The Viking's Skull

by John R. Carling

The clock was striking the hour of ten at night as Beatrice Ravengar rose to put away the embroidery with which she had been occupied.

Save for the companionship of her faithful St. Bernard she was alone. Godfrey was out visiting his patients. Idris had been absent since noon, and Beatrice wondered what had become of him, little thinking that he was passing his time in a moonlit cave, tête-à-tête with Mademoiselle Rivière. The page-boy, who was accustomed to sleep at his own home, had taken his departure: and as for the housemaid, well, every one knows that when housemaids promise to be home punctually by nine P. M., they mean any time up to eleven, and Beatrice's little domestic was no exception to this rule.

Methodical in all her ways Beatrice was in the habit of mapping out beforehand a certain amount of work to be done during the day. Her self-allotted tasks being now completed she was ready for bed, but could not think of retiring before the return of the absentees.

With a little yawn she wondered what she should do to fill up the gap of time, and seeing a book lying upon the table, one that Idris had been reading earlier in the day, she took it up and found it to be a novel.

Beatrice as a rule avoided fiction, but on the present occasion she felt herself unequal to anything but the lightest kind of literary confectionery, and, accordingly, settling herself comfortably in her armchair, she began to read the novel, which bore the title of "The Fair Orientalist." It was of the nightmare order, and dealt with the doings of an Eastern lady, gifted with occult powers.

After the first chapter Beatrice glanced down to make sure that the faithful Leo was lying at her feet: when reading a story of the supernatural at night it is good to have a companion with us, though that companion be but a dog.

Having finished the second chapter she threw a glance at the windows, and was glad to observe that the blinds were drawn, since at night-time panes of glass are sometimes apt to reflect the gaslight in such a way as to create the impression that there are eyes on the outside watching us.

At the end of the third chapter Beatrice had become positively alarmed at the clairvoyance and occult powers ascribed to the Oriental lady: and yet, so fascinated was she by the story that, despite her growing fears, she found it impossible to lay down the book.

Hark! what was that?

A sound, coming apparently from the upper storey, echoed through the lonely house. With a beating heart Beatrice ceased reading, and listened. The sound was repeated, and she smiled at her fears. The latticed window at the head of the staircase was open, and flapping idly on its hinges. That was all!