“It’s the name of an inn, ma’am. He’s married. Yes, he walks through the churchyard and he’s never seen anything. His wife--she’s got a bitter tongue--says that she’s not surprised. He can’t see her by the time he gets home. My sister Agrippa is as brave as a lion--it runs in the family. What’s that!” He half rose. From the hall came the sound of stealthy footsteps. “Go out and see.” She reached for the gun. Mr. Superbus went reluctantly, making a wide detour. You can as easily see into the hall from the far side of the room as from the doorway. She saw him creep slowly onward until he was in a position, by stretching his neck, to command a view of the hall. “Don’t shoot, ma’am,” he quavered; “it’s Aunt!” Heloise advanced into the room, a scowl on her face. “What’s the trouble?” she demanded. “I heard somebody running upstairs.” Her eyes fell on the biscuit tin. She reached for a handful, sat down before the unlit fire and munched moodily. “There’s a cat and canary feeling about this house,” she said. “I wish I was home!” Diana was impressed by the abysmal dejection of the woman. “Get another cup and saucer, Mr. Superbus,” she said. “Aunt Lizzie would like some tea.” Julius had gone down on his knees before the fireplace, in that attitude resembling a priest of some mystic sect of fire-worshippers. Straightening his back, he looked up anxiously. “You will find a cup and saucer on the servery at the end of the passage,” said Diana. “You need not go down to the kitchen.” Julius rose with relief. “_I_ don’t mind the kitchen,” he said untruly. It was Heloise who lit the fire and crouched above it, folded arms on knees, staring down at the little banners of flame. It seemed to her that a million years had passed since she had discussed anybody’s soul. Watching her, Diana had a view of a delicately moulded cheek and the tip of a well-shaped nose, and experienced an inexplicable wave of compassion toward the woman. “What is Double Dan to you?” she asked. Heloise shrugged her left shoulder. “Are you married to him?” Mrs. van Oynne was sensitive to atmosphere. No English barometer (the most restless of all scientific instruments except perhaps a Japanese seismograph) was quite as responsive to the emotions of others as was the little detector which registered sympathy in the nimble brain of Heloise. “Some day I will tell you,” she said, in a tone of deepest melancholy, “but not now--not now!” She drew a long, shivering sigh. “I don’t suppose you’re following this kind of life for the fun of it,” Diana went on, her heart softening toward her unwilling guest. “You’ve said it!” Heloise nodded slowly. “If I could do anything--” began Diana. Mr. Superbus arrived with the extra cup and saucer, and confidences were temporarily sidetracked. “Sleep well, Aunt Lizzie?” asked Julius, drinking audibly. She shook her head.