Sounds by and by. The doctor and his sister were departing, escorted by Ann Hopley--who must see them out at the gate and make it fast again. Adam was bursting from the room: but his brother put his arm across the entrance. "Not yet, Adam. Not until Ann is in again, and has the door fast. Think of the consequences if you were seen!" He recognised the good sense, the necessity for prudence, fierce as a caged lion though his mood indeed was. The bolts and bars were shot at last, and Adam went forth. In its own crib lay the baby then, straight and still. The fluttering heart had ceased to beat; the sweet little peaceful face was at rest. Rose knelt by her own bed, her head muffled in the counterpane. Sir Adam strode up to his child and stood looking at it. A minute's silence deep as that of the death that was before him, and then a dreadful burst of tears. They are always dreadful when a man sheds them in his agony. "It was all we had, Karl," he said between his sobs. "And I did not even see him die!" Karl took the strong but now passive hands in his. His own eyes were wet as he strove to say a word of comfort to his brother. But these first moments of grief are not best calculated for it. "He is happier than he could ever have been here, Adam. Try and realize it. He is already one of God's bright angels." And my young Lady Andinnian, over at Foxwood Court, did not choose to go to bed, but sat up to indulge her defiant humour. Never had her spirit been so near open rebellion as it was that night. Sir Karl did not come in: apparently he meant to take up his abode at the Maze until morning. "_Of course_ he must be there when his child is dying!" spoke she to herself, as she paced the carpet with a step as impatient and a great deal more indignant than those other steps that had paced, that night. "Of course _she_ must be comforted! While I----" The words were choked by a flood of emotion. Bitter reflections crowded on her, one upon another. The more earnestly and patiently she strove to bear and _for_bear, the more cruelly seemed to rise up her afflictions. And Lucy Andinnian threw herself down in abandonment, wondering whether all pity had quite gone out of heaven. CHAPTER XVIII. News for Mr. Tatton. What Mr. Detective Tatton's future proceedings would have been, or to what untoward catastrophe, as connected with this history, they might have led had his stay at Foxwood been prolonged to an indefinite period, cannot here be known. He remained on. Social matters had resumed their ordinary groove. The Maze was left undisturbed; Mr. Cattacomb was well again; St. Jerome's in full force.