cold, with a bright moon. It had
evidently been snowing afresh, for there was not a trace of wheels upon
the ground; but it had ceased now.

"Good-night!" called Ralph and Carr, as they went down the steps
together. I watched the two figures for a moment in the moonlight, their
footsteps making a double track in the untrodden snow. The cold was
intense. I drew back shivering, and locked and bolted the door.

CHAPTER VIII.

It is very seldom I cannot sleep, but I could not that night. There was
something in the intense quiet and repose of the great house, after all
the excitement of the last few hours, that oppressed me. Everything
seemed, as I lay awake, so unnaturally silent. There was not a sound in
the wide grate, where the last ashes of the fire were silently giving up
the ghost, not a rumble of wind in the old chimney which had had so much
to say the night before. I tossed and turned, and vainly sought for
sleep, now on this side, now on that. At last I gave up trying, half in
the hope that it might steal upon me unawares. I thought of the play and
the ball, of poor Charles and his debts--of anything and everything--but
it was no good. In the midst of a jumble of disconnected ideas I
suddenly found myself listening again to the silence--listening as if it
had been broken by a sound which I had not heard. My watch ticked loud
and louder on the dressing-table, and presently I gave quite a start as
the distant stable clock tolled out the hour: One, two, three, four. I
had gone to bed before three. Had I been awake only an hour? It seemed
incredible. Getting up on tiptoe, vaguely afraid myself of breaking the
silence, I noiselessly pushed aside the heavy curtains and looked out.

The moon had set, but by the frosty starlight the outline of the great
snow-laden trees and the wide sweep of white drive were still dimly
visible. All was silent without as within. Not a branch moved or let
fall its freight of snow. There was not a breath of wind stirring. I was
on the point of getting back into bed, when I thought in the distance I
heard a sound. I listened intently. No! I must have been mistaken. Ah!
again, and nearer! I held my breath. I could distinctly hear a stealthy
step coming up the stairs. My room was the nearest to the staircase end
of the corridor, and any one coming up the stairs must pass my door.
With a presence of mind which, I am glad to say, rarely deserts me, I
blew out my candle, slipped to the