“It is part of a larger piece of foolery that has rescued you, Ilam,” Carpentaria replied, and he was crossing the room to approach Ilam, when he saw something in the looking-glass over the mantelpiece, and he started back. Mrs. Ilam, the paralytic, roused in some strange way, either by the violence of the scenes at which she had assisted, or by the inexplicable influence of the music, was almost erect in her bed, and her trembling parchment hands had seized the revolver which Rosie had left on the floor, and she was endeavouring to point it between Jetsam’s shoulders. The other two men turned and saw the fatal and appalling movement of the aged creature, who was evidently in the grip of some tremendously powerful instinct--the kind of instinct that only dies with death. Carpentaria alone retained his self-possession. With a swift and yet gentle movement he disarmed the terrible old woman, and she sank back, with streaming eyes, helpless and moveless as before. The incident was over in a few seconds. “And now,” said Carpentaria, “I will hear your story, Mr. Jetsam. But first, we must lift this bed back to its proper-position.” “Very well,” replied Jetsam, trembling in spite of himself. “You shall hear my story.” The music ceased. CHAPTER XXIX--Mr. Jetsam’s Recital We will go downstairs,” said Carpentaria, when a certain amount of order had been restored to the room. “We shall be more at ease there.” “No,” cried Jetsam, and there was a note of passion in his voice. “This old woman shall hear my tale. I tell it in her presence, or I tell it not at all.” Carpentaria gazed at Mrs. Ilam’s eyes, which made no response. Her bed was now replaced in its proper position, and those strange burning eyes perused their old spot in the ceiling. After the brief and terrible return of activity to that stricken body, it seemed to have sunk back into a condition of helplessness more absolute even than before. The eyes burned, but not quite with their former disturbing brilliance. “Very well,” Carpentaria agreed. Ilam was already seated, apparently half-comatose. The other two men each seized a chair. And then there was a timid but insistent knocking. “What is that?” demanded Carpentaria of Jetsam. “You ought to know; you have been master here for some hours.” “It is Miss Rosie, I imagine,” Jetsam answered. “Your singular music has startled her.” Carpentaria walked rapidly to the door, unlocked it, and opened it. Rosie it indeed was who stood there.