The tone that fell on her ear was not familiar. Was it a ghostly presence that had crept near her? Those eyes had looked so terrible. They were withdrawn now, and she heard a light footfall on the steps which froze her blood within her. Suddenly her husband stood before her in his strange garb and with so wild and distraught a bearing that her terror was hardly lessened. "Alfred," she gasped. "What is the matter? Why have you come like this?" "Hush, Hester, don't speak so loud. Nobody must hear. Are you quite alone? Nobody about--all the servants gone?" whispered her husband, glancing round furtively. "Alfred, what has--How awful you look--and that dress. What has happened?" "Yes, I must look an awful guy! I'm sorry I've scared you! I might at least have taken off the turban before I showed myself--seeing I'm not a native, anyhow," he added, with a bitter laugh. Then springing forward he took hold of his wife's trembling hands and wailed in a piteous tone: "Oh, Hester, you won't desert me? Whatever happens, whatever you may hear about me. There will be many lies afloat. Hester, I'm in mortal trouble, everything has tumbled to bits----" "Alfred, is it--is it that you've just found out--since you left this morning--that Mr. Morpeth is your father?" she asked, holding his hands and looking into his eyes. "So you've heard that!" he gasped. "It's true what that fiend told me----" "But why trouble about that?" said Hester gently. "I have just been thinking how good it would be if it were true! I know you have hated Eurasians, but--but if your father is one, surely that prejudice will snap like a gossamer thread. Think how noble he is--and Mark Cheveril too." As she spoke that name, a picture, like a benediction, sprang into her troubled mind--those frank, honest eyes, that chivalrous protective presence--what would she not give to have Mark Cheveril with her at this difficult juncture to aid her in her persuasions, for she had not yet fathomed the abyss of trouble which seethed about her. "Why, Alfred, a parentage like that will be our pride," she went on, and her tone rang with conviction. Her husband stared at her for an instant with a strange wistful expression in his eyes, then he shook his head and pulled his hand from her grasp. "It's a lie," he shrieked. "A vile lie! I wouldn't touch the man with the tongs! He's not my father. You're on the wrong track altogether, Hester, it's not that. Listen and I'll whisper," he added, turning with terrified eyes to stare at the long shadows thrown by the moonlight from the shrubs encircling the gravel sweep. "I'm a hunted man. They're after me already--the police, I mean! I'm a criminal, Hester! In a mad moment I yielded to a vile temptation. The long and the short of it is that I've made myself liable to conviction for forgery. I'm ruined." Then he narrated incoherently all that had led up to his using the Mahomedan's name.