iscern every detail of its
outline clearly marked by the wet patches on the sheet which was
thrown loosely over it. On a chair, by the side of the table, above
the level of which its head rose, giving it the appearance of being in
the act of climbing on to it, lay the carcass of the dog, its teeth
still firmly set in the dead man's arm. They had been unable to unlock
the savage grip without hacking its jaws asunder, and this it was not
thought advisable to do till after the inquest.

At the door Philip paused, as though he did not mean to enter.

"Come in," said Lady Bellamy; "surely you are not afraid of a dead
man."

"I fear the dead a great deal more than I do the living," he muttered,
but came in and shut the door.

As soon as her eyes had grown accustomed to the light, Lady Bellamy
went up to the body, and, drawing off the sheet, gazed long and
steadily at the mutilated face, on the lips of which the bloody froth
still stood.

"I told him last night," she said presently to Philip, "that we should
never meet again alive, but I did not think to see him so soon like
this. Do you know that I once loved that thing, that shattered brain
directed the only will to which I ever bowed? But the love went out
for ever last night, the chain snapped, and now I can look upon this
sight without a single sigh or a regret, with nothing but loathing and
disgust. There lies the man who ruined me--did you know it? I do not
care who knows it now--ruined me with his eyes open, not caring
anything about me; there lies the hard task-master whom I served
through so many years, the villain who drove me against my will into
this last crime which has thus brought its reward. The dog gave him
his just due; look, its teeth still hold him, as fast, perhaps, as the
memories of his crimes will hold him where he has gone. Regret him!
sorrow for him! no, oh no! I can curse him as he lies, villain,
monster, devil that he was!"

She paused, and even in the dim light Philip could see her bosom heave
and her great eyes flash with the fierceness of her excitement.

"You should not talk so of the dead," he said.

"You are right," she answered; "he has gone beyond the reach of my
words, but the thought of all the misery I have suffered at his hands
made me for a moment mad. Cover it up again, the vile frame which held
a viler soul; to the earth with the one, to undreamed of sorrow with
the other, each to its appointed place. How does it run?--'The