As they stepped within the rays of the solitary gas-jet already mentioned, I cast one quick look into Gilbertine's face, then a long one into Dorothy's. I could read neither. If it was horror and horror only which rendered both so pale and fixed of feature, then their emotion was similar in character and intensity. But if in either breast the one dominant sentiment was fear--horrible, blood-curdling fear--then was that fear confined to Dorothy; for while Gilbertine advanced bravely, Dorothy's steps lagged, and at the point where she should have turned into the library, she whirled sharply about and made as if she would fly back up stairs. But one stare from Gilbertine, one word from Sinclair, recalled her to herself and she passed in and the door closed upon the three. I was left to prevent possible intrusion and to eat out my heart in intolerable suspense. VI DOROTHY SPEAKS I shall not subject you to the ordeal from which I suffered. You shall follow my three friends into the room. According to Sinclair's description, the interview proceeded thus: As soon as the door had closed upon them, and before either of the girls had a chance to speak, he remarked to Gilbertine: "I have brought you here because I wish to express to you, in the presence of your cousin, my sympathy for the bereavement which in an instant has robbed you both of a lifelong guardian. I also wish to say in the light of this sad event, that I am ready, if propriety so exacts, to postpone the ceremony which I hoped would unite our lives to-day. Your wish shall be my wish, Gilbertine; though I would suggest that possibly you never more needed the sympathy and protection which only a husband can give than you do to-day." He told me afterward that he was so taken up with the effect of this suggestion on Gilbertine that he forgot to look at Dorothy, though the hint he strove to convey of impending trouble was meant as much for her as for his affianced bride. In another moment he regretted this, especially when he saw that Dorothy had changed her attitude and was now looking away from them both. "What do you say, Gilbertine?" he asked earnestly, as she sat flushing and paling before him. "Nothing. I have not thought--it is a question for others to decide--others who know what is right better than I. I appreciate your consideration," she suddenly burst out--"and should be glad to tell you at this moment what to expect; but--give me a little time--let me see you later--in the morning, Mr. Sinclair, after we are all somewhat rested and when I can see you quite alone." Dorothy rose. "Shall I go?" she asked. Sinclair advanced and with quiet protest, touched her on the shoulder. Quietly she sank back into her seat.