She had halted in the centre of the hall, and seemed to be examining some object upon the Indian table, whereon tea was always served in the afternoon. The light was just sufficient to reveal that she held something small and white in her hand, but what it was I was unable to distinguish. The "partial aboulia," as we doctors term the lack of ability to perform intentional acts, which had seized me on discovering the intruder, quickly gave place to an endeavour to conceal myself; and this I accomplished by crouching down behind a large square pedestal whereon stood a giant palm. As I watched I saw her make a tour of the place, examining every object as though in search of something. Then, with deliberation, she passed through the door by which I had entered, and crept noiselessly up the stairs. She was ascending to the room of the woman who feared her! I stole along after her. It was an adventurous piece of spying, for the slightest creak of the stairs would betray my presence, and oaken stairs creak horribly. At last I gained the top, and, as I stood, watched her steal noiselessly along the corridor, past Beryl's room, to my own room. She tried the door cautiously, opened it, and entered. As though in disappointment that I was not there she quickly came forth, stood in hesitation listening in the corridor, and then, creeping back, stopped before Beryl's room. Evidently, she was well acquainted with the geography of the house, and knew who occupied the various chambers. In the corridor it was much lighter than in the hall, and, as she came to a standstill before Beryl's door, I was quite close to her, crouching on the dark stair, my head only on a level with the floor of the corridor. It was then I made a discovery which was somewhat puzzling: while her right hand was free, on the left she wore a black glove. She bent at the door, peered into the keyhole, and, having listened in order to satisfy herself that Beryl was asleep, slowly turned the handle to try if it were locked. Would she enter? I stood watching her actions with bated breath. That she was there with evil intent was absolutely certain. The lock yielded, and, pushing open the door very slowly, she stole in on tiptoe, closing it after her. What should I do? My love was in deadly peril--of that I felt certain. She had defied the Major, and the revenge of that all-powerful but unknown person, La Gioia, was upon her. She was alone--asleep, and at her mercy! To dash in and seize her would be to alarm the house and, perhaps, compromise my loved one. Yet what could I do to save her? I had seen by the evil glint in her eyes that she was there with fell intent, and I knew by the cautious manner in which she moved, without hesitation or fear, that she was no amateur at such nocturnal visits. Indeed, she moved like a dark shadow, gliding without the slightest noise until one might almost have believed her to be some supernatural visitant.