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THE gardener opened the gate to us on this occasion. He hadevidently received his orders in anticipation of my arrival.

"Mrs. Valeria?" he asked.

"Yes."

"And friend?"

"And friend."

"Please to step upstairs. You know the house."

Crossing the hall, I stopped for a moment, and looked at afavorite walking-cane which Benjamin still kept in his hand.

"Your cane will only be in your way," I said. "Had you not betterleave it here?"

"My cane may be useful upstairs," retorted Benjamin, gruffly."_I_ haven't forgotten what happened in the library."

It was no time to contend with him. I led the way up the stairs.

Arriving at the upper flight of steps, I was startled by hearinga sudden cry from the room above. It was like the cry of a personin pain; and it was twice repeated before we entered the circularantechamber. I was the first to approach the inner room, and tosee the many-sided Miserrimus Dexter in another new aspect of hischaracter.

The unfortunate Ariel was standing before a table, with a dish oflittle cakes placed in front of her. Round each of her wrists wastied a string, the free ends of which (at a distance of a fewyards) were held in Miserrimus Dexter's hands. "Try again, mybeauty!" I heard him say, as I stopped on the threshold of thedoor. "Take a cake." At the word of command, Ariel submissivelystretched out one arm toward the dish. Just as she touched a cakewith the tips of her fingers her hand was jerked away by a pullat the string, so savagely cruel in the nimble and devilishviolence of it that I felt inclined to snatch Benjamin's cane outof his hand and break it over Miserrimus Dexter's back. Arielsuffered the pain this time in Spartan silence. The position inwhich she stood enabled her to be the first to see me at thedoor. She had discovered me. Her teeth were set; her face wasflushed under the struggle to restrain herself. Not even a sighescaped her in my presence.

"Drop the string!" I called out, indignantly "Release her, Mr.Dexter, or I shall leave the house."

At the sound of my voice he burst out with a shrill cry ofwelcome. His eyes fastened on me with a fierce, devouringdelight.

"Come in! come in!" he cried. "See what I am reduced to in themaddening suspense of waiting for you. See how I kill the timewhen the time parts us. Come in! come in! I am in one of mymalicious humors this morning, caused entirely, Mrs. Valeria, bymy anxiety to see you. When I am in my malicious humors I musttease something. I am teasing Ariel. Look at her! She has hadnothing to eat all day, and she hasn't been quick enough tosnatch a morsel of cake yet. You needn't pity her. Ariel has nonerves--I don't hurt her."

"Ariel has no nerves," echoed the poor creature, frowning at mefor interfering between her master and herself. "He doesn't hurtme."

I heard Benjamin beginning to swing his cane behind him.

"Drop the string!" I reiterated, more vehemently than ever. "Dropit, or I shall instantly leave you."

Miserrimus Dexter's delicate nerves shuddered at my violence."What a glorious voice!" he exclaimed--and dropped the string."Take the cakes," he added, addressing Ariel in his most imperialmanner.

She passed me, with the strings hanging from her swollen wrists,and the dish of cakes in her hand. She nodded her head at medefiantly.

"Ariel has got no nerves," she repeated, proudly. "He doesn'thurt me."

"You see," said Miserrimus Dexter, "there is no harm done--and Idropped the strings when you told me. Don't _begin_ by being hardon me, Mrs. Valeria, after your long absence." He paused.Benjamin, standing silent in the doorway, attracted his attentionfor the first time. "Who is this?" he asked, and wheeled hischair suspiciously nearer to the door. "I know!" he cried, beforeI could answer. "This is the benevolent gentleman who looked likethe refuge of the afflicted when I saw him last.--You havealtered for the worse since then, sir. You have stepped intoquite a new character--you personify Retributive Justicenow.--Your new protector, Mrs. Valeria--I understand!" He bowedlow to Benjamin, with ferocious irony. "Your humble servant, Mr.Retributive Justice! I have deserved you--and I submit to you.Walk in, sir! I will take care that your new office shall be asinecure. This lady is the Light of my Life. Catch me failing inrespect to her if you can!" He backed his chair before Benjamin(who listened to him in contemptuous silence) until he reachedthe part of the room in which I was standing. "Your hand, Lightof my Life!" he murmured in his gentlest tones. "Your hand--onlyto show that you have forgiven me!" I gave him my hand. "One?" hewhispered, entreatingly. "Only one?" He kissed my hand once,respectfully--and dropped it with a heavy sigh. "Ah, poorDexter!" he said, pitying himself with the whole sincerity of hisegotism. "A warm heart--wasted in solitude, mocked by deformity.Sad! sad! Ah, poor Dexter!" He looked round again at Benjamin,with another flash of his ferocious irony. "A beauteous day,sir," he said, with mock-conventional courtesy. "Seasonableweather indeed after the late long-continued rains. Can I offeryou any refreshment? Won't you sit down? Retributive Justice,when it is no taller than you are, looks best in a chair."

"And a monkey looks best in a cage," rejoined Benjamin, enragedat the satirical reference to his shortness of stature. "I waswaiting, sir, to see you get into your swing."

