el,
after watching her for a moment or two, closed the door, turned the
bolt, and then threw his crush hat upon a table, his black wrapper over
a chair, and tore off his white gloves, changing the ivory-handled
malacca cane from hand to hand as he did so.

"Home soon," said Artis, with a sneer, as he slowly walked to the little
table, poured out some more brandy, and gulped it down.

"Yes," replied Capel, gravely. "Thank Heaven I did come home soon. I
came to spend an hour alone with the woman I loved."

"And you were forestalled," cried Artis. "Here, what are you going to
do?"

"Thrash a contemptible scoundrel within an inch of his life," cried
Capel; and he made a grasp at Artis's arm.

But the latter eluded him, bounded to the fire-place, and picked up the
bright poker.

"Keep off," he cried, "or I'll murder you."

_Cling! Jingle_!

He had struck the glass lustres of the great chandelier, and the
fragments fell tinkling down.

_Crack_! A yell of pain! A dull thud!

With a dexterous blow, Capel caught Artis's right hand with the stout
cane, numbing his nerves, so that the poker fell. With a second blow,
he seemed to hamstring his adversary, who staggered, and would have
fallen, but for Capel's hand grasping him by the collar; and then, for
two or three minutes, there was a hail of blows falling, and a terrible
struggle going on. The light chairs were kicked aside, a table
overturned, a vase and several ornaments swept from a cheffonier, and
suppressed cries, panting noises and blows, filled the gloomy room,
till, after one final stroke with the cane, Capel dashed the helpless,
quivering man to the floor, and placed his foot upon his breast.

An hour later, when Preenham went up from a confidential talk with his
fellow-servants to admit Mr Girtle and Lydia--back from the theatre--he
found the front door open. Had he been half an hour sooner, he would
have seen Katrine, fully dressed, supporting Artis down the dark stairs,
and out into the darkness of the great square, where they were seen by
the light of one of the street lamps to enter a cab, and then they
passed out of sight.

Preenham saw nothing, and Mr Girtle and Lydia ascended to the
drawing-room, the latter feeling light-hearted and happy, in spite of
the evening's disappointment.

The old lawyer uttered a cry of dismay, as he saw the wreck, and that
Capel was seated in a low chair, bent down, with his face buried in his
hands.

"My