Copplestone stopped, and for a moment stood looking at her
intently. She did not flinch. He shrugged his shoulders, and took a key
from his pocket. It was a peculiar key, and was attached to a strong
chain. He fitted it into the lock, and opened the door. Then he turned
to her again, and she saw a change coming over his face.

"Go in," he said curtly.

She hesitated, for the first time. He withdrew the key, and returned it
to his pocket.

"You need not be afraid," he said.

"I will follow you," she returned, watching him carefully.

He shrugged his shoulders again, and went into the room. She entered
after him.

It was a long, low room. There was a window at the far end, but it was
so dirty, and the curtains in front of it were so thick and discolored,
that the place was in semi-darkness, and the air overwhelmingly heavy
and unwholesome. There was a little rough furniture, a strip of worn
carpet on the floor, and some untasted food on the table--but it was not
any of those dismal objects that attached the woman's gaze. It was
rather a white, pasty face that seemed to gleam at her from the darkest
corner of the room--the drawn pallid face, and dull lifeless eyes, of a
white-haired man, who was sitting in a huddled, contorted attitude on a
bare wooden chair.

She shrank back with a startled exclamation, and turned to Copplestone.
His face was convulsed with fury, his eyes aflame with hatred.

"Well?" he said harshly.

She drew away from him fearfully.

"What wickedness is this?" she shuddered.

"None of mine," he answered.

The vacant eyes rested on them with a fixed stare, completely devoid of
intelligence. The huddled figure evinced no sign of life. It appeared
to be unconscious of their presence. Copplestone advanced a few paces;
but the woman hung back, horrified.

"Is that ... a living thing?" she whispered.

He laughed--an unnatural, metallic laugh.

"Yes," he said--"it's living ... with as much life as its sins have left
it, and its rotten body can hold."

He turned back to her.

"Come nearer," he said. "There is nothing to be afraid of."

But the glassy stare of the motionless figure had unnerved her. She was
white, and shaking.

"No, no," she muttered, shrinking further back.

He seized her arm.

"I warned you," he cried roughly, "but you wouldn't listen. You were
brave enough then--when you thought I daren't stand up to you. You shall
learn your lesson--you who talked so glibly of my