Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page Scan Source: Google Books
https://books.google.com/books?id=oILQAAAAMAAJ
(the University of Wisconsin-Madison)
[Illustration: Cover]
POPULAR NOVELS BY FERGUS HUME
=============================
A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
_The Philadelphia Item_ says: "This book is quite up to the level of
the high standard which Mr. Hume has set for himself in 'The Mystery
of a Hansom Cab' and 'The Rainbow Feather.' It is a brilliant,
stirring adventure, showing the author's prodigious inventiveness, his
well of imagination never running dry."
12mo, Cloth bound, $1.25
THE PAGAN'S CUP
_The Nashville American_ says: "The plot is intricate with mystery and
probability neatly dovetailed and the solution is a series of
surprises skillfully retarded to whet the interest of the reader. It
is excellently written and the denouement so skillfully concealed that
one's interest and curiosity are kept on edge till the very last. It
will certainly be a popular book with a very large class of readers."
12mo, Cloth bound, $1.25
Paper covers, 50cts.
THE RAINBOW FEATHER
_The Boston Ideas_ says "The plot is worked out very effectively and
each character serves the author's purpose very forcibly. The
narration is brisk and experienceful, and renders the tale thoroughly
enjoyable. It is strongly written, and excellently colored in all its
features."
12mo, Cloth bound, $1.25
Paper covers, 50cts.
CLAUDE DUVAL OF
NINETY-FIVE
_The Philadelphia Item_ says: "It is a very clever story, which runs
on smoothly from start to finish, holding the reader's interest--as do
every solitary one of the Hume stories, to the very last sentence.
Everybody who likes good detective fiction or who has read Mr. Hume
before should not miss this excellent story."
Paper cover, 50cts.
========================
G. W. DILLINGHAM COMPANY
PUBLISHERS NEW YORK
[Illustration: Lola pulled a white packet from her breast and ran with
it to the fire. George shot past her, snatched them out before they
could catch alight, and thrust them into his pocket.--(_Page 296_.)]
THE
YELLOW HOLLY
BY
FERGUS HUME
AUTHOR OF
"THE MYSTERY OF A HANSOM CAB," "THE RAINBOW FEATHER,"
"A COIN OF EDWARD VII.," "THE PAGAN'S CUP,"
"CLAUDE DUVAL OF NINETY-FIVE,"
ETC.
G. W. DILLINGHAM COMPANY
PUBLISHERS NEW YORK
Copyright, 1903, by
G. W. DILLINGHAM COMPANY
_Issued October 1, 1908_
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. "MRS. JERSEY RECEIVES"
II. BRENDON'S STORY
III. THE NEXT MORNING
IV. A NINE-DAYS' WONDER
V. A LOVERS' MEETING
VI. WHAT MR. IRELAND KNEW
VII. THE RED MAN
VIII. A BACCHANTE
IX. CLEVER MRS. WARD
X. DIPLOMACY
XI. MR. BAWDSEY AT HOME
XII. A FIRESIDE TYRANT
XIII. A WOMAN SCORNED
XIV. MRS. WARD'S TRUMP CARD
XV. A RECOGNITION
XVI. THE PIPE OF PEACE
XVII. LORD DERRINGTON EXPLAINS
XVIII. MISS BULL'S STORY
XIX. THE INQUIRY AGENT
XX. THE TROUBLE OF LOLA
XXI. THE CONFESSION OF A JEALOUS WOMAN
XXII. WHO BAWDSEY WAS
XXIII. THE TURNING OF THE LANE
XXIV. A STARTLING SURPRISE
XXV. THE TRUTH
THE YELLOW HOLLY
CHAPTER I
"MRS. JERSEY RECEIVES"
She did not put the sacramental phrase on her cards, as no invitations
were sent out. These were delivered verbally by boarders desirous of
seeing their friends present on Friday evening. Mrs. Jersey dignified
her gatherings with the name of "At Homes," but in truth the term was
too majestic for the very mild entertainment she provided weekly.
It was really a scratch party of nobodies, and they assembled as usual
in the drawing-room on this especial evening, to play and not to work.
Mrs. Taine laid aside her eternal knitting; Miss Bull dispensed with
her game of "Patience;" Mr. Granger sang his one song of the early
Victorian Epoch--sometimes twice when singers were scarce; and Mr.