The retort produced no effect on Miserrimus Dexter: it appearedto have passed by him unheard. He had changed again; he wasthoughtful, he was subdued; his eyes were fixed on me with a sadand rapt attention. I took the nearest arm-chair, first casting aglance at Benjamin, which he immediately understood. He placedhimself behind Dexter, at an angle which commanded a view of mychair. Ariel, silently devouring her cakes, crouched on a stoolat "the Master's" feet, and looked up at him like a faithful dog.There was an interval of quiet and repose. I was able to observeMiserrimus Dexter uninterruptedly for the first time since I hadentered the room.

I was not surprised--I was nothing less than alarmed by thechange for the worse in him since we had last met. Mr. Playmore'sletter had not prepared me for the serious deterioration in himwhich I could now discern.

His features were pinched and worn; the whole face seemed to havewasted strangely in substance and size since I had last seen it.The softness in his eyes was gone. Blood-red veins wereintertwined all over them now: they were set in a piteous andvacant stare. His once firm hands looked withered; they trembledas they lay on the coverlet. The paleness of his face(exaggerated, perhaps, by the black velvet jacket that he wore)had a sodden and sickly look--the fine outline was gone. Themultitudinous little wrinkles at the corners of his eyes haddeepened. His head sank into his shoulders when he leaned forwardin his chair. Years appeared to have passed over him, instead ofmonths, while I had been absent from England. Remembering themedical report which Mr. Playmore had given me to read--recallingthe doctor's positively declared opinion that the preservation ofDexter's sanity depended on the healthy condition of hisnerves--I could not but feel that I had done wisely (if I mightstill hope for success) in hastening my return from Spain.Knowing what I knew, fearing what I feared, I believed that histime was near. I felt, when our eyes met by accident, that I waslooking at a doomed man.

I pitied him.

Yes, yes! I know that compassion for him was utterly inconsistentwith the motive which had taken me to his house--utterlyinconsistent with the doubt, still present to my mind, whetherMr. Playmore had really wronged him in believing that his was theguilt which had compassed the first Mrs. Eustace's death. I feltthis: I knew him to be cruel; I believed him to be false. And yetI pitied him! Is there a common fund of wickedness in us all? Isthe suppression or the development of that wickedness a merequestion of training and temptation? And is there something inour deeper sympathies which mutely acknowledges this when we feelfor the wicked; when we crowd to a criminal trial; when we shakehands at parting (if we happen to be present officially) with thevilest monster that ever swung on a gallows? It is not for me todecide. I can only say that I pitied Miserrimus Dexter--and thathe found it out.

"Thank you," he said, suddenly. "You see I am ill, and you feelfor me. Dear and good Valeria!"

"This lady's name, sir, is Mrs. Eustace Macallan," interposedBenjamin, speaking sternly behind him. "The next time you addressher, remember, if you please, that you have no business with herChristian name."

Benjamin's rebuke passed, like Benjamin's retort, unheeded andunheard. To all appearance, Miserrimus Dexter had completelyforgotten that there was such a person in the room.

"You have delighted me with the sight of you," he went on. "Addto the pleasure by letting me hear your voice. Talk to me ofyourself. Tell me what you have been doing since you leftEngland."

It was necessary to my object to set the conversation afloat; andthis was as good a way of doing it as any other. I told himplainly how I had been employed during my absence.

"So you are still fond of Eustace?" he said, bitterly.

"I love him more dearly than ever."

He lifted his hands, and hid his face. After waiting a while, hewent on, speaking in an odd, muffled manner, still under cover ofhis hands.

"And you leave Eustace in Spain," he said; "and you return toEngland by yourself! What made you do that?"

"What made me first come here and ask you to help me, Mr.Dexter?"

He dropped his hands, and looked at me. I saw in his eyes, notamazement only, but alarm.

"Is it possible," he exclaimed, "that you won't let thatmiserable matter rest even yet? Are you still determined topenetrate the mystery at Gleninch?"

"I am still determined, Mr. Dexter; and I still hope that you maybe able to help me."

The old distrust that I remembered so well darkened again overhis face the moment I said those words.

"How can I help you?" he asked. "Can I alter facts?" He stopped.His face brightened again, as if some sudden sense of relief hadcome to him. "I did try to help you," he went on. "I told youthat Mrs. Beauly's absence was a device to screen herself fromsuspicion; I told you that the poison might have been given byMrs. Beauly's maid. Has reflection convinced you? Do you seesomething in the idea?"

This return to Mrs. Beauly gave me my first chance of leading thetalk to the right topic.

"I see nothing in the idea," I answered. "I see no motive. Hadthe maid any reason to be an enemy to the late Mrs. Eustace?"

"Nobody had any reason to be an enemy to the late Mrs. Eustace!"he broke out, loudly and vehemently. "She was all goodness, allkindness; she never injured any human creature in thought ordeed. She was a saint upon earth. Respect her memory! Let themartyr rest in her grave!" He covered his face again with hishands, and shook and shuddered under the paroxysm of emotion thatI had roused in him.

