weep of tapestry, and an eager, peering figure passing
slowly across it. It is that of the love-lorn Travis watching his
inamorata tripping up the marble staircase and turning at its top in the
direction of the opposite gallery. His is a timid soul, and anxious as he
is to watch her, he is not at all anxious to be detected in the act of
doing so. So he slips behind the huge pedestal towering near him, thus
causing the whole gallery to appear empty to the eyes of X, now entering
it at the other end. This latter has come there with but one idea in his
head--to shoot an arrow across the court at the mark I have mentioned. It
may have been on a dare--sometimes I think it was; but shoot it he means
to, before a fresh crowd collects.

"He already has, as you will remember, the arrow hidden somewhere about
his person, and it is only a few steps to the edge of the tapestry behind
which he has secreted the bow. If he takes a look opposite, it is at the
moment when both Mrs. Taylor and Miss Willetts are screened from his view
by one of the partitions separating the various sections. For unless he
felt the way to be free for his arrow, he would never have proceeded to
slip behind his chosen pedestal, secure the bow, pause to string it, then
crouch for his aim in such apparent confidence. For after he has left the
open gallery and limited his outlook to what is visible beyond the
loophole through which he intends to shoot, he can see--as we know from
Mr. La Fleche--little more than the spot where the cap hangs and the one
narrow line between. Unhappily, it was across this line the young girl
leaped just as the arrow left the bow. Don't you see it, sir? I do; and I
see what follows, too."

"The escape of X?"

"Yes. Inadvertently, as you see, he has committed a horrible crime; he
can never recall it. Whatever his remorse or shame, nothing will ever
restore the victim of his folly to life, while he himself has many days
before him--days which would be ruined if his part in this tragedy were
known. Shall he confess to it, then, or shall he fly (the way is so
easy), and leave it to fate to play his game--fate, whose well-known
kindness to fools would surely favor him? It does not take long for such
thoughts to pass through a man's head, and before the dying cry of his
innocent victim had ceased to echo through those galleries, he is behind
the tapestry and on his way toward the court. Beyond that, my dream does
not go. How about yours