th every appearance of terror
and contrition.

"Nay, if he is in the chapel room," the priest murmured, "were it at my
soul's cost, I must save him."

Three minutes later, Dick, who had been summoned by another messenger,
found Sir Oliver standing by the hall table, resolute and pale.

"Richard Shelton," he said, "ye have required an oath from me. I might
complain, I might deny you; but my heart is moved toward you for the
past, and I will even content you as ye choose. By the true cross of
Holywood, I did not slay your father."

"Sir Oliver," returned Dick, "when first we read John Amend-All's paper,
I was convinced of so much. But suffer me to put two questions. Ye did
not slay him; granted. But had ye no hand in it?"

"None," said Sir Oliver. And at the same time he began to contort his
face, and signal with his mouth and eyebrows, like one who desired to
convey a warning, yet dared not utter a sound.

Dick regarded him in wonder; then he turned and looked all about him at
the empty hall.

"What make ye?" he inquired.

"Why, naught," returned the priest, hastily smoothing his countenance.
"I make naught; I do but suffer; I am sick. I--I--prithee, Dick, I must
begone. On the true cross of Holywood, I am clean innocent alike of
violence or treachery. Content ye, good lad. Farewell!"

And he made his escape from the apartment with unusual alacrity.

Dick remained rooted to the spot, his eyes wandering about the room, his
face a changing picture of various emotions, wonder, doubt, suspicion,
and amusement. Gradually, as his mind grew clearer, suspicion took the
upper hand, and was succeeded by certainty of the worst. He raised his
head, and, as he did so, violently started. High upon the wall there was
the figure of a savage hunter woven in the tapestry. With one hand he
held a horn to his mouth; in the other he brandished a stout spear. His
face was dark, for he was meant to represent an African.

Now, here was what had startled Richard Shelton. The sun had moved away
from the hall windows, and at the same time the fire had blazed up high
on the wide hearth, and shed a changeful glow upon the roof and hangings.
In this light the figure of the black hunter had winked at him with a
white eyelid.

He continued staring at the eye. The light shone upon it like a gem; it
was liquid, it was alive. Again the white eyelid closed upon it for a
fraction of a second, and the next moment it was gone.