Ariel suddenly and softly left her stool, and approached me.

"Do you see my ten claws?" she whispered, holding out her hands."Vex the Master again, and you will feel my ten claws on yourthroat!"

Benjamin rose from his seat: he had seen the action, withouthearing the words. I signed to him to keep his place.Ariel returned to her stool, and looked up again at her master.

"Don't cry," she said. "Come on. Here are the strings. Tease meagain. Make me screech with the smart of it."

He never answered, and never moved.

Ariel bent her slow mind to meet the difficulty of attracting hisattention. I saw it in her frowning brows, in her colorless eyeslooking at me vacantly. On a sudden, she joyfully struck the openpalm of one of her hands with the fist of the other. She hadtriumphed. She had got an idea.

"Master!" she cried. "Master! You haven't told me a story forever so long. Puzzle my thick head. Make my flesh creep. Come on.A good long story. All blood and crimes."

Had she accidentally hit on the right suggestion to strike hiswayward fancy? I knew his high opinion of his own skill in"dramatic narrative." I knew that one of his favorite amusementswas to puzzle Ariel by telling her stories that she could notunderstand. Would he wander away into the regions of wildromance? Or would he remember that my obstinacy still threatenedhim with reopening the inquiry into the tragedy at Gleninch? andwould he set his cunning at work to mislead me by some newstratagem? This latter course was the course which my pastexperience of him suggested that he would take. But, to mysurprise and alarm, I found my past experience at fault. Arielsucceeded in diverting his mind from the subject which had beenin full possession of it the moment before she spoke! He showedhis face again. It was overspread by a broad smile of gratifiedself-esteem. He was weak enough now to let even Ariel find herway to his vanity. I saw it with a sense of misgiving, with adoubt whether I had not delayed my visit until too late, whichturned me cold from head to foot.

Miserrimus Dexter spoke--to Ariel, not to me.

"Poor devil!" he said, patting her head complacently. "You don'tunderstand a word of my stories, do you? And yet I can make theflesh creep on your great clumsy body--and yet I can hold yourmuddled mind, and make you like it. Poor devil!" He leaned backserenely in his chair, and looked my way again. Would the sightof me remind him of the words that had passed between us not aminute since? No! There was the pleasantly tickled self-conceitsmiling at me exactly as it had smiled at Ariel. "I excel indramatic narrative, Mrs. Valeria," he said. "And this creaturehere on the stool is a remarkable proof of it. She is quite apsychological study when I tell her one of my stories. It isreally amusing to see the half-witted wretch's desperate effortsto understand me. You shall have a specimen. I have been out ofspirits while you were away--I haven't told her a story for weekspast; I will tell her one now. Don't suppose it's any effort tome! My invention is inexhaustible. You are sure to be amused--youare naturally serious--but you are sure to be amused. I amnaturally serious too; and I always laugh at her."

Ariel clapped her great shapeless hands. "He always laughs atme!" she said, with a proud look of superiority directed straightat me.

I was at a loss, seriously at a loss, what to do.

The outbreak which I had provoked in leading him to speak of thelate Mrs. Eustace warned me to be careful, and to wait for myopportunity before I reverted to _that_ subject. How else could Iturn the conversation so as to lead him, little by little, towardthe betrayal of the secrets which he was keeping from me? In thisuncertainty, one thing only seemed to be plain. To let him tellhis story would be simply to let him waste the precious minutes.With a vivid remembrance of Ariel's "ten claws," I decided,nevertheless on discouraging Dexter's new whim at every possibleopportunity and by every means in my power.

"Now, Mrs. Valeria," he began, loudly and loftily, "listen. Now,Ariel, bring your brains to a focus. I improvise poetry; Iimprovise fiction. We will begin with the good old formula of thefairy stories. Once upon a time--"

I was waiting for my opportunity to interrupt him when heinterrupted himself. He stopped, with a bewildered look. He puthis hand to his head, and passed it backward and forward over hisforehead. He laughed feebly.

"I seem to want rousing," he said

Was his mind gone.? There had been no signs of it until I hadunhappily stirred his memory of the dead mistress of Gleninch.Was the weakness which I had already noticed, was thebewilderment which I now saw, attributable to the influence of apassing disturbance only? In other words, had I witnessed nothingmore serious than a first warning to him and to us? Would he soonrecover himself, if we were patient, and gave him time? EvenBenjamin was interested at last; I saw him trying to look atDexter around the corner of the chair. Even Ariel was surprisedand uneasy. She had no dark glances to cast at me now.

We all waited to see what he would do, to hear what he would say,next.

"My harp!" he cried. "Music will rouse me."

Ariel brought him his harp.

"Master," she said, wonderingly, "what's come to you?"

He waved his hand, commanding her to be silent.

"Ode to Invention," he announced, loftily, addressing himself tome. "Poetry and music improvised by Dexter. Silence! Attention!"

His fingers wandered feebly over the harpstrings, awakening nomelody, suggesting no words. In a little while his hand dropped;his head sank forward gently, and rested on the frame of theharp. I started to my feet, and approached him. Was it a sleep?or was it a swoon?

