reath of relief. "It has gone!" he said faintly.

"When you hear the boy's voice," I asked, "do you hear it continuously?"

"No, at intervals; sometimes longer, sometimes shorter."

"And thus far, it comes to you suddenly, and leaves you suddenly?"

"Yes."

"Do my questions annoy you?"

"I make no complaint," he said sadly. "You can see for yourself--I
patiently suffer the punishment that I have deserved."

I contradicted him at once. "It is nothing of the sort! It's a nervous
malady, which medical science can control and cure. Wait till we get to
London."

This expression of opinion produced no effect on him.

"I have taken the life of a fellow-creature," he said. "I have closed
the career of a young man who, but for me, might have lived long and
happily and honorably. Say what you may, I am of the race of Cain. _He_
had the mark set on his brow. I have _my_ ordeal. Delude yourself,
if you like, with false hopes. I can endure--and hope for nothing.
Good-night."

VIII.

EARLY the next morning, the good old butler came to me, in great
perturbation, for a word of advice.

"Do come, sir, and look at the master! I can't find it in my heart to
wake him."

It was time to wake him, if we were to go to London that day. I went
into the bedroom. Although I was no doctor, the restorative importance
of that profound and quiet sleep impressed itself on me so strongly,
that I took the responsibility of leaving him undisturbed. The event
proved that I had acted wisely. He slept until noon. There was no return
of "the torment of the voice"--as he called it, poor fellow. We passed
a quiet day, excepting one little interruption, which I am warned not to
pass over without a word of record in this narrative.

We had returned from a ride. Romayne had gone into the library to
read; and I was just leaving the stables, after a look at some recent
improvements, when a pony-chaise with a gentleman in it drove up to the
door. He asked politely if he might be allowed to see the house. There
were some fine pictures at Vange, as well as many interesting relics of
antiquity; and the rooms were shown, in Romayne's absence, to the very
few travelers who were adventurous enough to cross the heathy desert
that surrounded the Abbey. On this occasion, the stranger was informed
that Mr. Romayne was at home. He at once apologized--with an appearance
of disappointment, however, which induced me to step forward and speak
to him.

"Mr. Romay