mate
terms enough to call him. Dead, he is really immensely alluring; and
alive, I think, awfully--just awfully pitiful and--and pathetic. But if
I know anything of Arthur he won't be beaten by a Frenchman. As for
just the portrait, I think, do you know, I almost prefer dark men'--she
glanced up at the face immediately in front of the clock--'at least,'
she added softly, 'when they are not looking very vindictive. I suppose
people are fairly often possessed, Mr Craik? HOW many "deadly sins" are
there?'

'As a matter of fact, Mrs Lovat, there are seven. But I think in this
case Mrs Lawford intends to suggest not so much that--that her husband
is in that condition; habitual sin, you know--grave enough, of course,
I own--but that he is actually being compelled, even to the extent of a
more or less complete change of physiognomy, to follow the biddings of
some atrocious spiritual influence. It is no breach of confidence to
say that I have myself been present at a death-bed where the struggle
against what I may call the end was perfectly awful to witness. I
don't profess to follow all the ramifications of the affair, but though
possibly Mr Danton may seem a little harsh, such harshness, if I may
venture to intercede, is not necessarily "vindictive." And--and personal
security is a consideration.'

'If you only knew the awful fear, the awful uncertainty I have been
in, Bettie! Oh, it is worse, infinitely worse, than you can possibly
imagine. I have myself heard the Voice speak out of him--a high, hard,
nasal voice. I've seen what Mr Danton calls the "glassiness" come into
his face, and an expression so wild and so appallingly depraved, as
it were, that I have had to hurry downstairs to hide myself from the
thought. I'm willing to sacrifice everything for my own husband and for
Alice; but can it be expected of me to go on harbouring....' Lawford
listened on in vain for a moment; poor Sheila, it seemed, had all but
broken down.

'Look here, Mrs Lawford,' began Danton huskily, 'you really mustn't give
way; you really mustn't. It's awful, unspeakably awful, I admit. But
here we are; friends, in the midst of friends. And there's absolutely
nothing--What's that? Eh? Who is it?... Oh, the maid!'

Ada stood in the doorway looking in. 'All I've come to ask, ma'am,' she
said in a low voice, 'is, am I to stay downstairs any longer? And are
you aware there's somebody in the house?'

'What's that? What's that you're saying?' broke o