How long she had been asleep she did not know, but suddenly, for some inexplicable reason, she woke with a start, and sat up in the bed, her nerves strung to their utmost tension, faculties all on the alert. It seemed to her that she had heard a muffled cry for help, a wild appeal for mercy; but now that she was listening with all her will, she could hear nothing. All was dark and quiet: not a sound broke the silence of the still night. After a moment or two, Dora believed that she had mistaken a dream for a reality, and, laughing softly at her own folly, lay down again to sleep. As her head touched the pillow, the deep bell of the hall clock chimed "one." Remembering how often she had heard those dreary tones in the past week, Dora smiled drowsily to herself, and was soon fast asleep again. When she again woke it was dawn. Someone was knocking furiously at the door of the bedroom. Dora leaped out of her bed, unlocked it, and flung it wide open. Meg Gance, the cook, stood shaking on the threshold, as pale as a ghost. "Miss Dora! O Lord, miss!" gasped the terrified woman. "The master is--is--is dead!" "Dead?" replied Dora in a dazed tone. "Murdered! And his head! O Lord! 'tis bashed in like a pumpkin!" CHAPTER VII. A NINE DAYS' SCANDAL. And this was the end of Julian Edermont's high spirits. For twenty years he had dreaded and guarded himself against a violent death; but the moment that the fear had been removed the end came. There was something ironical in the way in which Fate had lulled his suspicions only to smite the surer. One day he had been rejoicing in the thought that the reign of terror was over; the next he lay dead under his own roof-tree, and none knew who had slain him. They found the body in the study, lying near the desk, which was broken open and terribly damaged. As Meg, the cook, stated, his head was smashed in like a pumpkin, and near by lay the weapon with which the deed had been done--a Zulu knobkerrie, which had been torn from the decorative weapons of the wall. Dora was an exceptionally brave woman, cool in danger and collected in trouble; but even she felt qualmish to see that revered head all beaten, all splashed with gore. The place was like a shambles. Amid the blood lay a pistol, near to the hand of the dead man, and many papers were scattered about it, tossed in confusion from the bureau. Mr. Edermont had been nothing more to Dora than her legal guardian. He had been a selfish, cowardly creature, who had done nothing to win her love; yet, as Dora looked at the body lying there, red with blood, battered, and beaten, and bruised, she felt at once sorry and angered. The first, that so harmless--so far as she knew--a creature had been so cruelly done to death; the second, that his assassin had escaped. However, as the deed was done, and the man was dead, no time was to be lost in raising the alarm. It was just possible that the murderer might be secured if prompt measures were taken.