Harmer wore his antiquated dress-suit. On these festive occasions it
was tacitly understood that all were to be more or less "dressy," as
Mrs. Jersey put it, and her appearance in "the diamonds" signalized
the need of unusual adornment. These jewels were the smallest and most
inferior of stones; but diamonds they undeniably were, and the
boarders alluded to them as they would have done to the Kohinoor.
In her black silk gown, her lace cap, and "the diamonds" Mrs. Jersey
looked--so they assured her--quite the lady.
Was she a lady? No one ever asked that leading question, as it would
have provoked an untruth or a most unpleasant reply. She admitted in
expansive moments to having seen "better days," but what her actual
past had been--and from her looks she had one--none ever discovered.
The usual story, produced by an extra glass of negus, varied so
greatly in the telling that the most innocent boarder doubted. But
Mrs. Jersey was always treated with respect, and the boarders called
her "Madame" in quite a French way. Why they should do so, no one ever
knew, and Mrs. Jersey herself could not have explained. But the term
had become traditional, and in that conservative mansion tradition was
all-powerful.
Few friends presented themselves on this particular Friday evening,
for it was extremely foggy, and none of them could afford cabs. Even
those who patronized the nearest bus line, had some distance to walk
before they knocked at the Jersey door, and thus ran a chance of
losing their way. Either in light or darkness the house was hard to
find, for it occupied the corner of a particularly private square far
removed from the Oxford Street traffic. As a kind of haven or
back-water, it received into its peace those who found the current of
the River of Life running too strong. Decayed ladies, disappointed
spinsters, superannuated clerks, retired army officers, bankrupt
dreamers--these were the derelicts which had drifted hither. Mrs.
Jersey called these social and commercial failures "paying guests,"
which flattered their pride and cost nothing. She was something of a
humbug, and always ready with the small change of politeness.
It was quite an asylum for old age. None of the guests were under
fifty, save a newcomer who had arrived the previous week, and they
wondered why he came amongst them. He was young, though plain-looking;
he was fashionably dressed, though stout, and he chatted a West-End
jargon, curiously flippant when contrasted with their prim
conversation. This was the first time he had been present at Madame's
reception, and he was explaining his reasons for coming to Bloomsbury.
Mrs. Jersey introduced him as "Leonard Train, the distinguished
novelist," although he had published only one book at his own cost,
and even that production was unknown to the boarders. They read
_Thackeray_ and his contemporaries, and manifested a proper scorn for
the up-to-date novelist and his analytical methods.
Mr. Train, with a complacency which showed that he entertained the
highest opinion of his own powers, stood on the hearth-rug, and
delivered himself of his errand to Bloomsbury.
"Fashionable novelists," said he, in a still, small voice, which
contrasted curiously with his massive proportions, "have overdone the
business of society and epigrams. We must revert to the Dickens style.
I have therefore taken up my residence here for a brief period to
study Old-World types." Here he looked round with a beaming smile. "I
am glad to find so rich a field to glean."
This doubtful compliment provoked weak smiles. The boarders did not
wish to be rude, but they felt it was impossible to approve of the
young man. Not being sufficiently modern to court notoriety, one and
all disliked the idea of being "put in a book." Mrs. Taine, conscious
of her weak grammar, looked uneasily at Miss Bull, who smiled grimly
and then glared at Train. Granger drew himself up and pulled his gray
mustache; he was the buck of the establishment, and Harmer nodded,
saying, "Well, well!" his usual remark when he did not understand what
was going on. Only Madame spoke. Train had taken a sitting-room as
well as a bedroom, therefore he must be rich, and as he had not
haggled over terms it was necessary that he should be flattered. Mrs.
Jersey saw a chance of making money out of him.
"How delightful," she said in her motherly manner; "I hope you will
say nice things about us, Mr. Train."
"I shall tell the truth, Madame. The truth does not flatter."
Mrs. Jersey became still more motherly and paid a compliment. "That
depends, Mr. Train. If the truth were spoken about you, for instance."
It was really a very nice compliment; but Miss Bull, with malice
aforethought, spoilt it in the utterance by laughing pointedly. Train,
who had already set his face for a smile, grew red, and Madame darted
a look at Miss Bull quite out of keeping with her motherly manner.
More than this, she spoke her mind. "I hope, Mr. Train, that you will
speak the whole truth of _some_ of us."
