ine of a
rounded, girlish arm, and though the face was hidden by the drapery, I
was as sure as if I had seen it, that should I push aside the curtain my
eyes would fall upon the counterfeit presentment of Karine Cunningham.

With half-extended hand I paused. The painting was so far covered, and
it was in another man's house. Had I a right to assure myself whether my
supposition were correct? As I hesitated my ears were startled by what I
can only describe as the beginning of a sound.

It was low and inarticulate, yet it seemed to me that it was uttered by
human lips. It commenced with a tremulous, vibrating noise, such as
might have been made by a man groaning with closed mouth and between set
teeth.

I started, and looked over my shoulder, so close did it seem, that I
could almost fancy it had proceeded from a corner of the room behind me.
Still it went on, monotonously, and then suddenly rose with
ever-increasing volume to a yell of utmost agony.

Never had I heard such a shriek, not even in battle, when men were
stabbed or shot, or blown to pieces. So horrible, so long-drawn was it,
that I found myself strangely awe-struck and appalled.

"Great heaven!" I exclaimed aloud, sure now that close at hand fire must
be raging, and have claimed some inmate of the house as its victim.

Though I knew not where to find the servant who had admitted me, or any
other person, I flung open the door through which I had come, and ran
down the passage leading towards the main part of the house. In through
the second and wider one I went, opening a door here and there, but
finding only darkness and emptiness beyond.

I reached the large entrance hall at last, and shouted loudly--"Here,
you! John, James!"--not knowing in the absence of the master and his
guest whom to call upon.

No one answered, and after the horror of the unearthly cry that I had
heard, and now the sound of my own lusty voice, the silence that fell
seemed curiously brooding and ominous.

I shouted a second time, and was then rewarded by the sight of the
respectable-looking butler. His face appeared--or I imagined it,--even
more smug than before in its expression, and there was something
suggestive of injured dignity as well.

"Did you call, sir?" he inquired with an irritating meekness.

"I did, indeed," I returned rather sharply. "I've been looking
everywhere for a bell, but couldn't find one. I have every reason to
believe that this house is on fire, som