WHETHER she was waking or sleeping Evelyn hardly knew when the gloomy, frowning outlines of her new home rose up in the darkness before her. She seemed to hesitate with her foot on the carriage-step, as though invisibly detained by a spirit hand, while she glanced up curiously at the dismal structure; it was so unlike the stately mansion that her artist husband had described to her, and resembled more a monstrous, shapeless pile of stones than a luxurious or even comfortable residence.

      It was his angry ejaculation now that brought her back to a sense of the new position and forced her to advance finally from the carriage and slowly mount the steps to her new abode. The sullen tones of Armand's voice alarmed her even more than the gloominess of the sombre structure; for anger was something that she had not dreamed of in this man, and a bride of scarcely twenty-four hours is perhaps more than ordinarily sensitive.

      "It must be the place that affects him," she thought, for the inky monotony of that last hour's ride, through a seemingly interminable forest, had cast a spell upon her also.

      Unconsciously she raised her eyes and surveyed the building from side to side as she picked her way, unaided, up the unhewn stones that marked the entrance. Not a ray of light was visible; the windows, dimly outlined in gray against the blackness of the walls, looked spectral and weird in the scanty moonlight. The strangeness of this reception on her home-coming cast a chill of fear upon her, but before she could fairly shape the disappointing thoughts that crowded her mind a light appeared in one of the windows. She stopped abruptly upon the steps, her eyes raised to the sudden illumination; but before she could cast the glamour from her sufficiently to penetrate the glass she felt her arm grasped firmly in a nervous clutch, and her husband, muttering an oath, half carried her within the portals.

      "My God! I did not know the hour!" she heard him say in a startled whisper, and then, when the outer door had closed upon her, without a word of explanation, he left her standing quite alone while he sprang up the heavy oaken stairs and disappeared in the gloom above her.

      There was a dim light burning somewhere, just where she could not see; but by its aid she discovered that she was in a dingy room where the furniture was heavy and repulsive, and where the profusion and thickness of the draperies suggested suspicions of a fearful silence. One could shriek aloud and not be heard beyond the doors; one could beat upon the floor and walls without so much as raising an echo.

      Evelyn trembled violently as she looked around, and for the first time she was inclined to regret her hasty marriage. She could not understand the change in her husband; he had grown suddenly so strange and inconsiderate. True, she had been warned over and over by her unapproving aunt, who hinted at something darkly dreadful in his nature, and had finally married him more in the spirit of obstinacy than for any real sentiment of affection.

      And this was the "mansion" he had promised her, this the bridal bower that he had pictured. Why, the very approach for miles away was guarded by a forbidding forest, and the atmosphere was musty from lack of sun and heavy with some mysterious horror. She shuddered and drew her wraps about her, although it was almost stifling in the room. She could not account for her husband's action, but she was helpless and must wait his call; so she sat down on the nearest chair, awaiting his return with explanations.

      As she sank down wearily upon the unyielding cushion she was conscious of something moving beneath the chair, and at the same time it seemed to her that the very fury of the fiends had broken loose somewhere beneath the floor, such frightful groans and mutterings came up to her through the stifling thickness of the carpet. She sprang to her feet, shaking with terror, for, suddenly, as though it had risen from the floor, a tiny, misshapen figure appeared before her, and a claw-like hand was laid upon her arm so lightly that she hardly felt it.

      She looked down pityingly at the little creature, thinking that at last her husband had sent a maid; but the hideous lines on the wizened face, the unnatural gleam of the deep-set eyes, and the intense pallor of the fleshless cheek so terrified her that the words of kindness froze upon her lips and rendered her powerless to move a muscle.

      Like some weird goblin in a witches' cave, this dreadful creature fitted her surroundings. There was something ghost-like in her motions, and as she beckoned with her hands and then glided to the door, Evelyn felt forced to follow her just as one would follow a will-o'-the-wisp even to the borders of destruction.

