The bewildered young man responded that things should be exactly as the young lady required. He had seen many strange and wild things in his time, but none so strange and weird as this. It was all utterly irregular, of course, but people after all had a right to demand what they paid for. Enid watched the demure young man in black down the corridor, and then everything seemed to be enveloped in a dense purple mist, the world was spinning under her feet, there was a great noise like the rush of mighty waters in her brain. With a great effort she threw off the weakness and came to herself, trembling from head to foot. "Courage," she murmured, "courage. This life has told on me more than I thought. With Chris's example before me I must not break down now." CHAPTER XX FRANK LITTIMER The lamps gleamed upon the dusty statuary and pictures and faded flowers in the hall, they glinted upon a long polished oak casket there reposing upon trestles. Ever and anon a servant would peep in and vanish again as if ashamed of something. The house was deadly quiet now, for Mrs. Henson had fallen asleep worn out with exhaustion, and Enid had instantly stopped the dreadful clamour of the bell. The silence that followed was almost as painful as the noise had been. On the coffin were wreaths of flowers. Enid sat in the drawing-room with the door open, where she could see everything, but was herself unseen. She was getting terribly anxious and nervous again; the hour was near eleven, and the hearse might arrive at any time. She would know no kind of peace until she could get that hideous mockery out of the house. She sat listening thus, straining her ears to catch the slightest sound. Suddenly there came a loud clamour at the front door, an imperative knocking that caused Enid's heart to come into her mouth. Who could it be? What stranger had passed the dogs in that way? She heard crabbed, sour, but courageous old Williams go to the door. She heard the clang of bolts and the rattle of chains, and then a weird cry from Williams. A voice responded that brought Enid, trembling and livid, into the hall. A young man with a dark, exceedingly handsome face and somewhat effeminate mouth stood there, with eyes for nothing but the shining flower-decked casket on the trestles. He seemed beside himself with rage and grief; he might have been a falsely imprisoned convict face to face with the real culprit. "Why didn't you let me know?" he cried. "Why didn't you let me know?" His voice rang in the roof. Enid flew to his side and placed her hand upon his lips. "Your mother is asleep, Frank," she said. "She has had no sleep for three nights. A long rest may be the means of preserving her sanity. Why did you come here?" The young man laughed silently. It was ghastly mirth to see, and it brought the tears into Enid's eyes. She had forgotten the danger of the young man's presence.