You mustn't get fanciful," I declared. "Men die every day, you know,
and I fancy that this one was on his last legs. Good-night."

Her lips parted as though in an answering greeting, but it was
inaudible. As I looked round at the top of the street I saw her still
standing there in the little flood of yellow light, gazing across
towards the old market-hall.

CHAPTER VIII

A WONDERFUL OFFER

On my little table lay the letter I expected, large, square, and white.
I tore it open with trembling fingers. The handwriting was firm and yet
delicate. I knew at once whose it was.

"Rowchester, Tuesday.

"DEAR MR. DUCAINE,--My father wishes me to say that he and Lord
Chelsford will call upon you to-morrow morning, between ten and eleven
o'clock.--With best regards, I am,

"Yours sincerely,

"ANGELA HARBERLY."

The letter slipped from my hands on to the table. Lord Chelsford was a
Cabinet Minister and a famous man. What could he have to do with any
appointment which the Duke might offer me? I read the few words over
and over again. The handwriting, the very faint perfume which seemed to
steal out of the envelope, a moment's swift retrospective thought, and
my fancy had conjured her into actual life. She was there in the room
with me, slim and shadowy, with her quiet voice and movements, and with
that haunting, doubtful look in her dark eyes. What had she meant by
that curious warning? What was the knowledge or the fear which inspired
it? If one could only understand!

I sat down in my chair and tried to read, but the effort was useless.
Directly opposite to me was that black uncurtained window. Every time I
looked up it seemed to become once more the frame for a white evil face.
At last I could bear it no longer. I rose and left the house. I
wandered capless across the marshes to where the wet seaweed lay strewn
about, and the long waves came rolling shorewards; a wilderness now
indeed of grey mists, of dark silent tongues of sea-water cleaving the
land. There was no wind-no other sound than the steadfast monotonous
lapping of the waves upon the sands. Along that road he had come; the
faintly burning light upon my table showed where he had pressed his face
against the window. Then he had wandered on, past the storm-bent tree
at the turn of the road pointing landwards. A few yards farther was the
creek from which we had dragged him. The events of the night struggled
to reconstruct themselves in my mind, and I fought