you mother go to bed when you did?"

"No. I went very early. I was so infernally sleepy."

"Where did you leave her?"

"In the drawing-room. She was playing the piano. But what's the good of
that? What time did you come here?"

"I! Oh, not till very late indeed."

"Were there any lights showing when you came?"

"Lights! No! But it was ever so much too late for that."

"Did you go on to the terrace by the drawing-room?"

"No. I came straight up here. It never occurred to me that any one
would be up at such an hour. Besides, I didn't want to disturb any one,
especially your mother."

"Well, just now I found the drawing-room window wide open, and mater's
bed hasn't been touched. What do you make of that?"

Before Dion could reply the boy abruptly started up.

"I heard something. I know I did."

As naturally as he could Dion got between Jimmy and the opening on to
the terrace, and, forestalling the boy, looked out. He saw nothing; he
could not have said with truth that any definite sound reached his
ears; but he felt that at that exact moment Mrs. Clarke escaped from the
terrace, and began to glide down towards the house below.

"There's nothing! Come and see for yourself," he said casually.

Jimmy pushed by him, then stood perfectly still, staring at the darkness
and listening intently.

"I don't hear it now!" he acknowledged gruffly.

"What did you think you heard?"

"I _did_ hear something. I couldn't tell you what it was."

"Have you looked all through the garden?"

"You know I haven't. You heard me calling down at the bottom. You must
have, because you answered me."

"We'd better have a good look now. Just wait one minute while I put out
the lamp. I'll put away the book I was reading, too."

"Right you are!" said the boy, still gruffly.

He waited on the terrace while Dion went into the pavilion. As Dion took
up "The Kasidah" he glanced down at the page at which Mrs. Clarke had
chanced to set the book open, and read:

"Do what thy manhood bids thee do, from
None but self expect applause----"

With a feeling of cold and abject soul-nausea he shut the book, put
it away on a bookshelf in which he saw a gap, and went to turn out the
lamp. As the flame flickered and died out he heard Jimmy's foot shift on
the terrace.

"Do what thy manhood bids thee do----"

Dion stood for a moment in the dark. He was in a darkness greater than
any which reigned in the pavilion. His soul s