And the Preacher in silence surveyed that
face, and suffered his gaze to rest upon that
form, enveloped in the bear-skin overcoat.

Then, as if rooted to the floor, he stood motionless
before the Unknown, his chest swelling
with convulsive respirations, while his
hands clutched at his white cravat with an ahsent
motion.

The Unknown returned his gaze, and his
voice was heard as the smile played about his
lips:

“— —, we have met at last!”
he said, repeating the name of the Popular
Preacher: “Do not wonder that I call you by
that name. The name by which you wedded
Ellen Lester is not much known in this city.
By the bye, Edmund Jervis, do you ever
think of your wife, Mistress Ellen Jervis?
Do you ever think of the quiet village of Prairie
Home, out yonder in the west? But this is
thoughtless in me. You win so many triumphs
under your real name of — —, that
you have no time to think of Edmund Jervis,
much less of Prairie Home and your dead
wife, Ellen Jervis.”

To these words the Preacher made no reply.
The presence of the Unknown, or Charles
Denny Lester, deprived him of all control over
his will. Haggard, almost idiotic in the face,
quivering in every limb, he looked vacantly
upon the Brother of Ellen, without the power
to utter a syllable.

“And she was destined to fill Ellen's bed?”

[figure description] Page 096.[end figure description]

The Unknown pointed to the girl, who sate
upon the sofa, with a bloom like a summer
dawn stealing over her cheeks: “Was she also
destined to share Ellen's grave?”

“You are mistaken,” faltered the Preacher;
“I am not the man. I never saw you before.”

Charles placed his hand within the breast of
his overcoat. The Preacher watched the movement,
and cast his eyes around the room, as if
seeking some mode of escape from this scene
and its consequences.

Charles drew forth a package of letters.
“Did you ever see these before?” he whispered,
and advanced a step and held the package
before the eyes of the Preacher.

And the Preacher, like a man speaking
against his will, murmured the Name which
was traced upon the package in a delicate hand.

“Ellen!” he said, and his small eyes
seemed to retreat and bury themselves within
his wrinkled lids.

Once more Charles placed his hand within
the breast of his overcoat. This time he drew
forth a faded tress, tied by a ribbon. It was
the pale golden lock of hair which he had taken
from his trunk, in the earlier part of the
night.

“Do you remember this?” he whispered —
“Do you remember the cheek which it shaded
two years ago? How often has your hand
toyed with that tress, while your lips whispered
the words of Religion in the ears of the
girl, whom it once adorned! Nay, do not
shrink back, and shudder, as though you were
afraid. Pshaw! Man, you have no fear.
Take these letters — place your hand upon
them —”

He forced the letters in the hand of the
Preacher — the hand which was adorned by a
diamond ring.

“Press your lips to this lock of Ellen's
hair —”

He forced the tress against his lips.

“Now breathe but the words — `I never
knew Ellen Lester! Never married, never
betrayed her! Never blasted her name by an
anonymous letter, never left her to die of a
broken heart, while I went forth into the world
to win new triumphs!' Breathe but these
words, and you are free. Breathe these words,
and I will bless you. Mark you! I do not
ask you for an oath; only an assertion of your
innocence.”

The Preacher clutched the package as a
dying man clutches the hand of some watcher
by his bed. But at the same time, he drew
his lips away from the lock of hair, as though
there had been poison in its touch.

His knees trembled and yielded beneath his
body, shaken by opposing emotions: he sank
on the carpet, still clutching the package in his
grasp.

“Have mercy! I will make any atonement!
Have mercy!”

At these words the smile passed away from
the lips of Charles Lester.

“Mercy! And while the brow which that
tress once shadowed, is food for the graveworm?
Come — you are jesting. Get up,
Edmund. Be a man. Look your fate in the
face like a man.”

He took from the pocket of his coat a pair
of revolving pistols, which he silently laid upon
the mantel.

Then from the side pocket, over his heart,
he drew forth a phial, sparkling with a colorless
liquid, and similar to the one which he
had left at his hotel.

Edmund Jervis — to give the Preacher his
assumed name — watched these movements,
with the same glance which a rabbit entrapped
by a snare, might regard the trapper, who is
about to pass a knife across its throat.

“There are pistols, Edmund Jervis. There
is a phial of prussic acid, Edmund Jervis.
You can take your choice.”

Changed in every feature, the face of Charles
Lester glowed vividly in the light, as he held
the phial toward the kneeling man. His eyes
shone with a sinister glare, while a smile
lingered on his lips.

“But this is murder,” gasped Edmund Jervis.
“Del-i-ber-a-t-e mur-der!”

“Bah! The cowardice of this man fills me
with loathing!” exclaimed Charles, as though
speaking to himself. “When the dishonor of
an innocent woman is in question, he does not
tremble. When his lips blaspheme his God,
he is not afraid. But after twenty years of
crime — whose very vileness might make a
devil ashamed to be outdone by a paltry mortal—
this man shudders and cringes when the

p254-095 [figure description] Page 097.[end figure description]

mere temporal judgment of his sins stares him
in the face.”

And as these words passed the lips of the
Unknown, a strange thought entered his brain.

He turned to the sofa, and surveyed the face
of the Magnetized girl.

“Arrayed for the sacrifice,” he exclaimed—
“and with a cross upon her bosom.
Wretch! Wretch! Is nothing sacred in your
eyes?”

These words were accompanied with a
glance toward the kneeling man.

Charles silently advanced to the sofa. His
eyes became large and intensely bright as he
took the hands of the girl within his own.

And then a breathless stillness fell like a
palpable presence upon that vast and luxurious
chamber.

“This power called Magnetism, has been
used by wretches as base as you, for their
own base deeds. Once this night, have I
turned its awful influence to a good purpose.
The lips of this girl spoke of one dark deed in
your life, and at my Will. Now from her
lips you shall learn the sentence of your crime.
Yes, with the grosser senses sealed in the sleep
of Magnetism, while her Soul soars serenely
beyond the world of matter, this girl — this
child of want and poverty — shall hear the
story of your crimes, and speak your Judgment.”