“I am very unhappy,” she said, in her low, musical voice, with the curious thrilling vibration that had given it such an appeal for me. “I feel as if somehow I had meant nothing but sorrow and grief to this place, as if I were of ill omen. Of course, it is presumptuous of me to even think of myself as being of so much importance.” “You seem to think very little of me now,” I murmured. It seemed unchivalrous not to render her some comfort of the heart. She was silent for a moment, and then pulled herself together. “I am afraid I think of you too much.” Even at that moment I was moved in my essential sex vanity, and was prepared to play the lover if it were worth while. “You have been very unkind lately, Esther.” I touched her lightly with my hand. She drew away from me. “I think you are wicked, and I know that what has been must be expiated. That is an inevitable law.” I shivered. There was a stern intensity in her voice despite its music. “Yes,” she continued, “I love you still, but I have no joy in doing so. If by dying I could make you better, I would willingly die, but I could never again——” She broke off abruptly, but I knew what she had intended saying, and I also knew that she meant it. She moved away, and left me peering out into the dark, mechanically trying to distinguish the features of the landscape as they became more and more blurred by the gathering dusk. Finally, I heard the library door open behind me, but pretended not to have done so. I started with feigned surprise when Mr. Gascoyne touched me on the arm. The little piece of acting was quite unneeded, but it denoted the nervous necessity that I felt for dissimulation. One glance at his face, even in the dusk, reassured me that, so far, I was not in any way an object of suspicion. “There will have to be an inquest, Israel. Phillimore is convinced that Gascoyne was poisoned. I think his insistence on the point rather annoys Dr. Grange.” “I concluded that an inquest would be necessary. When is it to be held?” “Phillimore has wired to London for a specialist in poisons, and the post-mortem will take place directly he arrives. It appears that Phillimore was mixed up in the Greybridge poisoning case, and knows a good deal about these things. Not,” he added hastily, “that there is the least suspicion of foul play.” Phillimore was evidently a highly unpleasant fellow, and I would willingly have pushed him over the battlements if occasion had offered. I made myself very civil to him, however. I was told that he had gone into the kitchen and superintended the cooking of everything which was sent upstairs. This had the effect of frightening all the servants into fits, and half of them were already complaining of imaginary internal aches and pains.