Marion Marlowe's Peril, or, A Mystery Unveiled — page 25: what you’re looking at

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gold letters, were the words: “The Last over.” Death was claiming this beautiful, mwilling victim. It was a fascinating study, but Marion could not endure it. Like one suddenly wak- ing from a frightful dream, she raised her hands before her eyes to shut out the vision. The next moment she remembered her obligation to the artist. She looked around quickly, only to find that he had vanished. “That is strange,’ she murmured, with a sickening sensation at her heart. _ She*took a step forward, and with an al- most involuntary motion dropped the curtain back over the dreadful picture. 5 “T could never, never pose for a thing like : that!” she said, decidedly, as she put her hand on the door that led from the studio. *Then a shudder shook her frame from head to foot. The door was locked! She had Deen made a prisoner! - - CHAPTER XI. a A DESPERATE ACTION. For a few minutes the young girl did not ful y tealize her position. She felt confident that it must have been a blunder, and that _ the artist would shortly return and liberate : he « -' _ She looked at her watch. twelve. It was half-past In an hour she had hoped to be re- ing her success to the doctor. “Tl give him a chance to come back,” she es "Sic to herself; “but if he isn’t here soon I ral scream like an Indian!” Then it occurred to her that it would be of “ne ) use. The walls were so thick and so heav- ily ped that unless a person was just out- = the door they could not possibly hear a Band from her. a can’t be that he has done it on pur- ” she whispered over and over. “Why, Sman in his sane and sober senses would of such a thing! The idea of locking a moment in this room! It is an out- age! No sane man would dare to do it!” nt was Vincent St. Clair in his “sane 1d 1 sober senses?’’ She asked herself the nes tion, and then stood quite still as she an- ed it. The wild restlessness in his manner, the a Phy . — ar ¢ | ~ ~ ee ’ »* MY QUEEN. 23 feverish light in his eyes! Was it all the re- sult of ambition, the eccentricity of genius; or, was it—she shuddered as it came to her— the frenzy of insanity? A moment more and all waiting was over. She began pounding on the door and calling for liberation. A slight cough astonished her, coming, as it did, from the direction of the divan behind her. She turned in amazement and confronted the sad-faced woman who had admitted her to the mansion. “Why, how did you get herer’ asked Mar- ion in astonishment. “Is it possible that there is another door to this studio?” | The woman did not answer. She was set- ting a tray, loaded with refreshments, on the corner of the divan. “Who is that for?” asked Marion, sharply, as she walked directly up to her. “You,’ answered the woman in a half- frightened whisper. “But I don’t care for it, thanks—lI wish to go home,” said Marion, firmly. “Mr. St. Clair has gone away and locked the door be- lund him. I am at a loss to understand such ungentlemanly conduct.”’ “He has a caller. He begged me to ex- cuse him,” said the woman, faintly. She had placed her tray safely, and now stood with her arms folded, waiting. “But why did he lock me in here?” asked Marion, a little more gently. “Is that his way of treating his visitors?” “You came as a model, and he engaged you,’ was the woman’s answer. “The door has a spring lock. No doubt he forgot | Marion looked at her sharply and a sudden idea flitted through her mind. Perhaps through this sphinx-like creature she could learn something of the artist. “You are very kind to bring me some luncheon,” she said, sweetly. “Do sit down by me on the divan and tell me about this ereat man and his pictures.” She sank down as she spoke and beckoned her companion to sit beside her, but with something much like a shudder the woman moved away from her. “Not there! I'll not sit there!” she said, with a gesture of horror. ' MIC DOOKS (C (CO)