Blake crept to Annette's side and spoke in a low tone. "Annette, this is I--Walter, your lover. You belong to me. I revoke no other commands, but you are to listen to me also and do as I tell you. Answer me first. You have been commanded to rise when you hear music?" As by the miracle of one speaking in normal tones out of sleep, Annette answered: "Yes." "Speak low. You have been commanded to enter the other room then, turn out the light, lift a trap, let down a rope ladder, descend it, and say certain things?" "Yes." The tone was less than a whisper. "Have you been given anything special to say to-night--has anything been impressed upon you?" "Yes." "What is it?" "After the rest, I am to say: 'Robert, they tell me that the great danger is near. They give me a message which I do not understand--"Declare that dividend tomorrow." You do not know the awful things which will come if you do not.'" Blake could hear Rosalie catch her breath at this. It came to him, also, that he had intervened at the very climax of Mrs. Markham's operation on Robert H. Norcross. But he went on firmly: "Obey that. Do as you were told. But do something else. So that you will remember, I am going to whisper it in your ear." Blake leaned over for a minute, and whispered. Presently he raised himself a little, so that he bent over her face, and said in a low speaking voice: "Do all that. I command you. I am Walter, and you must obey me. And remember especially--when you have done it all, then wake--wake and do not be alarmed. Do you hear?" "Yes." "Will you obey?" "Yes." "You will not be frightened?" "No." Rosalie touched his arm. Blake, with one last look back, stepped outside and dropped the portières. Rosalie drew him into the hall, softly locked the door, beckoned him to follow to the head of the stairs. And hard upon this movement, the piano downstairs began: _Wild roamed an Indian maid, bright Alfaretta._ "Make no noise--and hurry!" whispered Rosalie. Down the stairs they went, and stationed themselves by the hall door of the drawing-room. There, it was pitch dark. Without risk of being seen, they could look along the dim reaches of Mrs. Markham's parlors. From a point above their heads, a little, shaded cabinet-lamp gave a fan of low light which shone full on the dark curtains of the alcove library. They could make out, by his white hair and collar, the back of a man, and a shadowy figure at the piano. "Wild roamed an Indian maid" was falling away to its dying chord. Silence settled again; the back of the old man swayed. Mrs. Markham spoke from the piano stool: "I feel your influence, Helen. You are stronger every time, dear, because his love grows stronger. Come, dear--come."