A sinking of the ringing tones whose powerful vibration had made this
conversation possible, caused her to pause. When the notes grew loud
enough again for her to proceed, she seemed to have forgotten the
question she was about to propound, and simply inquired:

"Had he any thing to say about what he overheard--or saw?"

"No. If he spoke the truth and stood in the hall as he said, the sounds,
if sounds there were, stopped short of the sitting-room door, for he has
nothing to say about them."

A change passed over Miss Dare. She dropped her eyes, and an instant's
pause followed this last acknowledgment.

"Will you tell me," she inquired, at last, speaking very slowly, in an
attempt to infuse into her voice no more than a natural tone of
interest, "how it was he came to say he stood in that place during the
assault?"

"He did not say he stood in that place during the assault," was again
the forced rejoinder of Mr. Byrd. "It was by means of a nice calculation
of time and events, that it was found he must have been in the house at
or near the fatal moment."

Another pause; another bar of that lovely music.

"And he is a gentleman, you say?" was her hurried remark at last.

"Yes, and a very handsome one."

"And they have put him in prison?"

"Yes, or will on the morrow."

She turned and leaned against a window-frame near by, looking with eyes
that saw nothing into the still vast night.

"I suppose he has friends," she faintly suggested.

"Two sisters, if no one nearer and dearer."

"Thou hast called me thy angel in moments of bliss,
And thy angel I 'll be, 'mid the horrors of this--
Through the furnace, unshrinking, thy steps to pursue,
And shield thee, and save thee--or perish there too,"

rang the mellow song.

"I am not well," she suddenly cried, leaving the window and turning
quickly toward Mr. Byrd. "I am much obliged to you," said she, lowering
her voice to a whisper, for the last note of the song was dying away in
a quivering _pianissimo_. "I have been deeply interested in this
tragedy, and am thankful for any information in regard to it. I must now
bid you good-evening."

And with a stately bow into which she infused the mingled courtesy and
haughtiness of her nature, she walked steadily away through the crowd
that vainly sought to stay her, and disappeared, almost without a pause,
behind the door that opened into the hall.

Mr. Byrd remained for a