er had passed the dogs in that way?

She heard crabbed, sour, but courageous old Williams go to the door. She
heard the clang of bolts and the rattle of chains, and then a weird cry
from Williams. A voice responded that brought Enid, trembling and livid,
into the hall. A young man with a dark, exceedingly handsome face and
somewhat effeminate mouth stood there, with eyes for nothing but the
shining flower-decked casket on the trestles. He seemed beside himself
with rage and grief; he might have been a falsely imprisoned convict face
to face with the real culprit.

"Why didn't you let me know?" he cried. "Why didn't you let me know?"

His voice rang in the roof. Enid flew to his side and placed her hand
upon his lips.

"Your mother is asleep, Frank," she said. "She has had no sleep for three
nights. A long rest may be the means of preserving her sanity. Why did
you come here?"

The young man laughed silently. It was ghastly mirth to see, and it
brought the tears into Enid's eyes. She had forgotten the danger of the
young man's presence.

"I heard that Chris was ill," he said. "They told me that she was
dying. And I could not keep away. And now I have come too late. Oh,
Chris, Chris!"

He fell on his knees by the side of the coffin, his frame shaken by
tearless sobs. Enid bit her lips to keep back the words that rose to
them. She would have given much to have spoken the truth. But at any
hazard she must remain silent. She waited till the paroxysm of grief had
passed away, then she touched the intruder gently on the shoulder.

"There is great danger for you in this house," she said.

"What do I care for danger when Chris lies yonder?"

"But, dear Frank, there are others to consider besides yourself. There is
your mother, for instance. Oh, you ought not to have come here to-night.
If your father knew!"

"My father? He would be the last person in the world to know. And what
cares he about anything, so long as he has his prints and his paintings?
He has no feelings, no heart, no soul, I may say."

"Frank, you must go at once. Do you know that Reginald Henson is here? He
has ears like a hare; it will be nothing less than a miracle unless he
hears your voice. And then--"

The young man was touched at last. The look of grief died out of his eyes
and a certain terror filled them.

"I think that I should have come in any case," he whispered. "I don't
want to bring any further trouble upon you, Enid, but I wanted t