he fled: the door into the back
premises stood wide open. There was a flight of steep stone steps, which
led straight to a kitchen and thence into the yard. He would have time
to unbolt the kitchen door, even if it were not already open, for Fane
was far, far behind.

But there was no light, and there was a sudden turn in the steps which
he had forgotten. Fane reached the head of the staircase in time to hear
a cry, a heavy crashing fall, a groan. Then all was still.

CHAPTER LI.

A LAST CONFESSION.

They carried him upstairs again, handling him gently, and trying to
discover the extent of his injuries; but they did not guess--until, in
the earliest hours of the day, a doctor came from Dunmuir to
Netherglen--that Hugo Luttrell's hours on earth were numbered. He had
broken his back, and although he might linger in agony for a short time,
the inevitable end was near. As the dawn came creeping into the room in
which he lay, he opened his eyes, and the watchers saw that he shuddered
as he looked round.

"Why have they brought me here?" he said.

No one knew why. It was the nearest and most convenient room for the
purpose. Brian had not been by to interpose, or he might have chosen
another place. For it was the room to which Richard Luttrell had been
carried when they brought him back to Netherglen.

Kitty was beside him, and, with her, Elizabeth, who had come from
Dunmuir on hearing of the accident. These two women, knowing as they did
the many evil deeds which he had committed, did not refuse him their
gentle ministry. When they saw the pain that he suffered, their hearts
bled for him. They could, not love him: they could not forgive him for
all that he had done; but they pitied him. And most of all they pitied
him when they knew that the fiat had gone forth that he must die.

He knew it, too. He knew it from their faces: he had no need to ask. The
hopelessness upon his face, the pathetic look of suffering in his eyes,
touched even Kitty's heart. She asked him once if she could do anything
to help him. They were alone together, and the answer was as unexpected
as it was brief: "I want Angela."

They telegraphed for her, although they hardly thought that she would
reach the house before he died. But the fact that she was coming seemed
to buoy him up: he lingered throughout the day, turning his eyes from
time to time to the clock upon the mantelpiece, or towards the opening
door. At night he grew restless