shes_
to be free, he may be."

She smiled the arch, naughty, pleasantly-malign smile of a terribly
experienced dowager. And she seemed positively anxious that James should
have Andrew Dean for a son-in-law.

James, in his simplicity, was delighted. It appeared to him a
Mephistophelian ingenuity. He thought how clever women were, on their
own ground, and what an advantage they had in their immense lack of
scruple.

"Of course," said she, "I have always said that a marriage between
Andrew Dean and Lilian would be a mistake--a very serious mistake. They
are quite unsuited to each other. She isn't in love with him--she's only
been flattered by his attentions into drawing him on. I feel sorry for
the little thing."

At a stroke, she had converted a shameful conspiracy into an act of the
highest virtue. And her smile changed, too--became a _good_ smile, a
smile on which a man might depend. His heart went out to her, and he
contemplated the smile in a pleased, beatific silence.

Just then the candle--a treacherous thing--flamed up and went out.

"Oh!" cried Mrs. Prockter.

And James had not a match. He never smoked. And without an atlas of the
Hall, showing the location of match-boxes, he saw no hope of finding a
match.

The fire was as good as gone. A few cinders burnt red under the ash,
showing the form of the chimney-piece, but no more.

"An ye got a match?" he asked her.

"No," she said, drily, "I don't carry matches. But I can tell you I
don't like being in the dark at all." Her voice came to him out of
nothing, and had a most curious effect on his spine. "Where are you, Mr.
Ollerenshaw?"

"I'm a-sitting here," he replied.

"Well," said she, "if _you_ can't find a match, I think you had better
lead me to the door. I certainly can't find my way there myself. Where
is your hand?"

Then a hand touched his shoulder and burnt him. "Is that you?" asked the
voice.

"Ay!" he said.

And he took the hand, and the hand squeezed his hand--squeezed it
violently. It may have been due to fear, it may have been due to mere
inadvertence on the part of the hand; but the hand did, with
unmistakable, charming violence, squeeze his hand.

And he rose.

"What's that light there?" questioned the voice, in a whisper.

"Where?" he whispered also.

"There--behind."

He turned. A luminance seemed to come from above, from the unseen
heights of the magnificent double staircase. As his eyes grew accustomed
to the conditio