return into the main hall I heard steps on the grand
staircase. Looking up, I saw the two girls descending, followed by
Sinclair. He had been successful, then, in inducing Dorothy to come
down. What would be the result? Could I stand the suspense of the
impending interview?

As they stepped within the rays of the solitary gas jet already
mentioned, I cast one quick look into Gilbertine's face, then a long one
into Dorothy's. I could read neither. If it was horror and horror only
which rendered both so pale and fixed of feature, then their emotion was
similar in character and intensity. But if in either breast the one
dominant sentiment was fear--horrible, blood-curdling fear--then was
that fear confined to Dorothy; for while Gilbertine advanced bravely,
Dorothy's steps lagged, and at the point where she should have turned
into the library, she whirled sharply about, and made as if she would
fly back upstairs.

But one stare from Gilbertine, one word from Sinclair, recalled her to
herself, and she passed in, and the door closed upon the three. I was
left to prevent possible intrusion, and to eat out my heart in
intolerable suspense.

VI

DOROTHY SPEAKS

I shall not subject you to the ordeal from which I suffered. You shall
follow my three friends into the room. According to Sinclair's
description, the interview proceeded thus:

As soon as the door had closed upon them, and before either of the girls
had a chance to speak, he remarked to Gilbertine:

"I have brought you here because I wish to express to you, in the
presence of your cousin, my sympathy for the bereavement which in an
instant has robbed you both of a lifelong guardian. I also wish to say,
in the light of this sad event, that I am ready, if propriety so exacts,
to postpone the ceremony which I hoped would unite our lives to-day.
Your wish shall be my wish, Gilbertine; though I would suggest that
possibly you never more needed the sympathy and protection which only a
husband can give than you do to-day."

He told me afterward that he was so taken up with the effect of this
suggestion on Gilbertine that he forgot to look at Dorothy, though the
hint he strove to convey of impending trouble was meant as much for her
as for his affianced bride. In another moment he regretted this,
especially when he saw that Dorothy had changed her attitude, and was
now looking away from them both.

"What do you say, Gilbertine?" he asked earnestly, as she sat flus