As he said the last words Julian looked up across the barrier of the bed at his friend. His lips opened as if to speak, but he said nothing; for he was under the spell of a wild hallucination. It seemed to him that there, under the hard glare of the gas-lamps, the soul of Marr spoke, stared from the pure, proud face of Valentine. That was like a possession of his friend. It was horrible, as if a devil chose for a moment to lurk and to do evil in the sanctuary of a church, to blaspheme at the very altar. Valentine did not speak. He was looking down on the dead serenity of Marr, vindictively. A busy intellect flashed in his clear blue eyes, meditating vigorously upon the dead man's escape from bondage, following him craftily to the very door of his freedom, to seize him surely, if it might be. This is what Julian felt in his hallucination, that Valentine was pursuing Marr, uselessly, but with a deadly intention, a deadly hatred. "Valentine!" Julian cried at last. Valentine looked up. And in an instant the spell was removed. Julian saw his friend and protector rightly again, calm, pure, delicately reserved. The death-chamber no longer contained a phantom. His eyes were no longer the purveyors of a terrible deception to his mind. "Oh, Valentine, come here," Julian said. Valentine came round by the end of the bed and stood beside him. Julian examined him narrowly. "Never stand opposite to me again, Valentine." "Opposite to you! Why not?" "Nothing, nothing. Or--everything. What is the matter with this room? and me? and you? And why is Marr so changed?" "How is he changed? You know I have never seen his face before." "You do not see it now. He has gone out of it. All that was Marr as I knew him has utterly gone. Death has driven it away and left something quite different. Let us go." Julian got up. Valentine took up the candle from its place beside the curling-pins and lifted his hand to the gas-chandelier. He had turned out one of the burners, and was just going to turn out the two others when Julian checked him. "No; leave them. Let the landlord put them out. Leave him in the light." They went out of the room, treading softly. A little way up the staircase that led from the landing to the upper parts of the house a light flickered down to them, and they perceived the pale face of the housemaid diligently regarding them. Julian beckoned to her. "You showed the gentleman--the gentleman who is dead--to his room last night?" "Yes, sir. Oh, sir, I can't believe he's really gone so sudden like." "Then you saw the lady with him?" "Yes, of course. Oh--" "Hush! What was she like?" The housemaid's nose curled derisively. "Oh, sir, quite the usual sort. Oh, a very common person. Not at all like the poor gentleman, sir." "Young?" "Not to say old, sir. No; I couldn't bring that against her. She wore a hat, sir, and feathers--well, more than ever growed on one ostrich, I'll be bound." "Feathers!"