“My darling: what is it?” she said. “What dreadful thing has happened?” He stooped his head still lower, and whispered something in her ear. She stared up into his face for a moment, then his arms tightened suddenly round her, and they all saw that she had fainted. At Park Newton the evening wore itself slowly and gloomily away. Tom and Mr. Hoskyns, assisted occasionally by Mr. Perrins and the vicar, did their best to keep the conversation from flagging, but at times with only indifferent success. None of them could forget what day it was—could forget what took place that night twelve months ago, only a few yards from where they were sitting; and so remembering, who could wonder that the dinner seemed tasteless and the wines without flavour, that the lights seemed to burn low, and that to the imagination of more than one there a shrouded figure was with them in the room, invisible to mortal eyes, but none the less surely there, drinking when they drank, pledging a health when they pledged one, and knowing well all the time which one of the company would be the first to join it in that Land of Shadows to which it now belonged. Kester was altogether gloomy and preoccupied, and Lionel hardly spoke at all except when spoken to. General St. George was obliged to keep up some show of conversation out of compliment to his guests; but no one but himself knew how irksome it was to do so. What did Lionel intend to do? Would there be a scene—a fracas—between the two cousins? What would be the end of the wretched business? How fervently he wished that the morrow was safely come, that he had seen that unhappy man’s face for the last time, and that he, and Lionel, and Edith were fairly started on their long journey to the other side of the world! The vicar and the two men of law had naturally expected that the party would break up by ten o’clock at the latest. Not that it mattered greatly to either Perrins or Hoskyns, who were to stay at Park Newton all night. But the vicar was an old man, and anxious to get home in decent time, so that when he began to fidget and look at his watch, Lionel, who was only waiting for him to make a move, knew that it would be impossible to detain him much longer. “I must really ask you to excuse me, General,” said the old man at last. “But I see that it is past ten o’clock, and quite time for gay young sparks like me to be thinking of their night-caps.” “I hope you are not particular to a few minutes, vicar,” said Lionel. “I have ordered coffee to be served in my room, and, with my uncle’s permission, we will all adjourn there.” “You must not keep me long,” said the vicar. “I will not,” said Lionel. “But I know that you like to finish up your evening with a little café noir; and I have, besides, a picture which I want to show you, and which I think will interest you very much—a picture—which I want to show not only to you, Dr. Wharton, but to all the other gentlemen who are here to-night.”