ad not
been a success. She was going away. Very likely he would not see her
again. The great house and all its glories would be closed to him. To do
him justice, he thought of that less than the casual manner of her
farewell. His vanity was deeply wounded. She had begun by being so
gracious--no wonder that he had lost his head a little. He thought over
the events of the last few days. Something had occurred to alter her.
Could he have offended in any way?

He walked dejectedly home, heedless of the sodden path and wet grass. A
light was still burning in the study. He hesitated for a moment, and
then, turning the handle, entered.

"You're late, father," he remarked, going towards the cupboard to select
a pipe.

There was no answer. The still figure in the chair never moved.
Something in the silence struck Stephen as ominous. He turned abruptly
round, and for the first time noticed the condition of the room. A chair
was overturned, a vase of flowers spilt upon the table, the low window,
from which one stepped almost into the village street, was wide open.
The desk in front of the motionless figure was littered all over with
papers in wild confusion. Stephen, with a low cry of horror, crossed the
room and laid his hand upon his father's shoulder. He tried to speak to
him, but the words stuck in his throat. He knew very well that there
could be no reply. His father was sitting dead in his chair.

CHAPTER XI

THE BAYING OF THE HOUNDS

Out amongst the broken fragments of the storm, on the hill-top and down
the rain-drenched lane, Macheson sought in vain by physical exertion to
still the fever which burned in his veins. Nothing he could do was able
to disturb that wonderful memory, to lessen for an instant the
significance of those few amazing seconds. The world of women, all the
lighter and quieter joys of life, he had, with the fierce asceticism of
the young reformer, thrust so resolutely behind him. But he had never
imagined anything like this! Its unexpectedness had swept him off his
feet. The memory of it was most delicious torture!

Sleep?--he dared not think of it. Who could sleep with such a fire in
his blood as this? He heard the storm die away, thunder and wind and
rain melted into the deep stillness of midnight. A dim moon shone behind
a veil of mist. The dripping of rain from the trees alone remained. Then
he heard a footstep coming down the lane. His first wild thought was
that she had returned. H