Olive assented in silence, and moved towards the door, followed by the others. On the threshold however, she turned to take a last look at Adrian, and truly it was a strange scene which met her eye. On the table burned an oil lamp with a bright yellow flame, which only illuminated half the room, the rest being in a kind of semidarkness, and on the verge of this radiance was the couch, covered with a tiger skin, upon which lay the body of Adrian Lancaster, still arrayed in the ulster he had worn, with the quiet hands crossed on the placid breast, the eyes closed, the lips smileless, and a look of terrible calm on the white face. Olive had placed a great bunch of tuber-roses in his hands, and the sickly odour permeated the whole apartment, while, as the group stood silently at the door, dead stillness seemed to reign around. Suddenly from the black marble clock over the mantelpiece there sounded the hour of nine, in deep hollow tones, like the knell of a funeral bell. One! two! three! four! five! six! seven! eight! nine!--they rang heavily through the silence of the night, while the listeners, overcome by the strangeness of the scene, stood immovable, counting each sonorous stroke with mute lips. As the last died away in silence, there was an awful pause, as if the absence of sound made the quiet more ghastly, and then-- The figure on the couch stirred and sighed--the hands raised themselves off the breast, and the flowers fell with a muffled sound on the floor. The onlookers gazed at this awesome resurrection in paralyzed silence, and it was only when Adrian opened his eyes, and languidly tried to rise, that the spell broke, and Olive fell on the floor, while the three men rushed forward in a state of uncontrollable agitation. "He lives! he lives!" cried Sir John, placing his arm under Adrian's head, and cautiously lifting him to an erect sitting position. "I knew it was a trance," said Teddy triumphantly, "poor old chap, he seems quite worn out," and with great presence of mind, he poured out a glass of wine, and held it to Adrian's lips. While he was drinking it, the sergeant stood scratching his head in amazement. "I never saw such a queer thing in my life," he said, staring at Adrian with a look of awe on his face, "it's like the raisin' of Lazarus." Adrian, revived somewhat with the wine, spoke in a faint voice. "Olive," he whispered, "Olive." The woman on the floor heard the beloved voice, and, raising herself to her knees, dragged herself across the floor to the side of the couch and, with one cry of joy, clasped Adrian to her breast. * * * * * * EXTRACT FROM "THE MORNING PLANET."