ful--so wonderful that a pang; almost of terror, smote my heart,
because such sweetness should belong to _me_.

And then, from the shadows masking the other side of the old hall,
emerged the black figure of Homopoulo, and our odd trio obediently
paced into the somber dining-room.

A large lamp burned in the center of the table; a shaded candle was
placed before each diner; and the subdued light made play upon the
snowy napery and fine old silver without dispersing the gloom about
us. Indeed, if anything, it seemed to render it more remarkable, and
the table became a lighted oasis in the desert of the huge apartment.
One could barely discern the suits of armor and trophies which
ornamented the paneled walls; and I never failed to start nervously
when the butler appeared, somber and silent, at my elbow.

Sir Lionel Barton's _penchant_ for strange visitors, of which we had
had experience in the past, was exemplified in the person of Homopoulo.
I gathered that the butler (who, I must admit, seemed thoroughly to
comprehend his duties) had entered the service of Sir Lionel during
the time that the latter was pursuing his celebrated excavations upon
the traditional site of the Daedalian Labyrinth in Crete. It was
during this expedition that the death of a distant relative had made
him master of Graywater Park; and the event seemingly had inspired the
eccentric baronet to engage a suitable factotum.

His usual retinue of Malay footmen, Hindu grooms and Chinese cooks,
was missing apparently, and the rest of the household, including the
charming old housekeeper, had been at the Park for periods varying
from five to five-and-twenty years. I must admit that I welcomed the
fact; my tastes are essentially insular.

But the untimely illness of our host had cast a shadow upon the party.
I found myself speaking in a church-whisper, whilst Karamaneh was
quite silent. That curious dinner party in the shadow desert of the
huge apartment frequently recurs in my memories of those days because
of the uncanny happening which terminated it.

Nayland Smith, who palpably had been as ill at ease as myself, and who
had not escaped the contagious habit of speaking in a hushed whisper,
suddenly began, in a loud and cheery manner, to tell us something of
the history of Graywater Park, which in his methodical way he had
looked up. It was a desperate revolt, on the part of his strenuous
spirit, against the phantom of gloom which threatened to obse