Miss Bull shrugged her thin shoulders, and in direct contradiction to
the traditions of the evening produced her pack of cards. She played a
complicated game called "The Demon," and never went to bed until she
had achieved success at least thrice. Even when driven from the
drawing-room she would finish the game in her bedroom, and sometimes
sat up half the night when her luck was bad. To abstain on this
society evening always annoyed her, and since Madame had been rude
Miss Bull seized the opportunity to show her indifference, and enjoy,
by doing so, her favorite pastime. She was a small, thin, dry old
maid, with a pallid face and bright black eyes. Her mouth was hard,
and smiled treacherously. No one liked her save Margery, the niece of
Mrs. Jersey. But Margery was supposed to be queer, so her approval of
Miss Bull mattered little.
"Perhaps Mr. Granger will oblige us with a song," suggested Madame,
smoothing her face, but still inwardly furious.
Mr. Granger, who had been waiting for this moment, was only too happy.
He knew but one song, and had sung it dozens of times in that very
room. It was natural to suppose that he knew it by heart. All the same
he produced his music, and read the words as he sang. Margery played
his accompaniment without looking at the notes. She was as familiar
with them as she was with the moment when Mr. Granger's voice would
crack. This night he cracked as usual, apologized as usual, and his
hearers accepted the apology as usual, so it was all very pleasant.
"'The Death of Nelson,'" said Granger, "is a difficult song to sing
when the singer is not in voice. The fog, you know----"
"Quite so," murmured Train, politely. "Do you know 'Will-o-the-Wisp,'
Mr. Granger?"
Mr. Granger did not, much to his regret, and Mr. Harmer joined in the
conversation. "Now there's a song," said he--"'Will-o-the-Wisp.' I
knew a man who could bring the roof down with that song. Such lungs!"
"I don't love that loud shouting, myself," said Mrs. Taine in her fat
voice. "Give me something soft and low, like 'My Pretty Jane!'"
"Ah! you should have heard Sims Reeves sing it," said Harmer.
"I have heard him," said Leonard, to whom the remark was addressed.
Harmer was annoyed. "Perhaps you have heard Grisi and Mario also?"
"No, sir. But my grandfather did."
"Probably," said Harmer, glancing at his fresh face and bald head in a
near mirror. "I was a mere child myself when I heard them. Do you know
much about music, Mr. Train?"
"I have heard it a good deal talked about," replied Leonard, with the
air of saying something clever.
"And great rubbish they talk," put in Mrs. Taine, smoothing one hand
over the other. "In my young days we talked of Wagner and Weber. Now
it is all Vagner and Veber--such affectation."
"Ah! manners are not what they used to be," sighed another old lady,
who prided herself on her straight back and clear eyesight.
"Nor singers," said Mr. Granger. "There are no voices nowadays, none."
"What about Calve and Melba?" asked Leonard.
"Those are foreigners," said Mr. Granger, getting out of the
difficulty. "I speak of our native talent, sir."
"Melba comes from Australia."
"She is not English--a foreigner, I tell you. Don't talk to me, sir."
Mr. Granger was becoming restive at being thus contradicted, and
privately thought Leonard an impertinent young man. Madame, seeing
that the old gentleman was ruffled, hastily intervened. "If Mrs. Taine
will play us the 'Canary Bird Quadrilles' how pleased we shall be."
Mrs. Taine obliged, and Harmer hung over the piano, quite enraptured
at these airs which recalled his hot youth. Afterward he begged for
the "Mabel Waltz." Meantime Margery was sitting in the corner with
Miss Bull, and both were engrossed with "Patience." Madame, under
cover of the music, talked with Train.
"You mustn't mind the guests," she said; "they are old and require to
be humored."
"It's most amusing, Madame. I shall stop here three weeks to pick up
types."
"Oh! you must stay longer than that," said Madame, smiling and patting
his hand, still in a motherly way; "now, that you have found us out,
we cannot lose you. By the way--" here Mrs. Jersey's eyes became very
searching--"how did you find us out?"
"It was a friend of mine, Madame. He knew that I wanted to get
into the Dickens world, and suggested this house. I am not
disappointed--oh, not at all--" and Leonard glanced at Margery, who
was fat, dull and stupid in her looks. She certainly resembled one of
Dickens's characters, but he could not recollect which at the moment.
"Do I know the gentleman?" asked Madame, who seemed anxious.
