ets of futurity. Could it be possible
that Miss Jane had really seen what was taking place many miles
distant? Reason shook her hoary head, and jeered at such childish
fatuity; but superstitious credulity, goaded by an intense anxiety,
would not be silenced nor put to the blush, but boldly babbled of
Swedenborg and burning Stockholm.

Once she had heard Dr. Grey tell his sister, in answer to some inquiry
concerning the _arcana_ of mesmerism, that he had bestowed much time
and thought upon the investigation of the subject, and was thoroughly
convinced that there existed subtle psychological laws whose
operations were not yet comprehended, but which, when analyzed and
studied, would explain the remarkable influence of mind over mind, and
prove that the dread and baffling mysteries of psychology were merely
normal developments of intellectual power instead of supernatural or
spiritual manifestations.

This abstract view of the matter was, however, most unsatisfactory at
the present juncture; and the current of Salome's reflections was
abruptly changed by the sound of the locomotive whistle,--not the
prolonged, steady roar, announcing arrival, but the sharp, short,
shrill note of departure. Soon after, the clock struck four, and, ere
the echoes fell asleep once more in the sombre corners of the quiet
parlor, Dr. Sheldon drove up to the front door and entered the house.
Springing into the hall, Salome met him, and laid her hand on his
arm.

"Salome, your face frightens me. How is Miss Jane? Has she grown worse
so rapidly since I was here this morning?"

"I see little change in her. But you have locked bad news behind your
set teeth. Oh, for God's sake, don't torture me one second longer!
Tell me the worst. What has happened?"

"The down-train was thrown from an embankment twenty feet high, and
the cars took fire. Many lives have been sacrificed, and it is the
most awful affair I ever heard of."

He had partially averted his head to avoid the sight of her whitening
and convulsed features; but, laying her hands heavily upon his
shoulders, she forced him to face her, and her voice sank to a husky
whisper,--

"Is he dead?"

"I hope not."

"Speak out,--or I shall go mad! Is he dead?"

"Calm yourself, Salome, and let us hope for the best. We know nothing
of the particulars of this dreadful disaster, and have learned the
names of none of the sufferers. I have little doubt that Dr. Grey was
on the train, but there is