, and leads him away, leaving the lamp. My reasoning
faculties had fully returned to me. I held a clue to the secret, and for
Agnes' sake it must be followed up. I took the lamp away, and placed it
on a table where the chamber candlesticks stood, relit my own candle,
and found my way back to my bedroom.

The next morning, when I came down to breakfast, I found Colonel Bludyer
warming himself satisfactorily at the blazing fire. I learned from him
that our host was far from well, and that Miss Maryon was in attendance
upon her father; that the Colonel was charged with all kinds of
apologies to me, and good wishes for my safe return home across the
snow. I thanked him for the delivery of the message, while I felt
perfectly convinced that he had never been charged with it. However that
might be, I never saw Mr. Maryon that morning; and I started back to The
Shallows through the snow.

For the next two or three days the weather was very wild, but I
contrived to get up to The Mere, and ask after Mr. Maryon. Better, I was
told, but unable to see any one. Miss Maryon, too, was fatigued with
nursing her father. So there was nothing to do but to trudge home again.

"_Reginald Westcar, The Mere is yours. Compel John Maryon to pay the
debt of honor!_"

Again and again these words forced themselves upon me, as I listlessly
gazed out upon the white landscape. The strange scene that I had
witnessed on that memorable night I passed beneath Mr. Maryon's roof had
brought them back to my memory with redoubled force, and I began to
think that the apparition I had seen--or dreamed of--on my first night
at The Shallows had more of truth in it than I had been willing to
believe.

Three more days passed away, and a carter-boy from The Mere brought me a
note. It was Agnes' handwriting. It said:

"DEAR MR. WESTCAR: Pray come up here, if you possibly can. I cannot
understand what is the matter with papa; and he wishes me to do a
dreadful thing. Do come. I feel that I have no friend but you. I am
obliged to send this note privately."

I need scarcely say that five minutes afterward I was plunging through
the snow toward The Mere. It was already late on that dark February
evening as I gained the shrubbery; and as I was pondering upon the best
method of securing admittance, I became aware that the figure of a man
was hurrying on some yards in front of me. At first I thought it must be
one of the gardeners, but all of a sudden I stood still,