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.