I touched his arm, and called to him by his name.

Ariel instantly stepped between us, with a threatening look atme. At the same moment Miserrimus Dexter raised his head. Myvoice had reached him. He looked at me with a curiouscontemplative quietness in his eyes which I had never seen inthem before.

"Take away the harp," he said to Ariel, speaking in languidtones, like a man who was very weary.

The mischievous, half-witted creature--in sheer stupidity or indownright malice, I am not sure which--irritated him once more.

"Why, Master?" she asked, staring at him with the harp hugged inher arms. "What's come to you? where is the story?"

"We don't want the story," I interposed. "I have many things tosay to Mr. Dexter which I have not said yet."

Ariel lifted her heavy hand. "You will have it!" she said, andadvanced toward me. At the same moment the Master's voice stoppedher.

"Put away the harp, you fool!" he repeated, sternly. "And waitfor the story until I choose to tell it."

She took the harp submissively back to its place at the end ofthe room. Miserrimus Dexter moved his chair a little closer tomine. "I know what will rouse me," he said, confidentially."Exercise will do it. I have had no exercise lately. Wait alittle, and you will see."

He put his hands on the machinery of the chair, and started onhis customary course down the room. Here again the ominous changein him showed itself under a new form. The pace at which hetraveled was not the furious pace that I remembered; the chair nolonger rushed under him on rumbling and whistling wheels. Itwent, but it went slowly. Up the room and down the room hepainfully urged it--and then he stopped for want of breath.

We followed him. Ariel was first, and Benjamin was by my side. Hemotioned impatiently to both of them to stand back, and to let meapproach him alone.

"I'm out of practice," he said, faintly. "I hadn't the heart tomake the wheels roar and the floor tremble while you were away."

Who would not have pitied him? Who would have remembered hismisdeeds at that moment? Even Ariel felt it. I heard herbeginning to whine and whimper behind me. The magician who alonecould rouse the dormant sensibilities in her nature had awakenedthem now by his neglect. Her fatal cry was heard again, inmournful, moaning tones--

"What's come to you, Master? Where's the story?"

"Never mind her," I whispered to him. "You want the fresh air.Send for the gardener. Let us take a drive in your pony-chaise."

It was useless. Ariel would be noticed. The mournful cry cameonce more--

"Where's the story? where's the story?"

The sinking spirit leaped up in Dexter again.

"You wretch ! you fiend!" he cried, whirling his chair around,and facing her. "The story is coming. I _can_ tell it! I _will_tell it! Wine! You whimpering idiot, get me the wine. Why didn'tI think of it before? The kingly Burgundy! that's what I want,Valeria, to set my invention alight and flaming in my head.Glasses for everybody! Honor to the King of the Vintages--theRoyal Clos Vougeot!"

Ariel opened the cupboard in the alcove, and produced the wineand the high Venetian glasses. Dexter drained his gobletful ofBurgundy at a draught; he forced us to drink (or at least topretend to drink) with him. Even Ariel had her share this time,and emptied her glass in rivalry with her master. The powerfulwine mounted almost instantly to her weak head. She began to singhoarsely a song of her own devising, in imitation of Dexter. Itwas nothing but the repetition, the endless mechanicalrepetition, of her demand for the story--"Tell us the story.Master! master! tell us the story!" Absorbed over his wine, theMaster silently filled his goblet for the second time. Benjaminwhispered to me while his eye was off us, "Take my advice,Valeria, for once; let us go."

"One last effort," I whispered back. "Only one!"

Ariel went drowsily on with her song--

"Tell us the story. Master! master! tell us the story."

Miserrimus Dexter looked up from his glass. The generousstimulant was beginning to do its work. I saw the color rising inhis face. I saw the bright intelligence flashing again in hiseyes. The Burgundy _had_ roused him! The good wine stood myfriend, and offered me a last chance!

"No story," I said. "I want to talk to you, Mr. Dexter. I am notin the humor for a story."

"Not in the humor?" he repeated, with a gleam of the old impishirony showing itself again in his face. "That's an excuse. I seewhat it is! You think my invention is gone--and you are not frankenough to confess it. I'll show you you're wrong. I'll show youthat Dexter is himself again. Silence, you Ariel, or you shallleave the room! I have got it, Mrs. Valeria, all laid out here,with scenes and characters complete." He touched his forehead,and looked at me with a furtive and smiling cunning before headded his next words. "It's the very thing to interest you, myfair friend. It's the story of a Mistress and a Maid. Come backto the fire and hear it."

The Story of a Mistress and a Maid? If that meant anything, itmeant the story of Mrs. Beauly and her maid, told in disguise.

The title, and the look which had escaped him when he announcedit, revived the hope that was well-nigh dead in me. He hadrallied at last. He was again in possession of his naturalforesight and his natural cunning. Under pretense of tellingAriel her story, he was evidently about to make the attempt tomislead me for the second time. The conclusion was irresistible.To use his own words--Dexter was himself again.

I took Benjamin's arm as we followed him back to the fire-placein the middle of the room.

