days, Lady Caroom, you had some knowledge
of me."

"Up to the time of your disappearance--yes. I remember, Arranmore," she
continued, her manner losing for a moment some of its restraint, and
her eyes and tone suddenly softening, "dancing with you that evening.
We arranged to meet at Ranelagh the next day, and, when the next day
came, you had vanished, gone as completely as though the earth had
swallowed you up. For weeks every one was asking what has become of
him. And then--I suppose you were forgotten."

"This," Lord Arranmore continued, "is the hardest part of my narrative,
the hardest because the most difficult to make you understand. You will
forgive my offering you the bare facts only. I will remind you that I
was young, impressionable, and had views. So to continue!"

The manner of his speech was in its way chillingly impressive. He was
still sitting in exactly the same position, one hand upon the arm of his
high-backed chair, the other upon the table before him. He made use of
no gestures, his face remained as white and emotionless as a carved
image, his tone, though clear and low, was absolutely monotonous. But
there was about him a subtle sense of repression apparent to all of
them.

"On my way home that night my hansom knocked down an old man. He was
not seriously hurt, and I drove him home. On the way he stared at me
curiously. Every now and then he laughed--unpleasantly.

"'I have never seen any one out of your world before,' he said. 'I
dare say you have never spoken to any one out of mine except to toss us
alms. Come and see where I live.'

"He insisted, and I went. I found myself in a lodging-house, now pulled
down and replaced by one of Lord Rowton's tenement houses. I saw a
hundred human beings more or less huddled together promiscuously, and
the face of every one of them was like the face of a rat. The old man
dragged me from room to room, laughing all the time. He showed me
children herded together without distinction of sex or clothing, here
and there he pointed to a face where some apprehension of the light was
fighting a losing battle with the ghouls of disease, of vice, of foul
air, of filth. I was faint and giddy when we had looked over that one
house, but the old man was not satisfied. He dragged me on to the roof
and pointed eastwards. There, as far as the eyes could reach, was a
blackened wilderness of smoke-begrimed dwellings. He looked at me and
grinned. I can see him now. He had on