denly recollected
the mysterious interview which I had been told of as preceding the
suicide of young Prescott. Then I thought of the ravings of poor Reeves,
rendered more tragic by the fact that I had heard that very day of
his death. What was the meaning of it all? Had this woman some baleful
secret to disclose which must be known before her marriage? Was it some
reason which forbade her to marry? Or was it some reason which forbade
others to marry her? I felt so uneasy that I would have followed Cowles,
even at the risk of offending him, and endeavoured to dissuade him from
keeping his appointment, but a glance at the clock showed me that I was
too late.

I was determined to wait up for his return, so I piled some coals upon
the fire and took down a novel from the shelf. My thoughts proved more
interesting than the book, however, and I threw it on one side. An
indefinable feeling of anxiety and depression weighed upon me. Twelve
o'clock came, and then half-past, without any sign of my friend. It
was nearly one when I heard a step in the street outside, and then a
knocking at the door. I was surprised, as I knew that my friend always
carried a key--however, I hurried down and undid the latch. As the
door flew open I knew in a moment that my worst apprehensions had been
fulfilled. Barrington Cowles was leaning against the railings outside
with his face sunk upon his breast, and his whole attitude expressive
of the most intense despondency. As he passed in he gave a stagger, and
would have fallen had I not thrown my left arm around him. Supporting
him with this, and holding the lamp in my other hand, I led him slowly
upstairs into our sitting-room. He sank down upon the sofa without a
word. Now that I could get a good view of him, I was horrified to see
the change which had come over him. His face was deadly pale, and his
very lips were bloodless. His cheeks and forehead were clammy, his eyes
glazed, and his whole expression altered. He looked like a man who had
gone through some terrible ordeal, and was thoroughly unnerved.

"My dear fellow, what is the matter?" I asked, breaking the silence.
"Nothing amiss, I trust? Are you unwell?"

"Brandy!" he gasped. "Give me some brandy!"

I took out the decanter, and was about to help him, when he snatched it
from me with a trembling hand, and poured out nearly half a tumbler of
the spirit. He was usually a most abstemious man, but he took this off
at a gulp without adding a