"There is a chance for me yet," I whispered. "Don't forget thesignals."

We returned to the places which we had already occupied. Arielcast another threatening look at me. She had just sense enoughleft, after emptying her goblet of wine, to be on the watch for anew interruption on my part. I took care, of course, that nothingof the sort should happen. I was now as eager as Ariel to hearthe story. The subject was full of snares for the narrator. Atany moment, in the excitement of speaking, Dexter's memory of thetrue events might show itself reflected in the circumstances ofthe fiction. At any moment he might betray himself.

He looked around him, and began.

"My public, are you seated? My public, are you ready?" he asked,gayly. "Your face a little more this way," he added, in hissoftest and tenderest tones, motioning to me to turn my full facetoward him. "Surely I am not asking too much? You look at themeanest creature that crawls--look at Me. Let me find myinspiration in your eyes. Let me feed my hungry admiration onyour form. Come, have one little pitying smile left for the manwhose happiness you have wrecked. Thank you, Light of my Life,thank you!" He kissed his hand to me, and threw himself backluxuriously in his chair. "The story," he resumed. "The story atlast! In what form shall I cast it? In the dramatic form--theoldest way, the truest way, the shortest way of telling a story!Title first. A short title, a taking title: 'Mistress and Maid.'Scene, the land of romance--Italy. Time, the age of romance--thefifteenth century. Ha! look at Ariel. She knows no more about thefifteenth century than the cat in the kitchen, and yet she isinterested already. Happy Ariel!"

Ariel looked at me again, in the double intoxication of the wineand the triumph.

"I know no more than the cat in the kitchen," she repeated, witha broad grin of gratified vanity. "I am 'happy Ariel!' What areyou?"

Miserrimus Dexter laughed uproariously.

"Didn't I tell you?" he said. "Isn't she fun?--Persons of theDrama." he resumed: "three in number. Women only. Angelica, anoble lady; noble alike in spirit and in birth. Cunegonda, abeautiful devil in woman's form. Damoride, her unfortunate maid.First scene: a dark vaulted chamber in a castle. Time, evening.The owls are hooting in the wood; the frogs are croaking in themarsh.--Look at Ariel! Her flesh creeps; she shudders audibly.Admirable Ariel!"

My rival in the Master's favor eyed me defiantly. "AdmirableAriel!" she repeated, in drowsy accents. Miserrimus Dexter pausedto take up his goblet of Burgundy--placed close at hand on alittle sliding table attached to his chair. I watched himnarrowly as he sipped the wine. The flush was still mounting inhis face; the light was still brightening in his eyes. He setdown his glass again, with a jovial smack of his lips--and wenton:

"Persons present in the vaulted chamber: Cunegonda and Damoride.Cunegonda speaks. 'Damoride!' 'Madam?' 'Who lies ill in thechamber above us?' 'Madam, the noble lady Angelica.' (A pause.Cunegonda speaks again.) 'Damoride!' ' Madam?' 'How does Angelicalike you?' 'Madam, the noble lady, sweet and good to all whoapproach her, is sweet and good to me.' 'Have you attended onher, Damoride?' 'Sometimes, madam, when the nurse was weary.''Has she taken her healing medicine from your hand ' 'Once ortwice, madam, when I happened to be by.' 'Damoride, take this keyand open the casket on the table there.' (Damoride obeys.) 'Doyou see a green vial in the casket?' 'I see it, madam.' 'Take itout.' (Damoride obeys.) 'Do you see a liquid in the green vial?can you guess what it is?' 'No, madam.' 'Shall I tell you?'(Damoride bows respectfully ) 'Poison is in the vial.' (Damoridestarts; she shrinks from the poison; she would fain put it aside.Her mistress signs to her to keep it in her hand; her mistressspeaks.) 'Damoride, I have told you one of my secrets; shall Itell you another?' (Damoride waits, fearing what is to come. Hermistress speaks.) 'I hate the Lady Angelica. Her life standsbetween me and the joy of my heart. You hold her life in yourhand.' (Damoride drops on her knees; she is a devout person; shecrosses herself, and then she speaks.) 'Mistress, you terrify me.Mistress, what do I hear?' (Cunegonda advances, stands over her,looks down on her with terrible eyes, whispers the next words.)'Damoride! the Lady Angelica must die--and I must not besuspected. The Lady Angelica must die--and by your hand.'"

He paused again. To sip the wine once more? No; to drink a deepdraught of it this time.

Was the stimulant beginning to fail him already?

I looked at him attentively as he laid himself back again in hischair to consider for a moment before he went on.

The flush on his face was as deep as ever; but the brightness inhis eyes was beginning to fade already. I had noticed that hespoke more and more slowly as he advanced to the later dialogueof the scene. Was he feeling the effort of invention already? Hadthe time come when the wine had done all that the wine could dofor him?

