But the old gentleman was fatigued with his day's shooting and when half-past eleven came he was glad to slink off to his friendly couch. Thus Gerard was alone. He lit a cigar and stretched himself in a huge leather armchair, an untouched drink close at hand. The house was quite silent. He had told Bronson that he would put out the lights in the smoking-room when they left. No one was about and not a breath of wind stirred a tree outside. He sat there for some minutes--and then his heart began to beat violently. Whose was that soft footfall directly overhead? With the departure of the grandchildren from the old nurseries there was no one left in the wing but Katherine Bush! All sorts of visions came to him; she had not yet gone to bed--perhaps she, too, was waiting for the New Year? He got up and listened, his pulses bounding so that he seemed to hear his heart thumping against his side. There was the sound again! It was not to be endured. Fierce emotion shook him, and at last all restraint fell from him, and passion became lord. Then he extinguished the lights and softly crept up the stairs. CHAPTER XVIII Katherine had that instant removed her dressing-gown after the brushing of her hair, which now hung in two long plaits. She was in the act of slipping into bed. The carpet in the passage was thick, and she heard no sounds, so that the first thing which startled her was the actual opening of the door of her room, which it had not been her custom to lock. For one second a blind terror shook her, and then all her nerve and resource returned. She stood there magnificent in her anger and resentment. She had no female instinct instantly to seize the dressing-gown to cover herself. She stood straight up in her cheap nainsook nightgown, all the beautiful lines of her tall, slender figure showing in the soft shaded light. Gerard Strobridge was like a man drunk with wine. His eye flamed and he trembled with excitement. The bed, a small old wooden one, was between them with a writing-table at the foot. So that to reach her he must go round by the fire. This he did, while he whispered hoarsely: "Katherine--I love you--madly--I had to come to you, darling girl!" Then he stopped within a few feet of her, literally sobered by the expression of her face. It showed not an atom of fear--rather the proud contempt of an empress ordering the death of a presuming slave. She did not speak for a moment; she seemed to draw up to her full height, and even to grow taller; she was only an inch or two less than himself. And if the scorn of eyes could kill, he would have lain there dead. "Darling!" he cried, and went forward to take her in his arms. She stepped back only one step and spoke at last, her deep tones low. "If you dare to touch me, I will kill you--I am not afraid of you, you know--You are only a beast, after all--and I am the man with the club."