      The door swung noiselessly, and even in her amazement Evelyn noticed that no hand had touched it.

      "See, I give you your chance — Go!" The ghostly lips were speaking to her. Evelyn heard the words distinctly, though they were spoken only in a sepulchral whisper. She could hardly control her trembling limbs, and, not yet calm enough to speak, she shook her head at the ghostly creature. Instantly the door was closed and softly bolted.

      "Poor fool! Poor fool!" came again in that whisper. "Poor fool! You should have gone at once — you saw the light, but you are fated."

      Then the groans and mutterings began again, and in another instant Evelyn stood alone, her husband calling her from the top of the stairs, where he stood apologizing for his extraordinary conduct.

      "I was looking for a maid," he said quietly, "but it seems they did not expect us to-night and so have given you a dismal welcome."

      Evelyn followed him without a word — she had not yet overcome her horror — but, once in her room, she breathed a little freer, for here, at least, the furnishings were modern and the air more free from the taint of horror.

      When the maid entered Evelyn was surprised to find her an aged woman. Hideous she was, and horribly misshapen also, but the distorting lines were in flesh and blood and her demeanor that of a well-trained servant. She waited upon Evelyn silently, but served her master with a slave's devotion.

      "Is the studio ready, Dib?" he asked her suddenly, but almost before he asked, she had answered, "Ay, the studio is ready — READY AND WAITING!"

      Evelyn noticed the curious promptness of her words, and detected also the meaning glance that passed between her husband and this creature.

      "Studio," she managed to say in mild surprise; "why you never told me, Armand, that you really had a studio here."

      "Master is a great artist," the maid vouchsafed quickly. "He is painting a wonderful picture now — the world will be at his feet when it is finished."

      Her master flushed angrily and turned on her a furious face. "The 'world' be d—d!" he began savagely. "Say rather that Art, Great, Glorious Art, will be within my grasp! Say that I shall have conquered man's noblest power, that I shall have surpassed man's grandest talents! Say that I shall have risen to heights no man has ever attained before, and that my masterpiece, called 'Life in Death,' will be the greatest of all pictures! Say this, if you will, but of the world — Bah! I scorn the world and its homage!"

      Before the tirade was finished he had risen and was gesticulating wildly. Evelyn glanced from one to the other, and again she shivered with an unknown horror. Was this the reason of her aunt's persistence? She understood it now, and her heart seemed stopping. He was mad, this artist she had wedded — or was this rhapsody on Art, this sudden harangue of his skill, but the rambling of an ambitious dreamer?

      A mystery seemed hovering about her head, a strange and ominous spell was on her, but as yet she was powerless to connect her thoughts or even shape her worst suspicions. She had seen the light, the ghostly whisper had said, but not for a moment did she comprehend the omen. That a simple light could menace her was contrary to all faith and reason, but the maid was handing her a tempting drink, and the next she knew of her surroundings the rising sun had lighted her room and her husband was calling her to come and see his picture.

      Before the canvas Evelyn recoiled instinctively, while yet the picture enchained her senses. She was forced to admit the artist's skill in depicting the agony of death upon those beautiful features.

      How had he done it, she asked herself as she stood transfixed before the painting. It was easy to portray each phase of life, for smiles and tears are one's life companions, but to search the mind for the pallor of death, for the agony of drawn muscles and pinched and ghastly features — she could not comprehend such morbid genius.

      It was with this in mind that she turned and looked at her new-made husband. Like one pierced by an instantaneous, fearful knowledge, she dropped her eyes and trembled violently.

      Straight as an arrow had come the truth at last that this skill, this talent he had shown, was not the result of imagination, BUT HE HAD COPIED FROM A DYING MODEL.

      He was looking at her sharply now, so sharply that she recoiled from his glance as she would have recoiled from impending danger. There was a ferocious earnestness in his gaze, an eager scrutiny of her every feature; and over all there rested an expression of calmly diabolical intent to sacrifice everything to his art, that proved to her in one fleeting glance a full understanding of her destiny.

