riously, and delighted beyond measure at the sight of his terror.

"The moments passed in a breathless state of tension. He stared at the
eyes, and the eyes stared back at him. Once he endeavoured to rise, but
a dead weight seemed to fall on his shoulders and hold him back; and
twice, when he tried to speak--to make some sound, no matter what, to
break the appalling silence--his throat closed as if under the pressure
of cruel, relentless fingers.

"But the _Ultima Thule_ of his emotions had yet to come. There was a
slight stir behind the canvas, a thud, a hollow groan that echoed and
re-echoed throughout the room like the muffled clap of distant thunder,
and the eyes suddenly underwent a metamorphosis--they grew glazed and
glassy like the eyes of a dead person. A cold shudder ran through the
Dean, his hair stood on end, his blood turned to ice. Again he essayed
to move, to summon help; again he failed. The strain on his nerves
proved more than he could bear. A sudden sensation of nausea surged
through him; his eyes swam; his brain reeled; there was a loud buzzing
in his ears; he knew no more. Some moments later one of the College
servants arrived at the door with a bundle of letters, and on receiving
no reply to his raps, entered.

"'Good heavens! What's the matter?' he cried, gazing at the figure of
the Dean, lolling head downward on the table. 'Merciful Prudence, the
gentleman is dead! No, he ain't--some of the young gents will be sorry
enough for that--he's fainted.'

"The good fellow poured out some water in a tumbler, and was proceeding
to sprinkle the Dean's face with it, when, a noise attracting his
attention, he peered round at the picture. It was bulging from the wall;
it was falling! And, Good God, what was that that was falling with
it--that huge black object? A coffin? No, not a coffin, but a corpse!
The servant ran to the door shrieking, and, in less than a minute,
passage and room were filled to overflowing with a scared crowd of
enquiring officials and undergraduates.

"'What has happened? What's the matter with the Dean? Has he had a fit,
or what? And the picture? And--Anderson? Anderson lying on the floor!
Hurt? No, not hurt, dead! Murdered!'

"In an instant there was silence, and the white-faced throng closed in
on one another as if for protection. In front of them, beside the fallen
picture, lay the body of the most gay and popular student in the
College--Bob Anderson--Bob Anderson with a stream