‘And you may therefore have imagined the noises in yonder road to be sounds proceeding from the interior of this house. Nothing is so deceptive as the sense of hearing, especially in nervous subjects.’ ‘No, Davoren, I made no such mistake. Nothing you or any one else can say will convince me that I did not hear the shutting of the heavy outer door, a door in the back premises that opens upon the garden. I should, perhaps, have thought less of this fact, strange and alarming as it is in itself, were it not for my own feelings. From the hour in which I heard those sounds I have had an overpowering sense of approaching evil. I feel that something, or some influence inimical to myself, is near at hand, overshadowing and surrounding my life with its evil power. I feel almost as I felt twelve years ago, when I woke from my drugged sleep to find that my son had robbed me.’ ‘The delusion of an overwrought brain,’ said Lucius. ‘I must give you a sedative that will insure better sleep.’ ‘No, for pity’s sake,’ cried the old man eagerly, ‘no opiates. Let me retain my natural sense to the last. If there is danger at hand I need it all the more.’ ‘There can be no such thing as danger,’ said Lucius; ‘but I will examine the fastenings of that back door, and of all other external doors, and, if necessary, have the locks and bolts made more secure.’ ‘The locks and bolts are strong enough. You need waste no money on them. I used to fasten all the doors myself every night before my illness.’ ‘You have every reason to trust the Winchers, I suppose?’ ‘As much reason as I can have to trust any human being. They have served me upwards of five-and-twenty years, and I have never yet found them out in any attempt to cheat me. They may have been robbing me all the time, nevertheless, as my son robbed me, and may wind up by cutting my throat.’ ‘A crime that would hardly repay them for their trouble, I imagine,’ said Lucius, with his thoughtful smile, ‘since you possess nothing but your collection, and the assassins could hardly dispose of that.’ ‘Perhaps not. But they may think that I am rich—in spite of all I have ever told them of my poverty—just as you may think that I am rich, and that the penniless girl you have chosen may turn out a prize by and by.’ ‘I have no such thought,’ answered Lucius, meeting his patient’s cunning look with the calm clear gaze of perfect truth; ‘wealth or poverty can make no difference in my love for your granddaughter. For her own sake I might wish that she were not altogether portionless; for mine I can have no such desire. I value no fortune but such as I can win for myself.’