"Was it a burglar?" "No, worse than burglars!" And having never learned that anything brought more terror to womankind than the soft step of the artful burglar, I listened with bated breath to the interesting story of the husband.
It was his custom to arrive home each afternoon about six o'clock, where the bright smiles of Mrs. Stone had never, till yesterday, failed to bathe him in the warm and tender adorations of perennial affection. Last evening when he entered at the usual hour the house was still and dark, and the bright face of his loved one greeted him not.
A strange man approached him, in as great surprise us if the dead had come to life, and bade him be calm and composed, and said he thought Mrs. Stone would soon recover consciousness; that somebody had sent her word that her husband had been killed, and the shock was too great and too sudden for her to bear. A telegram from a down-town office, which brought the dreadful intelligence, lay upon the table, and it was signed, simply "N. M."
From this circumstance alone it was painfully evident that Nellie Mason was a bad and designing individual. Mrs. Stone was sweetly reclining on a richly-covered couch, and her faithful husband was lovingly administering to her every little want. The lady, like tender blades of grass that have been watered by a passing storm, seemed more beautiful than before her severe trial. Under the warm sunshine of sympathy and love, her many pleasing charms shone like diamonds in the diadem of royalty.
Seating myself within easy hearing distance of the fair Mrs. Stone, she began the enchanting tale about Nellie Mason, the sorceress. It was as follows:
"My maiden name was Francis West. My parents died when I was young, and I went to live with an aunt in Peekskill on the Hudson. There I received every attention that a dear relative could bestow upon the young offspring of a deceased sister. There I attended school, and in that school I first met Nellie Mason. She was about my age, and, like myself, was living with an aunt, though she was not an orphan.
"Pardon me when I tell you that I was an attractive young miss in those days. Young girls know as well as older ones that good looks, grace, and fine dress are envious attractions. No one understood this more perfectly than Nellie Mason.
"At school, at church, at parties, and everywhere, she seemed to grieve at my good fortune. I always treated her kindly, for I had been taught the charm of charity, yet, with all, it seemed that sometimes I could no longer bear the unpleasant feeling that steals over a person when it is known that another is constantly trying to imitate, and perhaps injure you.
"It is true, she looked like me in several particulars. That is, Nature had made her something like me, and the points of difference she was ceaselessly attempting to assimilate. There was only one marked difference, but that was easily changed. Her hair was brown; now it is exactly like mine. We were in the same classes and the same social circles.
"She tried to imitate my voice, my actions, and, so perfectly did she imitate my writing, that no person can tell which is the genuine and which the false. Whenever I procured a new gown, Nellie was as certain to have one like it as she was to live. She would even squeeze her foot into a two-and-a-half shoe, and was dying to imitate my smile. Poor thing, how I did worry her! But what bothered her more than anything else, was her inability in every instance to associate with the same particular persons that I did.