“It is my husband. My beast of a husband! What has he been doing! Oh, Heaven! I heard him say something about murder, and I thought it was only his drunken raving. Has he committed murder, then, and will he be hanged? If so, I will never show my face in England or New York again!” exclaimed Lamia, losing all decent self-control and becoming hysterical, not from anxious affection, but from alarmed pride. “Compose yourself, madam. There is no murder on his hands. There is nothing but what you may get over in the peace of your father’s house,” said Will Walling. “Why cannot you tell me what it is, then?” demanded Lamia, breaking into sobs and tears. “Yes! why the mischief can’t you speak out?” “Because I gave my word not to do so. Because, in any case, I would not do so. Because it is not even proper that I should. And, finally, because it is best that your sister should hear what she must from her father.” “It is a nightmare! A horrid, hideous nightmare!” cried Lamia, sobbing violently. “When are we to hear this news, whatever it may be—this mystery, this calamity—from the old gentleman?” roughly demanded Leegh. “When the gentleman who is with him now comes out to tell us that your father is ready to receive you,” replied Will Walling. “By ——! Upon my honor, you are very cool, sir,” sneered Leegh. “It is a nightmare! A ghastly, deadly nightmare!” wailed Lamia. “It it the day of doom, and the quick and the dead rise in judgment!” groaned a deep, hollow voice. It was that of Gentleman Geff. His rolling eyes had fallen upon a group composed of Mike, Dandy and Longman, and he sat staring in horror upon them. “That drunken idiot ought to be carried up to bed, Lamia,” said Leegh in strong disgust. “I will not have him touched,” replied the woman, with a shudder. In the meantime Randolph Hay had crossed the hall and turned the knob of the library door. He found it locked. Then he rapped. “Who is there?” inquired the quavering voice of John Legg. “It is I, your friend, Hay,” replied Ran. The door was instantly opened by Julia Legg. “Please excuse us and come in, Mr. Hay. We only locked the door to keep that terrible man from bursting in upon us,” said Julia apologetically. “Quite right,” replied Ran, good-humoredly, as he entered the room. He found John Legg still sitting at the narrow table from which the little supper had not yet been removed. The poor man looked pale, haggard, anxious and many years older than he had seemed a few hours before. Ran also took the precaution to lock the door before he came and seated himself at the table opposite John Legg. Julia drew a chair to the side of her husband, sat down and took his hands in hers. “You look troubled, Mr. Hay. You have something more to tell me about my poor girl, and you shrink from telling it. But speak out, sir. I can bear it,” said John Legg, with stoical resignation.