We waited. Ariel sat watching him with vacantly staring eyes andvacantly open mouth. Ben jamin, impenetrably expecting thesignal, kept his open note-book on his knee, covered by his hand.Miserrimus Dexter went on:

"Damoride hears those terrible words; Damoride clasps her handsin entreaty. 'Oh, madam! madam! how can I kill the dear and noblelady? What motive have I for harming her?' Cunegonda answers,'You have the motive of obeying Me.' (Damoride falls with herface on the floor at her mistress's feet.) 'Madam, I cannot doit! Madam, I dare not do it!' Cunegonda answers, 'You run norisk: I have my plan for diverting discovery from myself, and myplan for diverting discovery from you.' Damoride repeats, 'Icannot do it! I dare not do it!' Cunegonda's eyes flashlightnings of rage. She takes from its place of concealment inher bosom--"

He stopped in the middle of the sentence, and put his hand to hishead--not like a man in pain, but like a man who had lost hisidea.

Would it be well if I tried to help him to recover his idea? orwould it be wiser (if I could only do it) to keep silence?

I could see the drift of his story plainly enough. His object,under the thin disguise of the Italian romance, was to meet myunanswerable objection to suspecting Mrs. Beauly's maid--theobjection that the woman had no motive for committing herself toan act of murder. If he could practically contradict this, bydiscovering a motive which I should be obliged to admit, his endwould be gained. Those inquiries which I had pledged myself topursue--those inquiries which might, at any moment, take a turnthat directly concerned him--would, in that case, be successfullydiverted from the right to the wrong person. The innocent maidwould set my strictest scrutiny at defiance; and Dexter would besafely shielded behind her.

I determined to give him time. Not a word passed my lips.

The minutes followed each other. I waited in the deepest anxiety.It was a trying and a critical moment. If he succeeded ininventing a probable motive, and in shaping it neatly to suit thepurpose of his story, he would prove, by that act alone, thatthere were reserves of mental power still left in him which thepracticed eye of the Scotch doctor had failed to see. But thequestion was--would he do it?

He did it! Not in a new way; not in a convincing way; not withouta painfully evident effort. Still, well done or ill done, hefound a motive for the maid.

"Cunegonda," he resumed, "takes from its place of concealment inher bosom a written paper, and unfolds it. 'Look at this,' shesays. Damoride looks at the paper, and sinks again at hermistress's feet in a paroxysm of horror and despair. Cunegonda isin possession of a shameful secret in the maid's past life.Cunegonda can say to her, 'Choose your alternative. Either submitto an exposure which disgraces you and--disgraces your parentsforever--or make up your mind to obey Me.' Damoride might submitto the disgrace if it only affected herself. But her parents arehonest people; she cannot disgrace her parents. She is driven toher last refuge--there is no hope of melting the hard heart ofCunegonda. Her only resource is to raise difficulties; she triesto show that there are obstacles between her and the crime.'Madam! madam!' she cries; 'how can I do it, when the nurse isthere to see me?' Cunegonda answers, 'Sometimes the nurse sleeps;sometimes the nurse is away.' Damoride still persists. 'Madam!madam! the door is kept locked, and the nurse has got the key.'"

The key! I instantly thought of the missing key at Gleninch. Hadhe thought of it too? He certainly checked himself as the wordescaped him. I resolved to make the signal. I rested my elbow onthe arm of my chair, and played with my earring. Benjamin tookout his pencil and arranged his note-book so that Ariel could notsee what he was about if she happened to look his way.

We waited until it pleased Miserrimus Dexter to proceed. Theinterval was a long one. His hand went up again to his forehead.A duller and duller look was palpably stealing over his eyes.When he did speak, it was not to go on with the narrative, but toput a question.

"Where did I leave off?" he asked.

My hopes sank again as rapidly as they had risen. I managed toanswer him, however, without showing any change in my ,manner.

"You left off," I said, "where Damoride was speaking toCunegonda--"

"Yes, yes!" he interposed. "And what did she say?"

"She said, 'The door is kept locked, and the nurse has got thekey.'"

He instantly leaned forward in his chair.

"No!" he answered, vehemently. "You're wrong. 'Key?' Nonsense! Inever said 'Key.'"

"I thought you did, Mr. Dexter."

"I never did! I said something else, and you have forgotten it."

I refrained from disputing with him, in fear of what mightfollow. We waited again. Benjamin, sullenly submitting to mycaprices, had taken down the questions and answers that hadpassed between Dexter and myself. He still mechanically kept hispage open, and still held his pencil in readiness to go on.Ariel, quietly submitting to the drowsy influence of the winewhile Dexter's voice was in her ears, felt uneasily the change tosilence. She glanced round her restlessly; she lifted her eyes to"the Master."

There he sat, silent, with his hand to his head, still strugglingto marshal his wandering thoughts, still trying to see lightthrough the darkness that was closing round him.

"Master!" cried Ariel, piteously. "What's become of the story?"

He started as if she had awakened him out of a sleep; he shookhis head impatiently, as though he wanted to throw off someoppression that weighed upon it.

"Patience, patience," he said. "The story is going on again."

He dashed at it desperately; he picked up the first lost threadthat fell in his way, reckless whether it were the right threador the wrong one:

"Damoride fell on her knees. She burst into tears. She said--"

He stopped, and looked about him with vacant eyes.

