Things were no better when he reached Bellevue Lodge. He was wet and
chilled, and there was no fire in the grate, because it was too early in
the year for such luxuries to be afforded. He would go to the kitchen,
and take his tea there. It was Saturday afternoon. Miss Joliffe would
be at the Dorcas meeting, but Anastasia would be in; and this reflection
came to him as a ray of sunlight in a dark and lowering time. Anastasia
would be in, and alone; he would sit by the fire and drink a cup of hot
tea, while Anastasia should talk to him and gladden his heart. He
tapped lightly at the kitchen-door, and as he opened it a gusty buffet
of damp air smote him on the face; the room was empty. Through a
half-open sash the wet had driven in, and darkened the top of the deal
table which stood against the window; the fire was but a smouldering
ash. He shut the window instinctively while he reflected. Where could
Anastasia be? She must have left the kitchen some time, otherwise the
fire would not be so low, and she would have seen that the rain was
beating in. She must be upstairs; she had no doubt taken advantage of
Westray's absence to set his room in order. He would go up to her;
perhaps there was a fire in Westray's room.

He went up the circular stone staircase, that ran like a wide well from
top to bottom of the old Hand of God. The stone steps and the stone
floor of the hall, the stuccoed walls, and the coved stucco roof which
held the skylight at the top, made a whispering-gallery of that gaunt
staircase; and before Mr Sharnall had climbed half-way up he heard
voices.

They were voices in conversation; Anastasia had company. And then he
heard that one was a man's voice. What right had any man to be in
Westray's room? What man had any right to be talking to Anastasia? A
wild suspicion passed through his mind--no, that was quite impossible.
He would not play the eavesdropper or creep near them to listen; but, as
he reflected, he had mounted a step or two higher, and the voices were
now more distinct. Anastasia had finished speaking, and the man began
again. There was one second of uncertainty in Mr Sharnall's mind,
while the hope that it was not, balanced the fear that it was; and then
doubt vanished, and he knew the voice to be Lord Blandamer's.

The organist sprang up two or three steps very quickly. He would go
straight to them--straight into Westray's room; he would--And then he
paused; he would do,