traw. "Not to-night.
Nothin'll happen to-night. I'm sure of that, Mr. Nichols."

"How do you know?"

She threw out her arms in a wide gesture of desperation. "For the love
o' God, go 'way an' leave me in peace. Don't ye see I ain't fit to talk
to anybody?" She gasped with a choking throat. "_He_ ain't comin' back
again--not to-night. I'll swear it on th' Bible, if ye want me to."

Their glances met, hers weary and pleading, and he believed her.

"All right, Mrs. Bergen," he said soothingly. "I'll take your word for
it, but you'll admit the whole thing is very strange--very startling."

"Yes--strange. God knows it is. But I--I can't tell ye anything."

"But what shall I say to Mr. McGuire--upstairs. I've got to go up--now."

"Say to him----?" she gasped helplessly, all her terrors renewed. "Ye
can't tell him I was talkin' to anybody." And then more wildly, "Ye
mustn't. I wasn't. I was talkin' to myself--that's the God's truth, I
was--when ye come in. It was so strange--an' all. Don't tell him, Mr.
Nichols," she pleaded at last, with a terrible earnestness, and
clutching at his hand. "For my sake, for Beth's----"

"What has Beth to do with it?"

"More'n ye think. Oh, God----" she broke off. "What am I sayin'----?
Beth don't know. She mustn't. He don't know either----"

"Who? McGuire?"

"No--no. Don't ask any more questions, Mr. Nichols," she sobbed. "I
can't speak. Don't ye see I can't?"

So Peter gave up the inquisition. He had never liked to see a woman cry.

"Oh, all right," he said more cheerfully, "you'd better be getting to
bed. Perhaps daylight will clear things up."

"And ye won't tell McGuire?" she pleaded.

"I can't promise anything. But I won't if I'm not compelled to."

She gazed at him uncertainly, her weary eyes wavering, but she seemed to
take some courage from his attitude.

"God bless ye, sir."

"Good-night, Mrs. Bergen."

And then, avoiding the drawing-room, Peter made his way up the stairs
with a great deal of mental uncertainty to the other room of terror.

CHAPTER VII

MUSIC

Stryker, who kept guard at the door of McGuire's room, opened it
cautiously in response to Peter's knock. He found McGuire sitting
rigidly in a rocking-chair at the side of the room, facing the windows,
a whisky bottle and glass on the table beside him. His face had lost its
pallor, but in his eyes was the same look of glassy bewilderment.

"Why the H---- couldn't you come sooner?" He whined th