"What name did I give the other woman?" he asked, not putting thequestion to me, or to either of my companions: asking it ofhimself, or asking it of the empty air.

"You called the other woman Cunegonda," I said.

At the sound of my voice his eyes turned slowly--turned on me,and yet failed to look at me. Dull and absent, still andchangeless, they were eyes that seemed to be fixed on somethingfar away. Even his voice was altered when he spoke next. It haddropped to a quiet, vacant, monotonous tone. I had heardsomething like it while I was watching by my husband's bedside,at the time of his delirium--when Eustace's mind appeared to betoo weary to follow his speech. Was the end so near as this?

"I called her Cunegonda," he repeated. "And I called the other--"

He stopped once more.

"And you called the other Damoride," I said.

Ariel looked up at him with a broad stare of bewilderment. Shepulled impatiently at the sleeve of his jacket to attract hisnotice.

"Is this the story, Master?" she asked.

He answered without looking at her, his changeless eyes stillfixed, as it seemed, on something far away.

"This is the story," he said, absently. "But why Cunegonda? whyDamoride? Why not Mistress and Maid? It's easier to rememberMistress and Maid--"

He hesitated; he shivered as he tried to raise himself in hischair. Then he seemed to rally "What did the Maid say to theMistress?" he muttered. "What? what? what?" He hesitated again.Then something seemed to dawn upon him unexpectedly. Was it somenew thought that had struck him? or some lost thought that he hadrecovered? Impossible to say.

He went on, suddenly and rapidly went on, in these strange words:

"'The letter,' the Maid said; 'the letter. Oh my heart. Everyword a dagger. A dagger in my heart. Oh, you letter. Horrible,horrible, horrible letter.'"

What, in God's name, was he talking about? What did those wordsmean?

Was he unconsciously pursuing his faint and fragmentaryrecollections of a past time at Gleninch, under the delusion thathe was going on with the story? In the wreck of the otherfaculties, was memory the last to sink? Was the truth, thedreadful truth, glimmering on me dimly through the awful shadowcast before it by the advancing, eclips e of the brain? My breathfailed me; a nameless horror crept through my whole being.

Benjamin, with his pencil in his hand, cast one warning look atme. Ariel was quiet and satisfied. "Go on, Master," was all shesaid. "I like it! I like it! Go on with the story."

He went on--like a man sleeping with his eyes open, and talkingin his sleep.

"The Maid said to the Mistress. No--the Mistress said to theMaid. The Mistress said, 'Show him the letter. Must, must, mustdo it.' The Maid said, 'No. Mustn't do it. Shan't show it. Stuff.Nonsense. Let him suffer. We can get him off. Show it? No. Letthe worst come to the worst. Show it, then.' The Mistress said--"He paused, and waved his hand rapidly to and fro before his eyes,as if he were brushing away some visionary confusion orentanglement. "Which was it last?" he said--"Mistress or Maid?Mistress? No. Maid speaks, of course. Loud. Positive. 'Youscoundrels. Keep away from that table. The Diary's there. NumberNine, Caldershaws. Ask for Dandie. You shan't have the Diary. Asecret in your ear. The Diary will hang, him. I won't have himhanged. How dare you touch my chair? My chair is Me! How dare youtouch Me?'"

The last words burst on me like a gleam of light! I had read themin the Report of the Trial--in the evidence of the sheriff'sofficer. Miserrimus Dexter had spoken in those very terms when hehad tried vainly to prevent the men from seizing my husband'spapers, and when the men had pushed his chair out of the room.There was no doubt now of what his memory was busy with. Themystery at Gleninch! His last backward flight of thought circledfeebly and more feebly nearer and nearer to the mystery atGleninch!

Ariel aroused him again. She had no mercy on him; she insisted onhearing the whole story.

"Why do you stop, Master? Get along with it! get along with it!Tell us quick--what did the Missus say to the Maid?"

He laughed feebly, and tried to imitate her.

"'What did the Missus say to the Maid?'" he repeated. His laughdied away. He went on speaking, more and more vacantly, more andmore rapidly. "The Mistress said to the Maid. We've got him off.What about the letter? Burn it now. No fire in the grate. Nomatches in the box. House topsy-turvy. Servants all gone. Tear itup. Shake it up in the basket. Along with the rest. Shake it up.Waste paper. Throw it away. Gone forever. Oh, Sara, Sara, Sara!Gone forever.'"

Ariel clapped her hands, and mimicked him in her turn.

"'Oh, Sara, Sara, Sara!'" she repeated. "'Gone forever.' That'sprime, Master! Tell us--who was Sara?"

