I tried to speak-to scream-but my

parched tongue was glued to the roof of my mouth. I stood there in a frigid trance of speechless terror. I could not utter a sound, though crying for help could not have brought me aid. The door was closed and the howling storm would have drowned my voice. I had seen this thing that lurked in the. shadow. Had it seen me? I pulled my- self back nearer the window, trembling with fear, afraid of something I could not recognize, and hoping against hope that it did not know I was there. Then came the horrible thought. Could it be some victim of Dame Wal- cott, forced to rise and haunt the place where it had met its untimely end? Some soul that lived in another world or state when our world thought him dead? If he had risen from a sealed tomb, what could he be seeking here? I tried to pray as my mind flashed back to tales I had heard and read of the spirits of the murdered who were com- pelled to revisit the scenes of their death until their murders had been avenged, and all the stories of ghosts and goblins that I had heard in the evening now came crowding upon my recollection. The shadow moved. This, then, was no hallucination, no trick of strained eye- sight. I felt that I was in the presence of something that could not only frighten but could actually harm. I tried to call my bewildered wits to my aid; and, calming the frenzy of my thoughts by a strong effort, I determined to try getting out of the room, and be- lieved that by keeping in the shadow and close to the wall I could make my es- cape through the door. Scarcely had I taken one step when the shadow turned in my direction. To turn and fly now was too late. All I could do was wait. Slowly the shadowy form came toward me. As it came into the full glare of the light I saw that it was Dame Walcott, with her head bent upon her breast. I recoiled in wide-eyed horror from this terrifying spectacle. THE PEBBLE PROPHECY No one can ever know what I suffered. as I waited-waited until she should reach me. There flashed across my mind the pebble prophecy. Was I, too, to be a victim of Dame Walcott? Was the pro- phecy to be a true one? Wa: it to be ful- filled the very night it was made, carried out by a specter risen from the dead? Very slowly she raised her head. Very slowly our eyes met. Very slowly, like some jungle panther, she glided toward me until she stood directly in front of me. She pointed at me jeeringly. Her whole face became animated with a sud- den glow of fiendish triumph. Her eyes glistened with a malign expression. I met her gaze fully, absorbing into my innermost soul the mesmeric spell. I imi- tated everything she did, though vainly striving to prevent it. It had been diffi- cult for others to oppose her; it was im- possible for me. She clasped her hands about her throat. Unable to resist, I imitated her. Tighter and tighter did my hands close. I was unable to loosen them. It seemed as though they were being controlled by some inexplicable power. She extended her right arm, slowly opening her hand. In it could be plainly seen something which glimmered faintly in the light. She described a circle in the air with a perfectly even and majestic motion. The light caught the object in her hand and it gleamed like a living coal. As she did this her eyes looked straight into mine, held steadily for a moment, then dropped to the object in her hand. My gaze followed hers, and I recog- nized my pebble of quartz which had dis- appeared from the bonfire. EVERYTHING gradually became dark about me. I had a convulsion E of terror. My tonguo was frozen, my teeth clenched. A film settled upon my eyes, a dull faintness overpowered me. Every vestige of strength deserted me, an icy spasm contracted my heart. 79 Uttering an inarticulate cry, I made a last violent effort to free myself from the spell that held me as I felt the shadow of death creeping over me. Then I sank face downward upon the floor. I do not know how long I lay in this death-like swoon. Familiar faces were all about me when I was restored to con- sciousness. I looked around in bewilder- ment. Where was I? How came I to be there? Suddenly I remembered and swooned again. When the hot and terrible delirium which followed had burned itself out, my loved ones told me the part they had taken in my Hallowe'en experiences. I had no need to tell them mine. They had heard it all in the ravings of my illness. My mother had been both angry and anxious because I had refused to heed her, and was unable to sleep. She wak- ened my father and insisted that he go with her to do what he could to persuade me to spend the remainder the night on the sofa in their room. On reaching the lumber-room, they found the lamp burning, a window open and the cot unslept in, and in searching for me, found me at the base of the por- trait, apparently dead, with some ugly black finger marks on my throat. In my stiff, rigidly clasped hands something gleamed white and shining. It was the quartz pebble. An alarm was sounded. Soon voices and steps were heard in the corridor and the room was ablaze with light. Friends rushed in, rubbing their eyes, still half asleep, questioning each other as to what had happened. My grandmother appeared on the threshold, full of astonishment at the sudden disturbance. She stopped short, with a wild cry which rang through the whole house: "Dame Walcott! Where is she?" All looked to where the portrait had stood against the wall. The frame was still there, but the figure within it was gone. Like a cloud melting in thin air, or a ghost vanishing into the nether world, she had mysteriously disappeared.