A BIRD OF THE AIR.

Missing.

THE sun was streaming brightly through the curtains, and I was lying all dressed upon the sofa, when I regained consciousness. Slowly the veil that clouded my memory lifted, and I could look back at the horror and darkness of the night, which had so suddenly come to an end. But I was long in comprehending what had passed. It seemed like being in another world, with the newness of awakened life and the radiance of a fresh spring day. I rose slowly and tried to think what had happened. Then, like a lightning-flash, the truth was revealed to me. Who had fired that revolver, and why did it make no noise? And where was Stephen? I looked about me in a bewildered way. There was no trace of the terrible contest I had witnessed the night before; there was no dead man on the floor, no blood-spot or stain, no sign of struggle or death. What was it I had seen, - a mere nightmare, a vision? I could not think so. I had been too profoundly affected by that scene, whatever it was, to let it vanish utterly in the morning brightness that made it seem an unreality. But where was Stephen? Where was his murderer? For murdered he must have been! Had I not seen him fall with my own eyes? And how - how came I dressed, lying in a swoon upon the sofa?

I opened the bedroom door - ours was one of those rare Stoughton rooms which have a bedroom - and looked within. No sign of life; the bed unslept-in, undisturbed. What, then, had happened, if not the terrible tragedy that I was ready to think I had seen?

I sat myself down on the sofa again, and tried to think. I might as well have tried to fly. My brain was spinning about like a wheel, and I could distinguish nothing clearly. There was the dream, the vision, the actuality, whatever it was, of the night before; here was the fact of to-day, the bright sunlight, the undisturbed room, and - myself. Where was Stephen? That was the question that kept repeating itself over and over, the question for which I could find no answer. Only in my own consciousness remained any trace of the night before.

I rose again. Mechanically I made a hasty toilet and went over to breakfast. My friends told me that I looked pale, and had lost my appetite. It was no news to me. I asked if Stephen had been anywhere seen. No, not since yesterday. Where was he? I could say nothing, except that I did not know; I could not bring in that strange enchanted vision as evidence.

So the days passed and he did not come. He had utterly vanished from the face of the earth. You may imagine that this made no little sensation, not only in the college, but in the entire vicinity. I can honestly affirm that I did my best to unlock the door of this secret mystery; but my wildest conjectures resulted in no inkling of the truth. Indeed, I have heard it whispered that there were those who remotely connected ME with his disappearance; but the rumor did not reach my ears to disturb me then. Besides, I do not doubt but my haggard and harassed appearance during these terrible days may not unjustly have given rise to some such indistinct suspicion. Be that as it may, here is the fact. I never saw Stephen Maymore again.