cables in silence, while Krool watched him narrowly,
covertly, with a depth of purpose which made his face uncanny.

"That will do, Krool; wake me at seven," he said, quietly, but with
suppressed malice in his tone.

Why was it that at that moment he could, with joy, have taken Krool by
the neck and throttled him? All the bitterness, anger and rage that he
had felt an hour ago concentrated themselves upon Krool--without
reason, without cause. Or was it that his deeper Other Self had
whispered something to his mind about Krool--something terrible and
malign?

In this new mood he made up his mind that he would not see Jasmine till
the morning. How late she was! It was one o'clock, and yet this was not
the season. She had not gone to a ball, nor were these the months of
late parties.

As he tossed in his bed and his head turned restlessly on his pillow,
Krool's face kept coming before him, and it was the last thing he saw,
ominous and strange, before he fell into a heavy but troubled sleep.

Perhaps the most troubled moment of the night came an hour after he
went to bed.

Then it was that a face bent over him for a minute, a fair face, with
little lines contracting the ripe lips, which were redder than usual,
with eyes full of a fevered brightness. But how harmonious and sweetly
ordered was the golden hair above! Nothing was gone from its lustre,
nothing robbed it of its splendour. It lay upon her forehead like a
crown. In its richness it seemed a little too heavy for the tired face
beneath, almost too imperial for so slight and delicate a figure.

Rudyard stirred in his sleep, murmuring as she leaned over him; and his
head fell away from her hand as she stretched out her fingers with a
sudden air of pity--of hopelessness, as it might seem from her look.
His face restlessly turned to the wall--a vexed, stormy, anxious face
and head, scarred by the whip of that overlord more cruel and tyrannous
than Time, the Miserable Mind.

She drew back with a little shudder. "Poor Ruddy!" she said, as she had
said that evening when Ian Stafford came to her after the estranging
and scornful years, and she had watched Rudyard leave her--to her fate
and to her folly.

"Poor Ruddy!"

With a sudden frenzied motion of her hands she caught her breath, as
though some pain had seized her. Her eyes almost closed with the shame
that reached out from her heart, as though to draw the veil of her
eyelids over the murdered thing before he