The two girls had been speaking in whispers, as if they stood in a presence which compelled hushed voices. Now, suddenly, Miss Bewicke raised her tones, extending her small palm towards the door through which they had entered. 'Oh! you wretches! wretches!' She broke into a passion of tears. 'May, for goodness' sake, don't cry!' 'I'm not going to. I don't know why I am so silly, but, for the moment, I couldn't help it.' Her sobs ceased almost as rapidly as they came. She dried her eyes. 'Letty, let's go and see what's happened. I'm afraid Miss Casata's--dead.' 'Dead?' 'Yes; and--the man.' 'The man?' 'They're so still. Let's go and see. Give me your hand.' Miss Broad yielded her hand. Miss Bewicke opened the door. The two peeped through. The room was not a large one. On one side was an ordinary French bedstead. A brass railing was on the head and foot. On this railing were hung feminine odds and ends. These made it difficult for anyone standing at the door to see clearly what was on the bed. Miss Broad perceived that on the outer edge there lay a woman. 'Who's that?' 'That's Louise Casata.' 'Perhaps she's sleeping.' 'She wouldn't sleep through all the noise.' 'She may be ill; I'll go and look at her.' 'Don't you see--that there's a man?' Miss Broad moved further into the room. She saw what the other alluded to. As she did so, she gave utterance to that cry which Mr Horace Burton heard, listening in the servants' room beyond--the cry in which there was such a mingling of emotions as they welled up to the lips from the woman's heart. Miss Casata lay almost on the extreme edge of the bed fully clothed. She was on her back. One arm dangled over the side; her head was a little aslant upon the pillow, so that from a little distance it looked as if her neck was broken. The whole pose was almost as uncomfortable a one as a human being could choose; indeed, the conviction was irresistibly borne in on the beholders that it was not self-chosen, unless she had sunk on to the bed in a drunken stupor; but Miss Bewicke knew that she was no drinker. However, it was not Miss Casata's plight which had drawn from Miss Broad that involuntary cry. Beside her, outlined beneath the bedclothes, was a figure, stiff and rigid. With the exception of one place, it was completely covered. Some one, curious, perhaps, to learn what the thing might mean, had drawn aside sufficient of the bedclothes to disclose a portion of the head and face. As a matter of fact, the curious person was Mr Horace Burton. When relieving himself of the burden of the lady who was once the object of his heart's affection, he had been struck by the outlined form which lay so curiously still, and had wondered what it was, and had seen; and because of what he had seen, had gone back to his companions with the fashion of his countenance so changed.