Presently the ripple of a long sigh ran through the sleeping house. Frambant sprang to his feet and went to the antechamber. There he heard the sound again: it came from the west wing, which for the last year had been reserved for Villiers’s use. He caught up the candle and hurried along the cold passages. At his brother’s door he paused, for through the chinks and keyhole came soft broken lights. A woman was speaking in a voice full of agony:-- ‘Infamous, cruel deceiver! I have loved another, and given myself to thee!’ Again came that long sigh. Well-nigh petrified with fear, he fumbled at the latch until the door swung open. A terrible sight met his eyes. Villiers lay stark on the bed, a red stain spreading over his linen. On the pillow was a mask that had been rent in twain. Beside him stood a tall, shapely woman, covered from shoulder to foot with a loose web of diaphanous silk. Her long hair (of a withered-bracken colour) hung far below her knees; a veil of green gauze covered the upper part of her face. She was swaying to and fro, as if in pain. ‘Dastard,’ she wailed. ‘Thou hast attained the promised bliss unjustly. In my arms all innocently I slew thee, praying for thy soul to pass to my own heaven.’ Frambant’s lips moved. ‘My brother! my brother!’ The woman turned, glided towards him, and sank to her knees. She laughed, with the silver laughter of a child who after much lamentation has found the lost toy. ‘It is thou,’ she murmured. ‘Let us forget the evil he hath wrought against us--let us forget and--love.’ She put out her hand to grasp his, he lifted his arm and thrust her away. ‘Touch me not!’ he cried. She rose and faced him, supporting herself by grasping the bedpost. ‘He has wronged us foully,’ she said. ‘The last love--the flower of my life--he would have cheated me of it!’ ‘Murderess! murderess!’ Her breath came very quickly; its sweetness pierced her veil and touched his cheek. ‘What evil thing have I done?’ she asked. ‘’Tis my creed to love and to destroy.’ Frambant went to the further side of the bed, and felt at his brother’s heart. It was still, the flesh was growing cold. He flung his arm over the dead breast and wept, and Constantia stole nearer and knelt at his side. ‘God,’ she prayed, holding her hands above her head, ‘pervert all my former entreaties, let all the punishments of hell fall upon the dead man! Sustain the strength that has never failed, that I may conquer him who lives.’ Frambant staggered away; she locked her arms about his knees. ‘Listen,’ she said. ‘I loved thee from the first moment.... When we met at the bagnio, he was disguised--not until I had killed him and looked on his brow did I know the truth.’ He made no reply, but considered the corpse in stony horror. So she released her hold and stood before him again. ‘O cold and sluggish man! Why should I faint now? Cleopatra bought as hard a lover’s passion.’