"I don't think so. But he is coming to see me to-night."
"You must ask him in here and introduce him. I should like to thank
him for having recommended my house."
"We were going to have a conversation in my room," said Train,
dubiously; "he's such a shy fellow that I don't think he'll come in."
"Oh! but, he must; I love young people." Madame looked round and
shrugged. "It is rather dreary here at times, Mr. Train."
"I can quite believe that," replied Leonard, who already was beginning
to find the Dickens types rather boring. "Who is that tall old man
with the long hair?"
"Hush! He may hear you. His name is Rasper. A great inventor, a most
distinguished man."
"What has he invented?"
"Oh, all sorts of things," replied Mrs. Jersey, vaguely. "His name is
quite a household word in Clapham. See, he's inventing something now."
Mr. Rasper, who had rather a haggard appearance, as though he used his
brains too much, was glooming over the back of an envelope and the
stump of a pencil. He frowned as he chewed this latter, and seemed
bent upon working out an abstruse problem. "But it will really will
not do, Mr. Train," said Madame, shaking her head till "the diamonds"
twinkled; "this is our evening of relaxation. But Miss Bull, against
all precedent, is playing 'Patience,' and here is Mr. Rasper
inventing." She rose to interrupt Mr. Rasper, but remained to ask
Leonard if his friend was stopping the night.
"He will if he comes at all," replied Leonard, looking at his watch;
"but if the fog is very thick I don't know if he'll turn up. It is now
nine o'clock."
"We usually disperse at eleven," said Madame, "but on this night I
must break up at ten, as I have--" she hesitated--"I have business to
do."
"I won't trouble you, Madame," said Train; "my friend and I can have
supper in my room."
"That's just it," said Madame, and her voice became rather hard. "I
beg, Mr. Train, that you and your friend will not sit up late."
"Why not? We both wish to smoke and talk."
"You can do that in the daytime, Mr. Train. But my house is most
respectable, and I hope you will be in bed before eleven."
Leonard would have protested, as he objected to this sort of maternal
government, but Mrs. Jersey rustled away, and he was left to make the
best of it. Before he could collect his wits a message came that he
was wanted. "By Jove! it's George," he said and hurried out of the
room. Mrs. Jersey overheard the name.
"I suppose his friend is called George," she thought, and frowned. Her
recollections of that name were not pleasant. However, she thought no
more about the matter, but rebuked Mr. Rasper for his inattention to
the 'Mabel Waltz.' "It is so sweet of Mrs. Taine to play it."
"I beg pardon--beg pardon," stuttered Rasper, putting away his
envelope and looking up with a dreamy eye. "I was inventing a new
bootjack. I hope to make my fortune out of it."
Madame smiled pityingly. She had heard that prophecy before, but poor
Rasper's inventions had never succeeded in getting him the house in
Park Lane he was always dreaming about. But she patted his shoulder
and then sailed across to Miss Bull. "The music doesn't please you,
Miss Bull," she said in rather an acid tone.
"It's very nice," replied the old maid, dealing the cards, "but I have
heard the 'Mabel Waltz' before."
"You may not have the chance of hearing it again," said Madame.
Miss Bull shrugged her shoulders to signify that it did not matter.
"I suppose that means Mrs. Taine is about to leave us, she said.
"There may be changes in the establishment soon, Miss Bull."
"It's a world of change," replied Miss Bull, in her sharp voice.
"Margery, was that a heart?"
Margery pointed a fat finger to the card in question, and Miss Bull
muttered something about her eyesight getting worse. Madame knew that
this was just done to annoy her, as Miss Bull's sight was excellent.
To revenge herself she took Margery away. "Go and tell the servants to
send up the negus and sandwiches," she said sharply.
Margery rose heavily. She was a huge girl of twenty years of age, and
apparently very stupid. Why sharp little Miss Bull, who loved no one,
had taken to her no one knew; but the two were inseparable. Seeing
this, Madame usually kept Margery hard at work in other quarters so as
to part her from the old maid. But with the cunning of an animal--and
Margery was very much of that type--the girl managed to see a great
deal of her one friend. Madame had an idea of the reason for this, but
at the present moment did not think it was necessary to interfere. She
was quite capable of crushing Miss Bull when the need arose. Meantime
she vented her temper by sending Margery away. The girl departed with
a scowl and an angry look at her aunt. But Miss Bull never raised her
eyes, though she was well aware of what was going on.
