I found him seated in a musty little parlor, with some ugly casts of murderers’ heads facing him from the top of a varnished bookcase. “Ah, my friend!” he screeched, cracking his knuckles; “those interest you, eh? Well, perhaps I shall have the pleasure of adding your picture to them some day.” An irrepressible shudder took me and he laughed, not knowing the reason of it. “Now, what’s your business?” said he. I told him. “Eh,” he said, and bent forward and looked at me narrowly. “Near drowned, eh? Why, what were you doing, you young limb?” “I went after him,” I answered, faintly, “but I couldn’t get the weeds loose.” “Dressed, too?” he said, for the sop of my underclothes had come through the upper, and nothing escaped his hawk’s eye; “why, you’re a hero, upon my word.” He bade me begone after that and he would follow immediately. And I returned to the mill, and, softly climbing the stairs, shut myself into my room and sat upon the edge of the bed listening--listening for every breath and sound in the old eerie house. I heard the doctor come up the stairs and enter the room next door. I heard the low murmur of voices and strained my ears to gather what was said, but could not make out a word. And the darkness grew into my soul and shut out all the old light of happy reason. Should I ever feel innocent again? And would Modred, satisfied with his knowledge of the dreadful heritage of remorse I had laid up for myself, forego his right to denounce me and to forever make me an outcast and alone? I hardly dared to hope it, yet clung with a strenuous longing to thought of his mercy. It may have been hours I sat there. I do not know. I had heard footsteps go up and down the stairs many times. And then a silence fell. What was the meaning of it? Was it possible that life had only rallied in him momentarily, like the flame of a dying candle and had suddenly sunk for good and all into endless darkness? Had he told? Why did no one come near me? I could stand it no longer. As I sprung to my feet I heard a footstep again on the stairs and Jason walked into the room and shut the door. He took no notice of me, but began to undress. “Jason!” I cried, and the agony in my voice I could not repress. “How is he? Has he spoken? Oh, don’t keep me in this torture.” “What torture?” said my brother, looking at me with a cold, unresponsive eye. “Why should you be upset more than the rest of us? He’s asleep all right, and not to be bothered with any questions.” Thank God! Oh, thank God! I took no notice of his looks or tone, for I was absorbed in great gratitude to heaven that my worst fears were idle ones. “Where’s dad?” I said. “Drinking downstairs with the doctor. They’ll make high revel of it, I expect.” He was already in bed; but I sat on and on in the darkness. I had only one thought--one longing to wait till Jason was fast in slumber, and then to creep to Modred’s side and implore his forgiveness.