the district
attorney raised his finger, and Arthur Cumberland did not ride back to
his home alone.

BOOK THREE

HIDDEN SURPRISES

XX

"HE OR YOU! THERE IS NO THIRD"

A heavy summons lies like lead upon me,
And yet I would not sleep Merciful powers!
Restrain in me the cursed thoughts that nature
Gives way to in repose.

_Macbeth_.

For several days I had been ill. They were merciful days to me since I
was far too weak for thought. Then there came a period of conscious rest,
then renewed interest in life and my own fate and reputation. What had
happened during this interval?

I had a confused memory of having seen Clifton's face at my bedside, but
I was sure that no words had passed between us. When would he come again?
When should I hear about Carmel, and whether she were yet alive, or
mercifully dead, like her sister? I might read the papers, but they had
been carefully kept from me. Not one was in sight. The nurse would
undoubtedly give me the information I desired, but, kind as she had been,
I dreaded to consult a stranger about matters which involved my very
existence and every remaining hope. Yet I must know; for I could not help
thinking, now, and I dreaded to think amiss and pile up misery for myself
when I needed support and consolation.

I would risk one question, but no more. I would ask about the inquest.
Had it been held? If she said yes--ah, if she said yes!--I should know
that Carmel was dead; and the news, coming thus, would kill me. So I
asked nothing, and was lying in a sufficiently feverish condition when
the doctor came in, saw my state, and thinking to cheer me up,
remarked blandly:

"You are well enough this morning to hear good news. Do you recognise the
room you are in?"

"I'm in the hospital, am I not?"

"Hardly. You are in one of Mr. O'Hagen's own rooms." (Mr. O'Hagen was the
head keeper.) "You are detained, now, simply as a witness."

I was struck to the heart; terrified in an instant.

"What? Why? What has happened?" I questioned, rapidly, half starting up,
then falling back on my pillow under his astonished eye.

"Nothing," he parried, seeing his mistake, and resorting to the soothing
process. "They simply have had time to think. You're not the sort of man
from which criminals are made."

"That's nonsense," I retorted, reckless of his opinion, and mad to know
the truth, yet shrinking horribly from it. "Criminals are made from all
kinds of men; neither ar