A BIRD OF THE AIR.

IT is twenty years since I was in college and roomed in Stoughton, - the north entry, if I remember rightly. I have not seen Cambridge since that time, being something of a wanderer. I live at present in Buenos Ayres, where I am engaged in business - but these autobiographical particulars have little to do with my story.

My room-mate was Stephen Maymore. As I write, I can see him - yes, as he appeared to me on that terrible night! I shall never forget, to my dying day, under what circumstances I saw him last!

We were Juniors when what I am about to relate occurred. Stephen had complained of not feeling very well for several days, and on the evening in question he had started out, as he said, for a short walk, "to ??? me up a little." I had many times noted how nervous he had become. He started at any sudden sound, and often I had overheard him talking to himself. He had also complained of bad dreams; he certainly had been feverishly restless during these past few nights, and he had succeeded in infecting me with the same trouble. I knew that he was completely worn out, and I begged him to go home for a week or two and take the much-needed rest; whereat he only smiled dubiously, and muttered, "Yes, yes - in a few days - as soon as -" invariably ending with an excuse for delay.

But on this night, when he left me for a walk, he seemed stronger and more cheerful. I concluded that his nervous trouble had spent its force, and began to hope that before long he would be his old self again. Therefore I, sitting before the fire, smoking my pipe and reading very leisurely the morrow's lesson in Latin, awaited his coming back with some degree of unconcern. But when it grew to be eleven o'clock, and as yet no signs of him, I could not help being a little anxious. I don't know why - it is not usual for fellows to worry much over one another's goings-out and comings-in - but yet - there was something, a premonition of danger, I might call it, that weighed heavily upon my spirits. I wandered about the room uneasily; I tried to get interested in "Bleak House;" I returned to my pipe for consolation. I was miserably restless. The clock struck twelve, - hollow, resounding strokes, every one of which increased my nervous expectation. I felt that I must do something; I took up my hat and coat, and was about to start off myself in search of Steve, when I heard a brisk, firm step on the stair, and the missing man himself entered. He came in radiant and glowing with exercise.

"Ha! old fellow! where are you going at this time of night?"

"I - I began to think that - that you were never coming." One man hates to confess to another that he has been anxious about him; especially when that other comes back in a cheerful mood which is almost exasperating.

"I took a run up Arlington way. I did not suspect how late it was. There, I feel like a new man!"

I was very glad to hear it.

"Don't go to bed yet, Carl. Sit up and have a smoke. Got any beer? Don't go to bed yet, ha, ha!"

I began to be as much surprised at his boisterous mirth as I had formerly been at his downcast and gloomy behavior. "Your run has indeed put you in good spirits," I remarked.

"You think so, do you?" He began to execute an intricate double shuffle on the carpet, quite unmindful of our neighbors beneath. This was a most extraordinary performance for Steve, usually a very quiet and modest fellow. I began to suspect that he had imbibed too freely on his way to Arlington.

Suddenly he threw himself into a chair and burst out into a loud laugh. I somewhat petulantly threw aside my overcoat and sat down opposite. His merriment continued unabated, despite certain sneering remarks of my own. I had at last almost come to believe him crazy, when - I could hear his laugh mockingly re-echoed in the entry. I started to my feet, saying, "Hush! hear that!" Then he stopped and looked wonderingly at the door. The laughter outside did not abate; I wondered if the occupants of the other rooms did not hear it. Suddenly it ceased, and there was a knock at the door. That knock broke sharply across my nerves; I felt a horrible sensation of ghostly terror which I tried in vain to repress. I did not rise; I motioned to Steve to answer the summons. He smiles quietly, - even contemptuously, I thought, - and opened the door. There was no living person in sight. But that mocking laugh broke out again.

"Come in!" called Stephen boldly. The laugh drew nearer - entered the room, yet invisible - came very near me - suddenly ceased again. Dead silence while I sat with lips white as ashes, gazing at . . . . nothing!

"What's the matter with you, Carl?" said Stephen lightly. "Let me introduce you to my friend, Mr. Moon. Shake hands with him."

I felt my hand seized as by an iron grasp a moment, that forced a cry of pain from me; and when I withdrew it there were finger-marks of livid scarlet across it, - that did not fade away.

"Sit down, Moon, and make yourself at home," pursued my room-mate. And then that mocking laughter began again.

I felt myself helpless as a dead man. I seemed to be in another world; that familiar college room was strange and unreal. A wonderful enchantment possessed me. I looked at the clock: the hands were moving irregularly backward and forward, though it had stopped ticking. There was an escritoire in one corner of the room, and the cover of this fell down with a loud bang. Inside was a man's skull. The pictures seemed to move in their frames. I could see the figure of a dog run madly back and forth; the horses in "Aurora" were galloping furiously. With fearful effort I rose to my feet and tried to escape from the room, but an invisible bar held me back at the doorway. Meanwhile the wind had risen and was blowing the curtains to and fro.

The laughter stopped; the strange movements ceased. Dead silence again. Stephen sat quietly by the fire, neither stirring nor speaking. I looked on in dumb amazement; and then, as I looked, I saw him rise to his feet, with a livid light in his eyes; I saw him draw from his pocket a revolver and point it at some invisible mark. I tried to shriek for help; I tried to move. I might as well have been a statue. Then I saw the revolver snatched from him by a hand; I saw a face, distinct and clear as his own - a face whose every line is deeply imprinted on my memory; I saw that face light up with a smile of exultation, and that hand pressed on the trigger; I saw Stephen fall heavily - dead! But the revolver made no noise!

Darkness was before my eyes and a damp like the sweat of death was gathered on my forehead, as I sank unconscious to the floor.

(To be continued.)