"Come," he said, "I trust that I have said enough. You have buried the thought of that hateful word." "You have stricken it mortally," I answered, "but I can scarcely promise so speedy a funeral. However, what more I feel," I added, "I will keep to myself." "It would be better," he answered curtly. "You have asked me," I said, "many questions. I am emboldened to ask you one. You have spoken of my father." The look he threw upon me was little short of terrible. "Ay," he answered, "I have spoken of him. Let me tell you this, young man. If I believed that you were a creature of his breed, if I believed that a drop of his black blood ran in your veins, I would take you by the neck now and throw you into the nearest creek where the water was deep enough to drown." I rose to my feet, trembling. "If those are your feelings, sir," I declared, "I have no wish to claim your kindness." "Sit down, boy," he answered coldly. "I have no fear of you. Nature does not pay us so evil a trick as to send us two such as he in successive generations." He rose and looked out of the window. The storm had abated but little. The roar of the sea and wind was still like thunder in the air. Black clouds were driven furiously across the sky, torrents of rain and spray beat every now and then upon the window. He turned back and examined the carriage lamp. "It is an awful night," I said. "I cannot offer you a bed unless you will take mine, but I can bring rugs and a pillow to the fire if you will lie there." Then for the only time in my life I saw him hesitate. He looked out of my uncurtained window into the night. Very often have I wondered what thought it was that passed then through his brain. "I thank you," he said; "the walk is nothing, and they will expect me at Rowchester. You have pencil and paper. Write down what I tell you.--Colonel Mostyn Ray, No. 17, Sussex Square. You have that? Good! It is my address. Presently I think you will get tired of your life here. Come then to me. I may be able to show you the way--" "Out of the conservatory," I interrupted, smiling. He nodded, and took up the lantern. To my surprise, he did not offer to shake hands. Without another word he passed out into the darkness. In my dreams that night I fancied that a strange cry came ringing to my ears from the marshes--a long-drawn-out cry of terror, ending in a sob. I was weary, and I turned on my side again and slept. CHAPTER III THE CRY IN THE NIGHT "You'd be having company last night, sir?" Mrs. Hollings remarked inquisitively. Mrs. Hollings was an elderly widow, who devoted two hours of her morning to cleaning my rooms and preparing my breakfast. "Some friends did call," I answered, pouring out the coffee.