iously suggested some simple remedies. He roughly interrupted her,
saying there was but one remedy, the remedy of going to bed; and so left
them without another word. She just put her handkerchief to her eyes,
and said softly to her sister, "How he is changed!" then spoke no more.
They sat silent for half an hour or longer. After that, Rosamond went
affectionately and forgivingly to see how her husband was. She returned,
saying that he was in bed, and in a deep, heavy sleep; and predicting
hopefully that he would wake up quite well the next morning. In a few
minutes more the clock stuck nine; and Ida heard the servant's step
ascending the stairs. She suspected what his errand was, and went out
to meet him. Her presentiment had not deceived her; the police agent had
arrived, and was waiting for her downstairs.

He asked her if she had said anything to her sister, or had thought of
any plan of action, the moment she entered the room; and, on receiving
a reply in the negative, inquired, further, if "the baron" had come home
yet. She answered that he had; that he was ill and tired, and vexed, and
that he had gone to bed. The agent asked in an eager whisper if she knew
that he was asleep, and alone in bed? and, when he received her reply,
said that he must go up into the bedroom directly.

She began to feel the faintness coming over her again, and with it
sensations of loathing and terror that she could neither express to
others nor define to herself. He said that if she hesitated to let him
avail himself of this unexpected opportunity, her scruples might lead
to fatal results He reminded her that if "the baron" were really the
convict Monbrun, the claims of society and of justice demanded that he
should be discovered by the first available means; and that if he were
not--if some inconceivable mistake had really been committed--then such
a plan for getting immediately at the truth as was now proposed would
insure the delivery of an innocent man from suspicion; and at the same
time spare him the knowledge that he had ever been suspected. This last
argument had its effect on Miss Welwyn. The baseless, helpless hope that
the French authorities might yet be proved to be in error, which she
had already felt in her own room, returned to her now. She suffered the
agent to lead her upstairs.

He took the candle from her hand when she pointed to the door; opened it
softly; and, leaving it ajar, went into the room.

She looked thro