Madame was not to be beaten. "I tell you what, dear Miss Bull," she
said, smiling graciously, "since you have broken through our rule, and
have produced the cards, you shall tell all our fortunes."
"Yours?" asked Miss Bull, looking up for the first time.
Madame shook her head. "I know mine. Tell Mr. Rasper if his invention
will succeed. Or, perhaps, Mr. Granger?"
"I am at Miss Bull's service," said the polite old gentleman bowing.
Miss Bull swept the cards into a heap. "I'm quite willing," she said
in a voice almost pleasant for her. "Anything to oblige dear Madame."
Mrs. Jersey smiled still more graciously and sailed away to send Mr.
Harmer to the cards. But she wondered inwardly why Miss Bull had given
way so suddenly. There was some reason for it, as Miss Bull never did
anything without a reason. But Mrs. Jersey kept her own counsel, and
still continued to smile. She had quite made up her mind how to act.
"Ladies and gentlemen," she said, standing in the middle of the
drawing-room, "we must disperse to-night at ten. I have some business
to attend to, so I request you will all retire at that hour. In the
mean time, Miss Bull has kindly consented to tell your fortunes."
It was extraordinary to see how those withered old people crowded
round the table. Their several fates had long since been settled, so
what they could expect the cards to tell them, save that they would
one and all die soon, it is difficult to say. Yet so ineradicable is
the wish to know the future in the human breast that they were as
eager as youth to hear what would befall them. And Miss Bull, wholly
unmoved by their senile excitement, dealt the cards with the air of a
sphinx.
Madame meantime retired to her throne, and saw that the servants
arranged the tray properly. She had a gigantic chair, which was
jokingly called her throne, and here she received strangers in quite a
majestic way. It was a sort of Lady Blessington reception on a small
scale, as Mr. Harmer assured her, and, as he had been to Gore House in
his youth, he knew what he was talking about. Knowing his courtly
manners, and being greedy of compliments, Mrs. Jersey always tried to
make him say that she resembled Lady Blessington. But this Mr. Harmer
refused to do. Not that Mrs. Jersey was bad-looking. She had a
fresh-colored face, bright black eyes, and plenty of white hair like
spun silk. Her figure was stout, but she yet retained a certain
comeliness which showed that she must have been a handsome woman in
her youth. Her manners were motherly, but she showed a stern face
toward Margery, and did not treat the girl so kindly as she might have
done. As a rule, she had great self-command, but sometimes gave way to
paroxysms of passion, which were really terrifying. But Margery alone
had been witness of these, and Mrs. Jersey passed for a dear, gentle
old lady.
"Mr. Harmer is to be married," announced Mrs. Taine, leaving the
circle round the card-table; "how extraordinary!"
"So extraordinary that it can't possibly be true," said Mr. Harmer,
dryly; "unless Madame will accept me," he added, bowing.
"I should recommend Miss Bull," replied Madame very sweetly, but with
a venomous note in her voice. She might as well have thought to rouse
the dead, for Miss Bull paid not the slightest attention. In many ways
the self-composed old maid was a match for Madame.
At this moment Train entered, and after him came a tall young man,
fair-haired and stalwart. He was handsome, but seemed to be ill at
ease, and pulled his yellow mustache nervously as Train led him to the
throne.
"This is my friend," said Leonard, presenting him. "He just managed to
get here, for the fog is so thick----"
Here he was interrupted. "Madame!" cried Mrs. Taine, "what is the
matter? Mr. Harmer, the water--wine--quick."
There was need of it. Mrs. Jersey had fallen back on the throne with a
white face and twitching lips. She appeared as though about to faint,
but restraining herself with a powerful effort she waved her hand to
intimate that she needed nothing. At the same time her eyes were
fastened, not so much on the face of the stranger as on a piece of
yellow holly he wore in his coat. "I am perfectly well," said Mrs.
Jersey. "This is only one of my turns. I am glad to see you, Mr.----"
"Brendon," said the stranger, who seemed astonished at this reception.
"George Brendan," interpolated Train, who was alive with curiosity;
"have you seen him before, Madame?"
Mrs. Jersey laughed artificially. "Certainly not," she replied calmly,
"and yours is not a face I should forget, Mr.----Brendon."
