hould
say that some evil spirit then went out of the violin, and broke in his
parting throes the wooden tabernacle which had so long sheltered him. It
was the last time the instrument was ever used, and that hideous chord
was the last that Maltravers ever played.

I had feared that the shock of waking thus suddenly from sleep would
have a very prejudicial effect upon the sleep-walker, but this seemed
not to be the case. I persuaded him to go back at once to bed, and in a
few minutes he fell asleep again. In the morning he seemed for the first
time distinctly better; there was indeed something of his old self in
his manner. It seemed as though the breaking of the violin had been an
actual relief to him; and I believe that on that Christmas morning his
better instincts woke, and that his old religious training and the
associations of his boyhood then made their last appeal. I was pleased
at such a change, however temporary it might prove. He wished to go to
church, and I determined that again I would subdue my curiosity and
defer the questions I was burning to put till after our return from
the morning service. Miss Maltravers had gone indoors to make some
preparation, Sir John was in his wheel-chair on the terrace, and I was
sitting by him in the sun. For a few moments he appeared immersed in
silent thought, and then bent over towards me till his head was close
to mine, and said, "Dear William, there is something I must tell you.
I feel I cannot even go to church till I have told you all." His manner
shocked me beyond expression. I knew that he was going to tell me the
secret of the lost pages, but instead of wishing any longer to have my
curiosity satisfied, I felt a horrible dread of what he might say next.
He took my hand in his and held it tightly, as a man who was about to
undergo severe physical pain and sought the consolation of a friend's
support. Then he went on--"You will be shocked at what I am going to
tell you; but listen, and do not give me up: You must stand by me and
comfort me and help me to turn again." He paused for a moment and
continued--"It was one night in October, when Constance and I were at
Naples. I took that violin and went by myself to the ruined villa on
the Scoglio di Venere." He had been speaking with difficulty. His hand
clutched mine convulsively, but still I felt it trembling, and I could
see the moisture standing thick on his forehead. At this point the
effort seemed too much for him a