His lips moved, but his voice sank so low that I could barelyhear him. He began again, with the old melancholy refrain:

"The Maid said to the Mistress. No--the Mistress said to theMaid--" He stopped abruptly, and raised himself erect in thechair; he threw up both his hands above his head, and burst intoa frightful screaming laugh. "Aha-ha-ha-ha! How funny! Why don'tyou laugh? Funny, funny, funny, funny. Aha-ha-ha-ha-ha--"

He fell back in the chair. The shrill and dreadful laugh diedaway into a low sob. Then there was one long, deep, wearily drawnbreath. Then nothing but a mute, vacant face turned up to theceiling, with eyes that looked blindly, with lips parted in asenseless, changeless grin. Nemesis at last! The foretold doomhad fallen on him. The night had come.

But one feeling animated me when the first shock was over. Eventhe horror of that fearful sight seemed only to increase the pitythat I felt for the stricken wretch. I started impulsively to myfeet. Seeing nothing, thinking of nothing but the helpless figurein the chair, I sprang forward to raise him, to revive him, torecall him (if such a thing might still be possible) to himself.At the first step that I took, I felt hands on me--I wasviolently drawn back. "Are you blind?" cried Benjamin, draggingme nearer and nearer to the door. "Look there!"

He pointed; and I looked.

Ariel had been beforehand with me. She had raised her master inthe chair; she had got one arm around him. In her free hand shebrandished an Indian club, torn from a "trophy" of Orientalweapons that ornamented the wall over the fire-place. Thecreature was transfigured! Her dull eyes glared like the eyes ofa wild animal. She gnashed her teeth in the frenzy that possessedher. "You have done this!" she shouted to me, waving the clubfuriously around and around over her head. "Come near him, andI'll dash your brains out! I'll mash you till there's not a wholebone left in your skin!" Benjamin, still holding me with one handopened the door with the other. I let him do with me as he would;Ariel fascinated me; I could look at nothing but Ariel. Herfrenzy vanished as she saw us retreating. She dropped the club;she threw both arms around him, and nestled her head on hisbosom, and sobbed and wept over him. "Master! master! They shan'tvex you any more. Look up again. Laugh at me as you used to do.Say, 'Ariel, you're a fool.' Be like yourself again!" I wasforced into the next room. I heard a long, low, wailing cry ofmisery from the poor creature who loved him with a dog's fidelityand a woman's devotion. The heavy door was closed between us. Iwas in the quiet antechamber, crying over that piteous sight;clinging to my kind old friend as helpless and as useless as achild.

Benjamin turned the key in the lock.

"There's no use in crying about it," he said, quietly. "It wouldbe more to the purpose, Valeria, if you thanked God that you havegot out of that room safe and sound. Come with me."

He took the key out of the lock, and led me downstairs into thehall. After a little consideration, he opened the front door ofthe house. The gardener was still quietly at work in the grounds.

"Your master is taken ill," Benjamin said; "and the woman whoattends upon him has lost her head--if she ever had a head tolose. Where does the nearest doctor live?"

The man's devotion to Dexter showed itself as the woman'sdevotion had shown itself--in the man's rough way. He threw downhis spade with an oath.

"The Master taken bad?" he said. "I'll fetch the doctor. I shallfind him sooner than you will."

"Tell the doctor to bring a man with him," Benjamin added. "Hemay want help."

The gardener turned around sternly.

"_I'm_ the man," he said. "Nobody shall help but me."

He left us. I sat down on one of the chairs in the hall, and didmy best to compose myself. Benjamin walked to and fro, deep inthought. "Both of them fond of him," I heard my old friend say tohimself. "Half monkey, half man--and both of them fond of him._That_ beats me."

The gardener returned with the doctor--a quiet, dark, resoluteman. Benjamin advanced to meet them. "I have got the key," hesaid. "Shall I go upstairs with you?"

Without answering, the doctor drew Benjamin aside into a cornerof the hall. The two talked together in low voices. At the end ofit the doctor said, "Give me the key. You can be of no use; youwill only irritate her."

With those words he beckoned to the gardener. He was about tolead the way up the stairs when I ventured to stop him.

"May I stay in the hall, sir?" I said. "I am very anxious to hearhow it ends."

He looked at me for a moment before he replied.

"You had better go home, madam," he said. "Is the gardeneracquainted with your address?"

"Yes, sir."

"Very well. I will let you know how it ends by means of thegardener. Take my advice. Go home."

Benjamin placed my arm in his. I looked back, and saw the doctorand the gardener ascending the stairs together on their way tothe locked-up room.

"Never mind the doctor," I whispered. "Let's wait in the garden."

Benjamin would not hear of deceiving the doctor. "I mean to takeyou home," he said. I looked at him in amazement. My old friend,who was all meekness and submission so long as there was noemergency to try him, now showed the dormant reserve of manlyspirit and decision in his nature as he had never (in myexperience) shown it yet. He led me into the garden. We had keptour cab: it was waiting for us at the gate.

On our way home Benjamin produced his note-book.

"What's to be done, my dear, with the gib berish that I havewritten here?" he said.

"Have you written it all down?" I asked, in surprise.

"When I undertake a duty, I do it," he answered. "You never gaveme the signal to leave off--you never moved your chair. I havewritten every word of it. What shall I do? Throw it out of thecab window?"

"Give it to me."

"What are you going to do with it?"

"I don't know yet. I will ask Mr. Playmore."