s
aunt, but always on indifferent subjects. He never asked about his wife,
or spoke of the murder, as he had done in his delirium. It was apparent
to those about him that his recollection of the events which had brought
about his illness had not yet returned. Nature had, for the time being,
soothed his stricken brain with temporary oblivion.

Then one day the change that Miss Heredith anticipated and feared came
on him as swiftly as a dream. She entered the room to find him up and
dressed, walking up and down with a quick and hurried stride. One glance
from his quick dark eyes conveyed to her that his wandering senses had
recrossed the border-line of consciousness, and entered into the horror
and agony of remembrance.

"Phil, dear," she said, hastening to his side, "is this wise?"

"How long have I been lying here?" he demanded impatiently, as though he
had not heard her speak.

"It is ten days since you were taken ill," she replied, in a low voice.

"Ten days!" he repeated in a stupefied tone, as though unable to realize
the import of the lapse of time. "It is incredible! It seems to me as
though it was only a few hours. What has happened? What has been done by
the police? Has the murderer been arrested?"

It came to Miss Heredith with a shock that his dormant brain had
awakened to leap back to the thing which had paralysed it, and with that
knowledge came the realization that the dreaded moment for the
revelation she had to make had arrived. And, like a woman, she sought to
postpone it.

"Phil," she said weakly, "do not talk about it--until you are stronger."

"I am strong enough not to be treated as a child," he rejoined
fretfully, turning on her a sallow face, with a bright spot in each
cheek. "Is the funeral over?"

"Some days ago," she murmured, and there was a thankful feeling in her
heart that it was so.

Before he had time to speak again there was a tap at the door, and a
maidservant entered.

"Mr. Musard would like to speak to you for a moment, ma'am," she said to
Miss Heredith.

Miss Heredith caught eagerly at the respite.

"Tell him I will come at once. Phil," she added, turning to her nephew,
"I will send Vincent to you. He can tell you better than I. He has been
here all through your illness, and has looked after everything."

She hurried from the room without waiting for his reply. She saw the
tall form of Musard standing in the hall, and went rapidly to him.

"Phil has come to his sens