      She turned back instinctively to the canvas and saw what she had not detected before, that the former model resembled her in age, in contour, and in feature. She had died horribly, she saw that at a glance; there were blue drawn lines about her mouth, there were purple shadows about her eyes, and — yes, she could see it all distinctly now — there were signs of bloating about the body. With an effort she turned and glided past him from the room. The former model of that picture had been foully poisoned, and the artist's bride was now to be his model.

      She reached the lower door and tried to open it, but was not surprised to find it fastened. She tore at the heavy draperies about the walls, but nowhere could she find an exit. Then with the certainty of her doom growing surer and surer, she sank down at last upon the floor in a merciful respite of unconsciousness.

      When her reason returned she felt a sensation as of liquid being forced between her lips, and once more there came to her ears that horrible sound beneath the floor and the knowledge of some unearthly presence. She struggled to dash the cup from her lips, but that ghostly whispering voice restrained her.

      "You have been poisoned already," it said distinctly. "Drink this and you will be safe to-day, but to-morrow —" Here the whisper ended.

      All day long the artist monster watched and waited for the first symptoms of the poison to appear, but the antidote given by unseen hands had evidently been successful. In vain he mixed his paints and arranged his brushes, but, except for the pallor and fear upon Evelyn's face, he could see no change that was worth his trouble.

      Not a word was said by him, although Evelyn pleaded for her life in a perfect agony of terror. Art was his master — his picture his idol; and with the insanity of a demon in his brain he bided his time to accomplish his object. In diabolical cunning he planned to inject more poison while she slept, so that as night approached he retired to his room, thinking that for her to escape was simply impossible.

      It was apparent to Evelyn that he knew nothing of the existence of the ghostly creature, and to this uncanny spirit she looked for her relief and freedom. At the first moment that he relaxed his watchfulness Evelyn fled to the lower hall and called aloud to the depths below her. And once more that weird, misshapen form appeared; but the unseeing lustre of its eye seemed altered to a pleading eagerness. Evelyn listened and heard with a beating heart these words in that sepulchral whisper:

      "To-morrow he will finish his picture and you will become like us, the weary ghosts of his former models — unless —" And the whisper melted to a sad entreaty.

      "What can I do? How can I save you?" Evelyn asked wildly, guessing that this poor soul's deliverance might mean the price of her own salvation.

      The shapeless form floated suddenly away, the groans below her sounded louder and louder; then, silently as it had gone, the shadowy creature reappeared, and Evelyn was overjoyed to see the outer door swing open.

      "There are others to be released," the whispering voice said, shrilly, as the shadow barred the way. "Others who, like myself, were the victims of this artist monster. We could not escape without a helping hand, and that hand, we vowed, should be another victim's. And then, beckoning once more, it glided out, with Evelyn following the floating figure.

      "About the light!" Evelyn called out faintly; but an answer came back, "Fear not the light; the light was only our midnight warning."

      The door closed noiselessly when the two had passed, and standing beneath the stars Evelyn beheld a fearful picture.

      Before her, in the darkness, floated seven unearthly and uncanny shapes, the poor, imprisoned ghosts of her husband's beautiful poisoned models. The horror of it nearly turned her brain, and realizing at last the service they had done her she stretched out her arms to them in the darkness of the night, but like shadows they had melted away and vanished.

      With a cry Evelyn started forward after them, but the hand that held her back just now was not the hand of an apparition.

      She opened her eyes and saw the familiar face of her betrothed bending over the divan where she had fallen asleep.

      "What is the matter, my dear Evelyn?" Armand asked anxiously.

      But with an ill-concealed shudder of aversion the girl moaned, "Oh, I've had such a horrible dream!" Then she demanded grimly, "Are you sure, Armand, that you have told me all about your past?"

      Then Armand was only amused, and laughed, "Yes; but I can tell you something about yours. You've been flirting with lobster à la Newburg."