of Charles, the footman, appeared from the
gloom below. He came up the stairs rapidly, glanced round and stepped
softly to the closed door, where he bent down, listening.

As he stood in the recess the gloom was so great that he was almost
invisible, save his face, while just beyond him a large group in bronze,
of a club-armed centaur, seemed to have the crouching man as part of the
artist's design, the centaur being, apparently, about to strike him
down, while, to give realism to the scene, a dull red glow from the
stained-glass window fell across his forehead.

As he listened there, his ear to the key-hole and his eyes watchfully
wandering up and down the staircase, a dull and smothered clang was
heard as if in the distance, like the closing of some heavy iron door.
Then there was a louder sound, with a quick, short report, as if a
powerful spring had been set in motion and shot home. Then a door
seemed to be closed and locked, and the man glided quickly over the
soft, thick carpet--melting away, as it were, in the gloom.

The door opened and, from the darkness within, Mr Girtle and the old
Indian stepped slowly out, bringing with them a soft, warm puff of the
aromatic odour, and, as they grew more distinct in the faint light of
the stained-glass window, everything was so still in the great house
that there was a strange unreality about them, fostered by the silence
of their tread.

"There, now you are satisfied," said the old lawyer, gently. "Go and
change your robe."

The Indian shook his head.

"I will stay till your return inside the room."

"Inside?" said the Indian.

"Yes--why not? You and I have reached the time of life when death has
ceased to have terrors. He is only taking the sleep that comes to all."

There was a gentle sadness in the lawyer's voice, and then, turning the
handle of the door, he opened it and stood looking back.

"You will not be long," he said. "They are waiting for me in the
drawing-room."

The door closed just as the old Indian made a step forward to follow.
Then he stood with his hands clenched and eyes starting listening
intently, while the centaur's club seemed to be quivering in the gloom,
ready to crush him down.

The old man raised his hand to the door--let it fall--raised it again--
let it fall--turned to go--started back--and then, as if fighting hard
with himself, he turned once more, and with an activity not to be
expected in one of his years, bounded up th