Unconsidered Threats

by Mary C. Vaughan

There was the hush of an awful silence over the house, broken only now and again by a suppressed sob that had more of terror than grief in its sound.

All the windows were darkened, all the doors closed.  The dinner hour was near, but there were no savory odors from the kitchen, no bustle of preparation; and the dining-room was dark, smelling like a vault within its closed shutters.  A faint ray of nearly extinguished gas glimmered from one of the brackets, instead of the blaze from the great chandelier, which usually, at that hour, made a noonday glare in the handsome apartment, as it illuminated the beautiful china and silver and crystal of the dinner-service, and the smiling faces and handsome toilets of the “guests” at Mrs. Silverton’s large and fashionable “establishment.”

No key clicked in the lock, no impatient ring of the bell told that the ladies were returning from their afternoon shopping or promenade, or the gentlemen from their business and bread-winning.  This latter phrase is only metaphorical, for Mrs. Silverton prided herself on never receiving any person who had not long since passed the bread-winning stage, and come to count his income by thousands.

This very fact made the horror and the mystery of the past night more terrible.  “If it had only been a low common place, my dear!”  Mrs. Silverton had over again exclaimed to her intimates, “why, I am sure a dozen men might have been murdered in some places that I have – read about – without creating such a stir.”  And then Mrs. Silverton would composedly clasp her white hands upon her well-developed bosom, lean… Read More