A roar of wind came booming once more across the marshes, bending the trees which grew so thickly beneath them and which ascended precipitately to the back of the house. The French windows behind rattled. She looked around nervously. “I am afraid of him all the time,” she murmured. “He seems to overhear everything--he or his creatures. Listen!” They were silent for several moments. He whispered in her ear so closely that through the darkness he could, see the fire in her eyes. “You are telling me half,” he said. “Tell me everything. Who threw your uncle over the parapet?” She stood by his side, motionless and trembling. “It was the passion of a moment,” she said at last, speaking hoarsely. “I cannot tell you. Listen! Listen!” “There is no one near,” Hamel assured her. “It is the wind which shakes the windows. I wish that you would tell me everything. I would like to be your friend. Believe me, I have that desire, really. There are so many things which I do not understand. That it is dull here for you, of course, is natural, but there is something more than that. You seem always to fear something. Your uncle is a selfish man, naturally, although to look at him he seems to have the disposition of an angel. But beyond that, is there anything of which you are afraid? You seem all the time to live in fear.” She suddenly clutched his hand. There was nothing of affection in her touch, and yet he felt a thrill of delight. “There are strange things which happen here,” she whispered, “things which neither Gerald nor I understand. Yet they terrify us. I think that very soon the end will come. Neither of us can stand it very much longer. We have no friends. Somehow or other, he seems to manage to keep us always isolated.” “I shall not go away from here,” Hamel said firmly, “at present. Mind, I am not at all sure that, living this solitary life as you do, you have not become a little over-nervous; that you have not exaggerated the fear of some things. To me your uncle seems merely quixotic and egregiously selfish. However that may be, I am going to remain.” She clutched once more at his arm, her finger was upraised. They listened together. From somewhere behind them came the clear, low wailing of a violin. “It is Mr. Fentolin,” she whispered. “Please come in; let us go in at once. He only plays when he is excited. I am afraid! Oh, I am afraid that something is going to happen!” She was already round the corner and on her way to the main terrace. He followed her closely. CHAPTER XVI “Let us follow the example of all great golfers,” Hamel said. “Let us for this morning, at any rate, imagine that your whole world is encompassed within these eighteen holes. We have been sent here in a moment of good humour by your tyrant uncle. The sun shines, and the wind is from the west. Why not?” “That is all very well for you,” she retorted, smiling, “but I have topped my drive.”