my every step. I knew instinctively that if I gave way for a moment to the fear that was driving me, it would leap upon me. I again backed to the wall and waited. I had no knowledge of the time, of how long I had been alone.
The silence and darkness became unbearable. If the thing that was in the room with me would only show itself, would utter some sound, it would be a relief. This waiting, this suspense, were more terrible than any sight or sound could possibly be, and I knew that unless something happened quickly, my nerves would give way.
And then, after what seemed hours, when I felt that I must shriek aloud, I saw in the far corner of the room a dim, misty figure shaping itself into the darkness. At first I could make nothing of it, but gradually it resolved itself into the figure of a boy. A boy of about ten years of age, with yellow curls hanging about his face.
He was dressed in a rich, black velvet suit, silk hose and a pair of high-heeled, silver-buckled shoes. The face was handsome, but too matured for one so young. The eyes were hard and cruel, the mouth treacherous. Somewhere I had seen those features before.
My eyes lifted for a moment to the wall where the picture hung. I took a quick inhalation. Although the rest of the room was in pitch darkness, the picture stood out boldly, in a light seemingly emanating from itself. The eyes were gazing upon the figure of the boy below and, it seemed to me, the lips twisted into a sardonic grin. I understood now. The boy was the original of the picture, which was made at a later period in his life.
My attention was now called to the figure of the boy. He seemed to be calling some one. Presently into the field of vision romped a big Newfoundland puppy with which the boy played for a few minutes. In the play, the dog leaped upon the boy, bore him to the ground and soiled his clothes sadly. In an instant he was on his feet, his face distorted with rage, his eyes gleaming savagely. He sprang upon the dog, and the monstrous Ormond hands, looking particularly grotesque on one so small, clenched around the dog's neck, the fingers interlaced at the back. The terrible grip did not relax until the dog rolled over and lay still.
The boy got to his feet and was viciously kicking the unresponsive figure when a woman, apparently a servant, appeared on the scene and seemed to remonstrate with the youth. He flew at her in a rage, with great hands outstretched, but she fled in terror.
Suddenly he cringed and trembled violently, looking about with furtive eyes for a way to escape, as the figure of a man stood before him. A tall man, stern and dignified. He was an Ormond, and apparently the father of the boy. He pointed accusingly to the dog. The boy cowered in terror.
Then all the figures vanished, and I was again in blank darkness. During all this time not a sound had broken the intense silence.
Again my staring eyes saw a vague form taking shape. Again the picture flamed into view. This time the vision was that of a young man of twenty-eight or thirty. It was the exact counterpart of the picture on the wall, only more evil, more sinister looking.
Presently he was joined by a young and beautiful woman. She seemed to be pleading for something. He repulsed her. She fell to her knees, her hands up lifted. Then the same look I had seen when he strangled the puppy leaped into his face, and with a snarl which I could almost hear, he fell upon her and bore her to the earth, his horrid fingers encircling her fair young throat.
I tried to tear my eyes away, but could not, and there, before my sickening vision, I beheld a re-enactment of the terrible crime that had been committed in this room years before.
PRESENTLY the form of the woman lay quiet, and the man rose to a crouching position. His eyes glared and then changed to an expression of terror. Before him stood the figure of his father, his finger pointing accusingly to the still form of the woman.
Again utter blackness for what seemed an interminable period. And yet again I saw an emanation from nothingness, that grew into a filmy form-this time the elder Ormond. He stood pondering deeply. Then a look of resolve, of terrible unchanging resolve, gathered upon his face. He clapped his hands. A servant appeared and received some instructions.
Presently there walked, or rather slunk, into the room the figure of the younger Ormond. He seemed to be livid with terror. Some words were spoken. Then the older man took a handkerchief and blindfolded the younger one. Without resistance, he was lead to a heavy table where he was made to kneel down. At a word of command, the huge, monstrous hands were extended and laid palm downward upon the table. Then the father, taking a large sword from the wall, stepped to the side of his son and with one blow sheared off both hands.
Instantly the light flashed on, the fire burned cheerfully in the grate. The picture on the wall looked down sardonically. Was it then all a dream?
I looked around for Jim. He was not there. I looked at my watch. But five minutes had elapsed since he left me. Again I tried the door and the window. Both were immovable. For one moment I considered jumping to the ground, but I discarded the idea immediately on account of the height. And again the fire in the grate disappeared. It was snuffed out like a candle. The electric light followed, and thick darkness once more enveloped me.
Watching intently, I saw the shapeless mist gather in the far corner, take form and assume the semblance of life. This time it was the figure of a bent old man with scanty gray locks. He was sitting on a bench, crooning back and forth over some object that lay in his lap. Suddenly he raised his head and peered eagerly, almost wistfully, at the picture on the wall which, in the midst of the glow surrounding it, leered back mockingly. The figure raised its arms as if in supplication, and I saw that both hands were gone at the wrists.
It was the face of Ormond, the uxoricide, old, hardened, evil, as it must have looked in the later years of his life. The old eyes fell again to the object on his lap which he fondled with his stumps of arms. They took life and began to crawl up the front of his coat, and I saw to my horror that they were severed hands. Large, hairy, monstrous hands!
For a time they nestled, one on either shoulder. The old man still weaved back and forth, his twisted mouth mumbling words. Suddenly he stopped and listened intently. One of the hands seemed to be imparting information to him, for it writhed and ran up and down his body. Then it stopped and poised motionless on his knees, and I saw that it had raised itself on three fingers and thumb, its long bony index finger pointing outward.
It was a moment before I realized the fearful significance of this. When I did I almost collapsed. The great, grisly hand, with rigid index finger was pointing directly at me!
Slowly the old eyes followed the direction of the finger; slowly, slowly, they raised and at last looked full into mine. In vain I tried to lower my lids, to turn my eyes away. Those fierce, cruel, devilish orbs held them immovable. He leaped
