lsewhere all
was hard, all was dreary, all was inexorably forbidding and cold. I
shuddered as I looked, and shuddered still more as I approached the bed
and paused firmly before it.

"Madame Letellier"--it was the only name by which I could bring myself
to address her at that instant--"there is one gleam of brightness in
your sky. The marquis knows the story of your guilt, yet consents to
marry your daughter."

I received no reply.

Shaken by fresh doubts, and moved by an inexplicable terror, I stood
still for a moment gathering up my strength, then I repeated my words,
this time with sharp emphasis and scarcely concealed importunity.

"Madame," said I, "the marquis knows your guilt, yet consents to marry
your daughter."

But the silence within remained unbroken, and not a movement displaced
the somber falling curtains.

Agitated beyond endurance, I stretched forth my hands and drew those
curtains aside. An unexpected sight met my eyes. There was no madame
there; the bed was empty.

CHAPTER XXVI.

FOR THE LAST TIME.

My eyes turned immediately in the direction of the secret chamber. Its
entrance was closed, but I knew she was hidden there as well as if the
door had been open and I had seen her.

What should I do? For a moment I hesitated, then I rushed from the room
and hastened back to Mr. Felt. I found him standing with his face to the
door, eagerly awaiting my return.

"What has happened?" he asked, importunately. "Your face is as pale as
death."

"Because death is in the house. Madame--"

"Ah!"

"Lies not in her bed, nor is she to be found in her room. There is
another place, however, in which instinct tells me we shall find her,
and if we do, we shall find her dead!"

"In her daughter's room? At her daughter's bedside?"

"No; in the secret chamber."

He gazed at me with wild and haggard aspect.

"You are right," he hoarsely assented. "Let us go; let us seek her; it
may not be too late."

The entrance to this hidden room was closed, as I have said, and as I
had never assisted at its opening, I did not know where to find the
hidden spring by means of which the panel was moved. We had, therefore,
to endure minutes of suspense while Mr. Felt fumbled at the wainscoting.
The candle I held shook with my agitation, and though I had heard
nothing of the storm before, it seemed now as if every gust which came
swooping down upon the house tore its way through my shrinking
consciousness with