all ever pass my lips!'

'Go at once. Get home as soon as you can.'

Alma turned to go. Outside, she cast one glance at the dark, silent,
unmoving form, then bowed her head, and hastened away into the darkness.

Again Hugh knelt by Redgrave's side, raised his head, listened for the
beating of his heart, tried to feel his breath. He then dragged him
into the room, and placed him upon a divan; he loosened the fastenings
about his neck; the head drooped, and there was not a sign of life.
Next he looked for a bell; the electric button caught his eye, and he
pressed it. To prevent any one from coming in, he took his stand close
by the door. In a moment there was a knock, the door opened, and he
showed his face to the surprised maid-servant.

'Is Mrs. Lant in the house?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Mr. Redgrave wants her at once; he is ill.'

The servant vanished. Keeping his place at the door, and looking out
into the hall, Hugh, for full two minutes, heard no movement; then he
was startled by a low voice immediately behind him.

'What are you doing here?'

The housekeeper, who had entered from the garden, and approached in
perfect silence, stood gazing at him; not unconcerned, but with full
command of herself.

'Look!' he replied, pointing to the figure on the divan. 'Is he only
insensible--or dead?'

She stepped across the room, and made a brief examination by the
methods Carnaby himself had used.

'I never saw any one look more like dead,' was her quiet remark. 'What
have you been up to? A little quiet murder?'

'I met him outside. We quarrelled, and I knocked him down.'

'And why are you here at all?' asked the woman, with fierce eyes,
though her voice kept its ordinary level.

'Because of you and your talk--curse you! Can't you do something? Get
some brandy; and send someone for a doctor.'

'Are you going to be found here?' she inquired meaningly.

Hugh drew a deep breath, and stared at the silent figure. For an
instant his face showed irresolution; then it changed, and he said
harshly--'Yes, I am. Do as I told you. Get the spirits, and send
someone--sharp!'

'Mr. Carnaby, you're a great blundering thickhead--if you care for my
opinion of you. You deserve all you've got and all you'll get.'

Hugh again breathed deeply. The woman's abuse was nothing to him.

'Are you going to do anything!' he said. 'Or shall I ring for someone
else?'

She left the room, and speedily returned with a decanter of brandy. All