und except the tickings of the large clock in the
drawing-room.

He wandered into that horribly impressive place and suddenly sat down on
the sofa with a realisation of extreme physical fatigue. He didn't know
why he was so tired, he had felt quite "bobbish" all the week; suddenly
now his limbs were like water, he had a bad ache down his spine and his
legs were as heavy as lead. He sat in a kind of trance on that sofa, he
was not asleep, but he was also, quite certainly, not awake. He wondered
why the place was so "beastly still" after all the noise there had been
all the week. There was no one left alive--every one dead--except
himself and Vera... Vera... Vera.

Then he was conscious that some one was looking at him through the
double-doors. At first he didn't realise who it was, the face was so
white and the figure so quiet, then, pulling himself together, he saw
that it was the old servant.

"What is it, Andre?" he asked, sitting up.

The old man didn't answer, but came into the room, carefully closing the
door behind him. Lawrence saw that he was trembling with fright, but was
still endeavouring to behave with dignity.

"Barin! Barin!" he whispered, as though Lawrence were a long way from
him. "Paul Konstantinovitch! (that was Wilderling). He's mad.... He
doesn't know what he's doing. Oh, sir, stop him, stop him, or we shall
all be murdered!"

"What is he doing?" asked Lawrence, standing up.

"In the little hack room," Andre whispered, as though now he were
confiding a terrible secret. "Come quickly...!"

Lawrence followed him; when he had gone a few steps down the passage he
heard suddenly a sharp, muffled report.

"What's that?"

Andre came close to him, his old, seamed face white like plaster.

"He has a rifle in there..." he said. "He's shooting at them!" Then as
Lawrence stepped up to the door of the little room that was Wilderling's
dressing-room, Andre caught his arm--.

"Be careful, Barin.... He doesn't know what he's about. He may not
recognise you."

"Oh, that's all right!" said Lawrence. He pushed the door open and
walked in. To give for a moment his own account of it: "You know that
room was the rummiest thing. I'd never been into it before. I knew the
old fellow was a bit of a dandy, but I never expected to see all the
pots and jars and glasses there were. You'd have thought one wouldn't
have noticed a thing at such a time, but you couldn't escape them,--his
dressing-table simply covere