who lies stricken here a
victim of Divine justice."

And merely stopping to cast one final look in the direction of the bed,
she stumbled from the room. A few minutes later and she reached the
front door; but only to fall against the lintel with the moan:

"My words are true, but who will ever believe them?"

"Pardon me," exclaimed a bland and fatherly voice over her shoulder, "I
am a man who can believe in any thing. Put your confidence in me, Miss
Dare, and we will see--we will see."

Startled by her surprise into new life, she gave one glance at the
gentleman who had followed her to the door. It was the same who had
offered her his arm, and whom she supposed to have remained behind her
in Mr. Orcutt's room. She saw before her a large comfortable-looking
personage of middle age, of no great pretensions to elegance or culture,
but bearing that within his face which oddly enough baffled her
understanding while it encouraged her trust. This was the more peculiar
in that he was not looking at her, but stood with his eyes fixed on the
fading light of the hall-lamp, which he surveyed with an expression of
concern that almost amounted to pity.

"Sir, who are you?" she tremblingly asked.

Dropping his eyes from the lamp, he riveted them upon the veil she held
tightly clasped in her right hand.

"If you will allow me the liberty of whispering in your ear, I will soon
tell you," said he.

She bent her weary head downward; he at once leaned toward her and
murmured a half-dozen words that made her instantly start erect with new
light in her eyes.

"And you will help me?" she cried.

"What else am I here for?" he answered.

And turning toward a quiet figure which she now saw for the first time
standing on the threshold of a small room near by, he said with the
calmness of a master:

"Hickory, see that no one enters or leaves the sick-room till I return."
And offering Imogene his arm, he conducted her into the library, the
door of which he shut to behind them.

CHAPTER XXXIX.

MR. GRYCE.

What you have spoke, it may be so, perchance.
This tyrant, whose sole name blisters our tongues,
Was once thought honest. --MACBETH.

AN hour later, as Mr. Ferris was leaving the house in company with Dr.
Tredwell, he felt himself stopped by a slight touch on his arm. Turning
about he saw Hickory.

"Beg pardon, sirs," said the detective, with a short bow, "but there's a