loomy
bed-chamber, where chill draughts rustled ghost-like amongst the
heavy, faded hangings, and the feeble candlelight left weird shadows
moving across the floor and upon the walls. Again he heard the
rattling of the window-panes, bare and exposed to every gust of wind;
the far-off thunder of the sea, like a deep, continuous undernote;
and, from an almost unseen corner of the chamber, the monotonous,
broken rhythm of sad prayers for the dying, mumbled by that dark,
curious-looking priest. And then, when the background of the picture
had formed itself in his memory, he saw the deed itself. He saw
the white, stricken face suddenly ablaze with that last effort of
passionate life; he saw the outstretched arm, the line of fire, and
the sudden change in the countenance of the man who stood at the foot
of the bed. He saw the cool cynicism replaced by a spasm of ghastly
fear, and he heard the low, gurgling cry dying away into a faint moan
of terror, as the murdered man sank on to the floor, a crumpled heap.
And, last of all, he saw that little brown girl, with her tumbled hair
and tear-stained face, clasping the dead body and glaring at every one
in the room, with a storm of hatred and impotent fury in her flashing
eyes. And that last recollection brought him, like a flash, back
to the present,--brought him swift, bewildering memories of Adrea,
shaking his heart, and bringing the hot colour streaming into his
face. He remembered where he was, and why he had left London. He
remembered, too, that he was not alone, and with a little start he
awoke to the present.

Reynolds had left the room, and his mother was watching him curiously.
He found it hard to meet her steady, questioning gaze without
flinching.

"Paul," she said slowly, "you are in trouble."

He shook his head. "It is nothing, mother--nothing at all. I ought to
beg your pardon for letting my thoughts run away with me so."

She was too proud to ask him for his confidence, and at that moment
the rumbling of a gong reached them from the distant hall. Mrs. de
Vaux rose:--

"There are a few people dining here, Paul, so you will not be late."

"I will be down, mother. The usual time, I suppose."

"Yes, eight o'clock."

They left the room together, but parted in the hall. Mrs. de Vaux
stayed to speak to the housekeeper for a moment, and Paul ascended
the broad staircase alone. On the first corridor he paused, standing
before the deep-cushioned sill of a high-arche