon the door opposite my bed, and then stood still ou the threshold. What 1 saw tilled mo with a strange I horror, and my heart beat heavily against my side, and my eyes grew fixed and strained. The room was empty, but its appearance was utterly changed. It wa's filled with what seemed to me a blaze of light, and the walls, no longer drab-colored, were hung with a misty black drapery. But it was to the centre of the room my gaze was irresistibly drawn. Something, I could not tell what, stood there. Vet, notwithstanding every endeavor on my part, my feet refused to take me nearer, and what that somvthing was an impenetrable mist hid from uiv eves. "'Willi an effort that scenfed to take all my strength 1 made a stop forward and then, with a half-gasping cry, I awoke to find myself silting upright in bed. my heart thumping heavily and my hands and face damp and clammy. It was long before 1 could persuade mvself thai what I had seen existed' only in

I niv imagination: that the rising wind and falling rain alone accounted for the I sound I had heard. The semi-delirium thill was the accompaniment of my illness probably made the dream lay such . a strong hold upon me, but it was long I before the horrible feeling of fear and dread- dread of some unknown thing or trouble--passed awav. and mv heart began lo beat mure steadily. "■ln a few days 1 was able to be about again and at work, and' with convalescence the memory of the dream soon faded and was forgotten. About this lime the interest f had taken in the new lodgers was revived. One day 1 met tbe younger sister on (he stairs, and as 1 stood aside to let her pass, a book she was carrying slipped and fell. The voice that I hanked me when ] retrieved her property was the same I had heard outside my door on the (.yelling of their arrival. Tu the brief glimpse I caught of her face T decided' it more than mulched the voice, and I carried awav an impression of a pair of grev, black-lashed eves and a mass of wan red-gold hair. "1 don't know why the girl attracted mo so strangely, hut after that meeting her face was always coining between mu and my work or anything 1 might he doing, and I found myself constantly wondering how an introduction could be effected. As wo had no mutual frieiuU. it seemed rather hopeless, for they were neither of Ihe type that encourages chance acipiiiintances, and anything that might strike them in the light of familiarity would be quickly rebuD'ed. •■After Unit encounter on (ho si airs I often met live, going out or coining back from her work, and the uftcner I saw her Ihe stronger grew the fascination she had for me. It seemed absurd, when I knew her name and so much of her history, that we. should pass with only a bow ami a smile, and I cursed the formalities that hedge round our lives. I was cerium, too, that she would mil be averse from knowing me if chance oll'cied, for more color came info her face and her smile was very friendly i when ire niel. ' ' ! "So flie week's went by and summer i came- a. summer of long, hot, airless lays, when one longed for the country ( mil lo be away from work and pave- a in cuts. At the end of Juirc t went up f die river to stay a few days with pomcl v friemlW, Often I fhought how much noro I should enjoy the visit If F.ve I f< :onhi bo one of Hie party. "While* T wasj v ying in a punt in the shadow of thoi i rees with the water rippling against J lie, side, slio was sitting at her typo- ii

vritur ia :i sillily oiiuro, ami 1 rciuein- j icrcd with a pang that sh u had looked ♦■« iakr the Just two or three times I hud J iccn her, and her stepa dragged as alio '• iveul on her way upstairs, i haled l «i It Jiiulc lliat wain of means rather thun !' inclination was keening litem in town ' > luring that heat. j J "Attd thou a Urilii,tiit idea Hashed Into ■ - my bruin, and 1 wondered why 1 had " lieeu such a foul a, not to tluiik of it ! J before. 1 knew .-he did work niter oilho < • hours, and I euuld a-K lier to lypcwiile. r | for me. 1 generally did luo-t of my i > work lor tile paper at tiie uli'u-e, but 'i " had one or two magazine articles on L hand that would serve as an nciise. '►

"That very afternoon i was -inn-It inoned back lo town. 'lucre was an im- IX portant debate in tiie House, the man If who usually did the Pariiuiueiuary re- A ports «us ill, and J must take his place. I J 1 arrived in town only in time to get J some dinner and go straight to the J

House. J [' "1 had nut remembered to wire my 2 1 landlady that 1 should be returning that ♦ aiglit, and it was long past midnight J ■j before 1 reached my looms, but 1 had < . a latchkey and could let, myself ill with- ; out disturbing anyone. The house ] .; struck me as hot ami alully; it was very • i|iiiel, too oppressively ipiict - but ' 'j then, of course, even one was in bed, ,'. and mv neighbors on the third lloor •< 1 would be there! also. And.then 1 began .'to make plana of how I would approach L JEve oa lliu subject of the tvpewriting, ! b and of all that should happen'after when once the ice was broken.

"My cyis closed almost the instant I gut into bed, uud 1 slept soundly and dreamiessly lor what seemed some time. 1 awoke quite suddenly and lily wondering what noise Uud disturbed me. 'i'hc.i 1 started up ill bed, my heart tbuiuijiug quickly and my hands and fate growing clammy and eold. From the next room came a sound—the sound 1 had heard once before in a. dream. But 1 was not dreaming now—l was awake, with every faculty strained and keen. "In the empty room someone was sobbiinn—gasping, choking sobs that followed one another slowly and were full of a pitiful, hopeless weariness, as though the first outburst of grief were spent and only despair remained—despair that in some substlo way seemed to communicate itself to me. "Slowly 1 grew calmer and my heart beat more steadily. There was, of course, some reasonablo and simple explanation of what I heard, though my brain refused to help me think of one. The night was very still; no wind or rata accounted for the sound this time. *V gas-lamp ill the street threw a dim reflection on the window-blind. Except for this the room was dark, and through the darkness my eyes strained painfully in the direction of the empty room. Then, as I listened, a door closed softly, the stairs creaked once outside, and all again was very still. I "But for me there was iiu more sleep

that night until I had solved the mystery of tlio next room. 1 knew the key was still in the drawer where I had thrown it months before, and, lighting a candle, I quickly found it. If the door were not bolted on -the other side my curiosity would soon bo satisfied. But the lock turned easily and the door yielded to my touch. And then, with 'my lingers still grasping the handle, I sto])]ied suddenly on the threshold. "The room was dimly lighted, yet enough for mo to discern every detail, and the air was heavy with a stent—the sickly scent of white (lowers. Ha!f(urecd, I stood quite still. Then instinctively my eyes turned to the middle of the room. No mist hid anything now. It needed no effort, to recognise the long narrow thing that stood there with candles burning at the head and foot. Some power I could not resist drew iny feet towards that spot. "The scent of lilies and tuberoses grew stronger. For a moment my eyes closed; then I looked down and saw what the flowers lay massed above, i looked down on the red-gold hair smoothed back from the forehead, the pallid waxen skin, the features the same. Yet so strangely changed, with that look of inscrutable'calm that death alone brings—and I knew tbat I looked for the last time on the face of Eve." There was a moment or two of silence. Then Dale spoke. "Do you mean that she was dead!" he asked in a low voice. Hamlyn reachod over and took another cigarette. "She died early tile day before," he said slowly. "It -was quite sudden collapse after an operation. They had not expeeteil me to return so soon, and had brought her back to that room. And that is the end of the episode. I have no explanation to offer—as I told you, I shall leave that to Sterling."