The Argosy — page 218: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

204 A Marriage from the Stage. had for some years after this the reputation of being haunted. The servants insisted that on calm nights the figure of Mrs. Raughan might be seen pacing up and down the terrace, followed by the tall slinking form of the Italian valet, as they had always persisted in calling him. On windy nights they heard sounds of a guitar and singing from no earthly voice.” . Smith had finished his tale, and we all thanked him. Conversation went on, but I could not talk, nor indeed think of anything but the tragedy I had just heard, and the portrait of Claudia Raughan seemed to haunt me like a physical pressure; I could not keep my eyes off it. When I was alone in my room, I sat down before the fire to think over the whole story, but recollecting that if I still continued in the same train of thought I should not sleep the whole night, I strove to drive it from my remembrance. It was useless; my thoughts wandered back, and the portrait was still before my eyes. At last my desire to see the face again grew so strong that I got up and crept downstairs in the dark. I found my way with some difficulty, knocking against several corners as I groped along. Once the drawing-room door was reached my heart almost misgave me, but it struck me that I could get a candle from one of the tables and at least light myself upstairs again. Opening the door softly I went in. All was still, and the fire in the little room was sufficient to show me perfectly the objects in it I made my way to the piano and stood looking at the portrait. In the flickering light it seemed to me as if her lips moved, and her eyes were fixed on mine with a searching melancholy. As I stood there a sudden thought flashed through my mind, and almost smiling at my folly, I opened the piano and sat down before it. Glancing once more at the face above me, I began to play, very softly, the opening notes of her favourite song, “Une Nuit d’Eté.” A shiver crept through me, and my hair crisped as I distinctly heard, close at my ear, a passionate and yet far-off voice responding to my invitation. I do not know whether I went through the whole of the accom- paniment, for I remembered nothing more till I found myself lying on the ground, the fire out, and the dawn peering through above the shutters. comicbooks.com