e whole business off, as it were."

"And that?" Dominey asked unthinkingly.

"The return of Lady Dominey to health. I was one of the few, you may
remember, privileged to make her acquaintance at the time of your
marriage."

"I paid a visit this morning," Dominey said, "to the doctor who has been
in attendance upon her since her marriage. He agrees with me that there
is no reason why Lady Dominey should not, in course of time, be restored
to perfect health."

"I take the liberty of finishing my glass to that hope, Sir Everard,"
the lawyer murmured.

Both glasses were set down empty, only the stem of Dominey's was snapped
in two. Mr. Mangan expressed his polite regrets.

"This old glass," he murmured, looking at his own admiringly, "becomes
very fragile."

Dominey did not answer. His brain had served him a strange trick. In
the shadows of the room he had fancied that he could see Stephanie
Eiderstrom holding out her arms, calling to him to fulfill the pledges
of long ago, and behind her--

"Have you ever been in love, Mangan?" Dominey asked his companion.

"I, sir? Well, I'm not sure," the man of the world replied, a little
startled by the abruptness of the question. "It's an old-fashioned way
of looking at things now, isn't it?"

Dominey relapsed into thoughtfulness.

"I suppose so," he admitted.

That night a storm rolled up from somewhere across that grey waste of
waters, a storm heralded by a wind which came booming over the marshes,
shaking the latticed windows of Dominey Place, shrieking and wailing
amongst its chimneys and around its many corners. Black clouds leaned
over the land, and drenching streams of rain dashed against the
loose-framed sashes of the windows. Dominey lit the tall candles in
his bedroom, fastened a dressing-gown around him, threw himself into an
easy-chair, and, fixing an electric reading lamp by his side, tried to
read. Very soon the book slipped from his fingers. He became suddenly
tense and watchful. His eyes counted one by one the panels in the wall
by the left-hand side of the bed. The familiar click was twice repeated.
For a moment a dark space appeared. Then a woman, stooping low, glided
into the room. She came slowly towards him, drawn like a moth towards
that semicircle of candle. Her hair hung down her back like a girl's,
and the white dressing-gown which floated diaphanously about her was
unexpectedly reminiscent of Bond Street.

"You are not afraid?" she asked