not
be able to reach my room. I never felt so over-powered by sleep in all
my life before. Good-night, my dear Mrs. Grey. I hope that you will
sleep as well as I am sure that I shall. Good-night."

He pressed her hand, and then, groping like a blind man, he passed into
his own room and shut the door behind him.

Mary Grey gazed breathlessly at the closed door for a while, murmuring
to herself:

"I doubt if that fellow will be able to divest himself of his outer
garments before he falls down headlong in a dead stupor. I have him in
my power now--I have him in my power now! At last--at last! Oh, yes! Oh,
yes, Miss Cavendish, you will marry him, will you not? And you, Stephen
Lyle, how proud you will be to have his sister for your wife and himself
for a brother-in-law! But I must cover up my tracks," she added,
suddenly, as she went around to his vacated place at the table and took
his empty cup and rinsed it out carefully several times, throwing the
water into the empty grate, where it soon dried up. Then she poured some
of the coffee-grounds from her own cup into the rinsed cup to conceal
the rinsing. Finally she drew from her watch-pocket the little white
paper from which she had poured the powder into the coffee-cup and she
held it in the blaze of the gas-light until it was burned to ashes.

Then she sat down in the rocking-chair and smiled as she rested.

At intervals she bent her head toward the door leading into Alden
Lytton's room and listened; but she heard no sound of life in there.

She sat on in the rocker until the striking of a large clock somewhere
in the neighborhood aroused her.

It was twelve o'clock.

Midnight!

She arose and cautiously opened the door leading into Alden Lytton's
room.

She looked like a thief.

The gas was turned down very low; but by its dim light she saw him
sleeping a heavy, trance-like sleep.

She went into the room and to the door leading into the passage and
bolted it.

Then she closed every window-shutter and drew down every window-shade
and let down the heavy moreen curtains, making all dark.

Then she returned to the parlor, closed the intervening door and threw
herself into the rocking-chair and closed her eyes in the vain endeavor
to rest and sleep.

But sleep and rest were far from her that night.

The clock struck one.

All sounds even about that busy hotel gradually ceased. The house was
still, awfully still, yet she could not sleep.

The clock st