Thus and in such manner I heard my mother’s name spoken for the first time; felt the awful foundering truth burst upon my heart. Uttering it, the soul of this fearful man tore free with a last dying scream of agony, and he dropped upon his face over the threshold of the running vault.
One moment, fate-stricken, I heard in the silence the heavy drip of something going pattering down into the pit—the next, darkness overwhelmed and the world ceased for me.
* * * * *
Did I ever see Zyp again? I know that some one came to me, lying entranced in a long, sick dream, who bore her resemblance, at least, and who spoke gentle words to me and put cold, sweet drink to my lips. But, when I woke at last, she was not there—only a kind, soft woman, a ministering nurse, who moved without noise, and foresaw all my fretful wants.
If she came, she went and left no trace; and I know in my heart I am never to see her more.
And here, month by month, I sit alone in the old haunted, crazy place—alone with my memories and my ghosts and my ancient fruitless regrets.
Dolly and my father—the doctor, and those other two, found far away, welded in a dead embrace, and crushed and dinted one into the other—the fair and the ugly, all, all gone, and I am alone.
I am not thirty, yet my hair is white and it is time I was gone.
And to hear death knock at my door this very night would be ecstasy.
[THE END.]