“Answer me! Come in and shut the door.” But it was only the long habit of servitude, and perhaps something in the yellow eyes, that made the woman obey her. “Tell me what you mean. Quick!” Amelia Jane shrank against the door. “You knows dat poor, sweet lady won’t come to you no more,” she said, more civilly. “They left her!” cried Beryl. She cared nothing for the servant’s changed manner. “Amelia, they didn’t leave her behind?” She flung out her hands as if to beg the woman to contradict her. But Amelia Jane only nodded dumbly. Great tears began to pour down her cheeks. “It was dem beasts you called in,” she said. “But dere’s no more trouble in dis world for Miss Holbeach. She’s gone clean away from trouble. De golden chariot’s swung low to fetch her.” “Do you mean she’s dead?” Beryl’s eyes were dry, her tones perfectly even, but Amelia Jane made haste to nod. “Who killed her?” Beryl said, with a dreadful matter-of-factness, her voice very low and steady. But Amelia Jane saw nothing strange in the question. “Dem beasts,” she sobbed. “Dem beasts Salome said was haunts. Dey got her and poor old Salome. Dey chased master to de edge of de sea; he save you first, but he ain’t save de others. Chloe and you and me’s here--but----” she dropped her dark hands with a gesture of despair. The girl sprang toward her, a dreadful, tragic figure, in her white nightgown, her wild, dusky hair streaming. “Mr. Heriot----” she said, between her teeth, and, weak as she was, grasped Amelia Jane’s shoulder and shook her like a reed; “where was Mr. Heriot?” “Gone, too; dey all gone.” Amelia was curiously, cringingly civil now. “He never got far dat night he went away, for dey found him on de hillside. Dat was how come dey feared de place and started to take us away.” Beryl Corselas caught her breath hard, so that the woman waited for the sharp cry, the torrent of tears, that yet she did not expect. And when no cry came she trembled. “Dress me,” came the sharp order. “Tell Mr. Egerton I want to see him,” and something in her eyes made Amelia Jane hurry as she had never hurried before. “You can’t see him here,” she ventured timidly, looking at the disordered cabin. “Better come on deck; we’s nearly to de land.” “Bring him here!” and Amelia Jane fled for her life at the sudden, dangerous ring in the voice. But it was not Egerton who presently knocked at the door. “Come in,” said Beryl evenly, and did not start as she saw Raimond Erle--only looked him up and down with strange eyes. For a moment he could not think what to say to her. There was something terrible in her face, something like a beast waiting to spring in the tense lines of her body as she stood opposite him. He stepped across the threshold in silence, and he did not close the door behind him, but she seemed not to notice. “Where is Andria?” she said. “Where is Mr. Heriot? How is it that you and your father and I are alive when they are dead?”