She met his glance for a moment, then lowered her eyes, and turned to speak to the vicar, who, worthy man, was sitting with his hands clasped on his knees, and his eyes and mouth wide open. “My dear Miss Vanley,” he gasped, “what an exciting recitation! I--I don’t think I ever heard anything more--more terrible. Mr. Haraden----” “Faradeane,” said Olivia. “I beg your pardon--Faradeane--is a most accomplished actor, most accomplished.” “Oh, thank you so much, so very much,” murmured Aunt Amelia, jerking her feathers at Faradeane. “It was wonderful, perfectly wonderful. I was never so horrified in my life! Why, it has made our poor little entertainment quite distinguished! How could you do it?” “It is not very difficult,” said Mr. Faradeane, with a smile. “You are all too good-natured, Miss Vanley,” and he sank into his corner and was hidden from the curious and awestruck gaze of the audience. The entertainment proceeded; but after the event of the evening, the part songs and duets fell flat, and the big audience dispersed, thinking and talking of nothing but “The Dream of Eugene Aram” and the strange gentleman who had made them shudder and turn pale. As the Grange party left the room, Lord Carfield came up. “Where is your friend, Mr. Faradeane, Bertie?” he asked. “I wish you would introduce me. I never heard Hood’s poem better done.” Bertie, who had Olivia on his arm, looked round and beckoned to Faradeane. “My father,” he said, “wants to know you, Faradeane.” Mr. Faradeane came forward and bowed. The old earl looked at him with a rather puzzled expression. “Haven’t I seen you before, Mr. Faradeane?” he said. Mr. Faradeane looked him steadily in the face. “I think not, Lord Carfield,” he said. “No! That’s strange. I had a fancy that we had met before this. Allow me to thank you for an intellectual treat. Your recital of ‘Eugene Aram’ was remarkably good; remarkably good. I never heard it better done, never.” Mr. Faradeane smiled. “There are hundreds of people who could do it better, Lord Carfield.” “I dare say,” said his lordship, “but I have never heard them. It made me shudder; but that is the effect you wanted to produce, no doubt. What amazes me, though, is how a man who hasn’t committed a murder--I don’t suppose that you have, Mr. Faradeane?” Faradeane smiled strangely. “What astonishes me is how a man who hasn’t slain a fellow creature could portray the feelings of the criminal so closely as you have done.” “It is all trickery, Lord Carfield,” said Faradeane. “Oh, of course,” said Bartley Bradstone, who was standing near, and listening with a moody bitterness. He had been watching Olivia during the whole of the recital, and had remarked, with furious jealousy, the effect produced on her. “It’s just a knack,” he said. Lord Carfield turned to him with that slow, calm regard which always drove Bartley Bradstone half mad.