She uttered the name with a certain amount of hesitation as though she
was not sure it was the right one. George nodded.
"My name is Brendan," he said rather unnecessarily, and Mrs. Jersey
nodded in her most gracious manner.
"I bid you welcome sir; any friend of Mr. Train's is also my friend.
If there is anything to amuse you here?" She waved her hand. "We are
simple people. Fortune-telling--a little music and the company of my
guests. Mrs. Taine, Mr. Harmer!" She introduced them, but every now
and then her eyes were on the yellow holly. Brendan remarked it.
"You are noticing my flower, Mrs. Jersey," he said. "It is rather
rare."
"Most extraordinary," replied Mrs. Jersey, coolly. "I have seen holly
with red berries before, but this yellow----"
"There was a great bush of it in my father's garden," said Mr. Harmer,
"but I have not seen any for years."
"Perhaps you would like it, Mrs. Jersey," said Brendan, taking it from
his coat.
She hastily waved her hand. "No! no! I am too old for flowers. Keep
it, Mr. Brendan. It suits better with your youth," she looked at his
face keenly. "I have seen a face like yours before."
Brendan laughed. "I am of a commonplace type, I fear," he said.
"No; not so very common. Fair hair and dark eyes do not usually go
together. Perhaps I have met your father?"
"Perhaps," replied George, phlegmatically.
"Or your mother," persisted Mrs. Jersey.
"I dare say!" Then he turned the conversation. "What a delightful old
house you have here!"
Mrs. Jersey bit her lip on finding her inquiries thus baffled, but
taking her cue expanded on the subject of the house. "It was a
fashionable mansion in the time of the Georges," she said. "Some of
the ceilings are wonderfully painted, and there are all kinds of queer
rooms and cupboards and corners in it. And so quiet. I dare say," she
went on, "this room was filled with beaux and belles in powder and
patches. What a sight, Mr. Brendon--what a sight! Will you have some
negus? Port-wine negus, Mr. Brendan."
She was evidently talking at random, and offered him a glass of negus
with a trembling hand. Brendan; evidently more and more astonished at
her manner, drank off the wine. He made few remarks, being a man who
spoke little in general company. Train had long ago gone to hear Miss
Bull tell fortunes and, from the laughter, it was evident that his
future was being prophesied.
"No! no!" cried Train, "I shall never marry. A literary man should
keep himself away from the fascinations of female society."
"Do you agree with that, Mr. Brendan?" asked Mrs. Jersey, curiously.
He shook his head and laughed. "I am not a hermit, Mrs. Jersey."
"Then Miss Bull must prophesy about your marriage. Come!"
At first Brendon was unwilling to go, but after some persuasion he
submitted to be led to the table. Miss Bull was quite willing to do
what was asked of her, and spread out the cards. Brendon waited beside
Mrs. Jersey with a most indifferent air. She was far more anxious to
hear the fortune than he was.
"You are in trouble," announced Miss Bull in a sepulchral tone, "and
the trouble will grow worse. But in the end all will be well. She will
aid you to get free and will bestow her hand on you."
"She?" asked Brendon, looking puzzled.
Miss Bull did not raise her eyes. "The lady you are thinking of."
Brendon was rather taken aback, but seeing Mrs. Jersey's curious look
he crushed down his emotion. "At my age we are always thinking of
ladies," he said, laughing.
Train touched his arm. "It is----" he began, but Brendon frowned, and
Leonard was quick enough to take the hint. Miss Bull went on telling
the fortune. There were the usual dark and fair people, the widow, the
journey, the money, and all the rest of the general events and
happenings which are usually foretold. But there was always trouble,
trouble, and again trouble. "But you will come out right in the end,"
said Miss Bull. "Keep a brave heart."
"I am sure Mr. Brendon will do that," said Madame, graciously.
While George bowed to the compliment, Miss Bull again shuffled the
cards and fastened her keen black eyes on Madame. "Will you have your
fortune told?" she asked coldly.
"Oh, certainly!" said Mrs. Jersey in a most gushing manner; "anything
to amuse. But my fortune has been told so often, and has never come
true--never," and she sighed in an effective manner.
Miss Bull continued her mystic counting. She told Madame a lot of
things about the house which were known to most present. Mrs. Jersey
laughed and sneered. Suddenly Miss Bull turned up a black card, "You
will meet with a violent death," she said, and every one shuddered.