g whispers from every
dancing shadow-demon in the room.

In trying to locate the whispers as they reverberated from floor to oaken
rafters, I turned and saw Sir George. He looked as if he were dead.

"Why should you not be dead in fact?" I cried. "You would kill your
daughter. Why should I not kill you? That will solve the whole question."

I revelled in the thought; I drank it in; I nursed it; I cuddled it; I
kissed it. Nature's brutish love for murder had deluged my soul. I put my
hand to my side for the purpose of drawing my sword or my knife. I had
neither with me. Then I remember staggering toward the fireplace to get
one of the fire-irons with which to kill my cousin. I remember that when I
grasped the fire-iron, by the strange working of habit I employed it for
the moment in its proper use; and as I began to stir the embers on the
hearth, my original purpose was forgotten. That moment of habit-wrought
forgetfulness saved me and saved Sir George's life. I remember that I sank
into the chair in front of the fireplace, holding the iron, and I thank
God that I remember nothing more.

During the night the servants aroused me, and I staggered up the stone
stairway of Eagle Tower and clambered into my room.

The next morning I awakened feeling ill. There was a taste in my mouth as
If I had been chewing a piece of the devil's boot over night. I wanted no
breakfast, so I climbed to the top of the tower, hoping the fresh morning
breeze might cool my head and cleanse my mouth. For a moment or two I
stood on the tower roof bareheaded and open-mouthed while I drank in the
fresh, purifying air. The sweet draught helped me physically; but all the
winds of Boreas could not have blown out of my head the vision of the
previous night. The question, "Was it prophetic?" kept ringing in my ears,
answerless save by a superstitious feeling of fear. Then the horrid
thought that I had only by a mere chance missed becoming a murderer came
upon me, and again was crowded from my mind by the memory of Dorothy and
the hovering spectre which had hung over her head on Bowling Green
hillside.

I walked to the north side of the tower and on looking down the first
person I saw was our new servant, Thomas, holding two horses at the
mounting stand. One of them was Dolcy, and I, feeling that a brisk ride
with Dorothy would help me to throw off my wretchedness, quickly descended
the tower stairs, stopped at my room for my hat and cloak, and walked