Mrs.
Thalassa sought consolation in two packs of diminutive and dog-eared
cards. Her shattered spirit found something inexpressibly soothing in the
intricacies of patience: in the patchwork of colour, the array of
sequences, the sudden discovery of an overlooked move, the dear triumph of
a hard-won game.

It was thus she was occupied now, shuffling, cutting, and laying out her
rows with quick nervous movements of her worn little hands. She glanced
once more at her husband as he entered, and then bent over her cards
again.

The night had descended blackly, and the wind moaned eerily round the old
house. Thalassa sat in a straight-backed wooden chair listening to the
wind and rain raging outside, and occasionally glancing at his wife, who
remained absorbed in her patience. Half an hour passed in silence, broken
only by the rattling of rain on the window, and the loud ticking of the
clock on the mantelpiece. Suddenly the bell of Robert Turold's room rang
loudly in its place behind the kitchen door.

It was one of the old wired bells, and it sprang backwards and forwards so
violently under the impulse of the unseen pull that the other bells ranged
alongside responded to the vibration by oscillating in sympathy.

Thalassa watched them moodily until the sound ceased. He then left the
kitchen with deliberate tread, and stalked upstairs.

The door of his master's study was closed. He opened it without troubling
to knock, but started back in astonishment at the sight which met his
eyes. Robert Turold was crouching by the table like a beaten dog,
whimpering and shaking with fear. He sprang to his feet as Thalassa
entered, and advanced towards him.

"Thank God you've come, Thalassa," he cried.

"What's the matter with you?" said Thalassa sternly.

"He's come back, Thalassa--he's come back."

"He? Who?"

"You know whom I mean well enough. It was--" His voice sank suddenly, and
he whispered a name in the man's ear.

Thalassa's brown cheek paled slightly, but he answered quickly and
roughly--

"What nonsense are you talking now? How can he have come back? How often
must I tell you that he is dead?"

"You mean that you thought he was dead, Thalassa. But he is alive."

"How do you know?"

"I heard him."

"Heard him! What do you mean?"

"I heard his footsteps pattering around the house, as clear and distinct
as that night on that hellish island. Shall I ever forget the sound of his
footsteps then, as he raced over