en of being
satisfied, we hurriedly rose. It was the most uncomfortable meal I ever
ate in my life.

VI

A SOMBRE EVENING

The evening, like the afternoon, was spent in the sitting-room with one
of the sisters. One event alone is worth recording. I had become
excessively tired of a conversation that always languished, no matter on
what topic it started, and, observing an old piano in one corner--I once
played very well--I sat down before it and impulsively struck a few
chords from the yellow keys. Instantly Lucetta--it was Lucetta who was
with me then--bounded to my side with a look of horror.

"Don't do that!" she cried, laying her hand on mine to stop me. Then,
seeing my look of dignified astonishment, she added with an appealing
smile, "I beg pardon, but every sound goes through me to-night."

"Are you not well?" I asked.

"I am never very well," she returned, and we went back to the sofa and
renewed our forced and pitiful attempts at conversation.

Promptly at nine o'clock Miss Knollys came in. She was very pale and
cast, as usual, a sad and uneasy look at her sister before she spoke to
me. Immediately Lucetta rose, and, becoming very pale herself, was
hurrying toward the door when her sister stopped her.

"You have forgotten," she said, "to say good-night to our guest."

Instantly Lucetta turned, and, with a sudden, uncontrollable impulse,
seized my hand and pressed it convulsively.

"Good-night," she cried. "I hope you will sleep well," and was gone
before I could say a word in response.

"Why does Lucetta go out of the room when you come in?" I asked,
determined to know the reason for this peculiar conduct. "Have you any
other guests in the house?"

The reply came with unexpected vehemence. "No," she cried, "why should
you think so? There is no one here but the family." And she turned away
with a dignity she must have inherited from her father, for Althea
Burroughs had every interesting quality but that. "You must be very
tired," she remarked. "If you please we will go now to your room."

I rose at once, glad of the prospect of seeing the upper portion of the
house. She took my wraps on her arm, and we passed immediately into the
hall. As we did so, I heard voices, one of them shrill and full of
distress; but the sound was so quickly smothered by a closing door that
I failed to discover whether this tone of suffering proceeded from a man
or a woman.

Miss Knollys, who was preceding me, g