"It is black, not dark," replied Thomas, in answer to George's remark. "I never saw it so black as it is now. Last night it was comparatively light." George turned his gaze quickly upwards to the moon, searching in the aspect of that luminary a solution to the darker shade of to-night. "There's no difference!" he cried aloud. "The moon was as bright as this, last night, but not brighter. I don't think it could be brighter. You say the Shadow was there last night, Thomas?" "Yes. But not so dark as now." "But, Thomas! you were ill last night; you could not see it." "I came as far as the turnstile here with Lord Averil. He called at Ashlydyat after leaving Lady Godolphin's Folly. I was better then, and strolled out of the house with him." "Did he see the Shadow?" "I don't know. It was there; but not very distinct. He did not appear to see it. We were passing quickly, and talking about my illness." "Did you give Averil any hint of what your illness may be?" asked George hastily. "Not an indication of it. Janet, Snow, and you, are my only confidants as yet. Bexley is partially so. Were that Shadow to be seen by Prior's Ash, and the fact of my illness transpired, people would say that it was a forewarning of my end," he continued, with a grave smile, as he and George turned to pursue their road to Ashlydyat. They reached the porch in silence. George shook hands with his brother. "Don't attempt to come to business to-morrow," he said. "I will come up in the evening, and see you." "Won't you come in now, George?" "Not now. Good night, Thomas. I heartily wish you better." George turned and retraced his steps, past the ash-trees, past the Dark Plain. Intensely black the Shadow certainly looked: darker even than when he had passed it just before--at least so it appeared to George's eyes. He halted a moment, quite struck with the sombre hue. "Thomas said it appeared light last night," he half muttered: "and for _him_ death cannot be much of an evil. Superstitious Janet, daft Margery, would both say that the evil affects me: that I am to bring it!" he added, with a smile of mockery at the words. "Angry enough it certainly looks!" It did look angry. But George vouchsafed it no further attention. He had too much on his mind to give heed to shadows, even though it were the ominous Shadow of Ashlydyat. George, as he had said to Charlotte Pain, was very nearly at his wits' end. One of his minor perplexities was, how he should get to London. He had urgent necessity for proceeding in search of Mr. Verrall, and equally urgent was it that the expedition should be kept from Thomas Godolphin. What excuse could he invent for his absence?