, and regretted the question almost before it was
spoken. But it was spoken, and Harry's eyes turned swiftly toward Sutch,
and rested upon his face, not, however, with any betrayal of guilt, but
quietly, inscrutably. Nor did he answer the question, although it was
answered in a fashion by General Feversham.

"Harry understand!" exclaimed the general, with a snort of indignation.
"How should he? He's a Feversham."

The question, which Harry's glance had mutely put before, Sutch in the
same mute way repeated. "Are you blind?" his eyes asked of General
Feversham. Never had he heard an untruth so demonstrably untrue. A mere
look at the father and the son proved it so. Harry Feversham wore his
father's name, but he had his mother's dark and haunted eyes, his
mother's breadth of forehead, his mother's delicacy of profile, his
mother's imagination. It needed perhaps a stranger to recognise the
truth. The father had been so long familiar with his son's aspect that
it had no significance to his mind.

"Look at the clock, Harry."

The hour's furlough had run out. Harry rose from his chair, and drew a
breath.

"Good night, sir," he said, and walked to the door.

The servants had long since gone to bed; and, as Harry opened the door,
the hall gaped black like the mouth of night. For a second or two the
boy hesitated upon the threshold, and seemed almost to shrink back into
the lighted room as though in that dark void peril awaited him. And
peril did--the peril of his thoughts.

He stepped out of the room and closed the door behind him. The decanter
was sent again upon its rounds; there was a popping of soda-water
bottles; the talk revolved again in its accustomed groove. Harry was in
an instant forgotten by all but Sutch. The lieutenant, although he
prided himself upon his impartial and disinterested study of human
nature, was the kindliest of men. He had more kindliness than
observation by a great deal. Moreover, there were special reasons which
caused him to take an interest in Harry Feversham. He sat for a little
while with the air of a man profoundly disturbed. Then, acting upon an
impulse, he went to the door, opened it noiselessly, as noiselessly
passed out, and, without so much as a click of the latch, closed the
door behind him.

And this is what he saw: Harry Feversham, holding in the centre of the
hall a lighted candle high above his head, and looking up toward the
portraits of the Fevershams as they mounted the