enough, when he went to bed in
his pantry, to require a liqueur of brandy to keep off rheumatism and
similar attacks.

For Capel had remained up after the others had gone, night after night;
blaming himself for behaving in an unfair, unmanly spirit, but unable to
control the impulse which led him to long for such another adventure as
on that special night.

But after a long day, night watches grow wearisome to the most ardent
lovers, and when, after nine nights spent in expectancy, there was no
result--no soft, gliding step heard upon stair or floor, both Capel and
Preenham grew weary, and retired to their couches like the rest.

It was on the tenth night that Capel, instead of going to bed at once,
sat musing over the old lawyer's words.

Then he began thinking of the doctor's visit, and at last, taking out
his watch, he saw it was close upon two.

The hour made him think of the night when he had encountered Katrine
just at that time, and moved by some impulse, he knew not what, he went
to his door, softly opened it, and gazed out on to the gloomy staircase,
where all was silent as the grave.

No! There was the faint creak of a hinge that had been opened, and,
with his heart seeming to stand still, Capel stood in the darkness
listening, till, utterly wearied, he was about to close his door, when,
so softly that he could hardly distinguish the sweep of the dress,
something passed him, going straight to the stairs, and then he could
just hear whoever it was descend.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

NOCTURNAL PROCEEDINGS.

There was not a sound to be heard as Paul Capel stole softly down in his
dressing-gown, and, as he expected, the drawing-room door was closed,
but not latched.

Pushing it softly, feeling certain that Katrine, if it was she, had
entered there, he followed, and went on and on, till he was about in the
middle of the room, and listening attentively.

He began to think that he must have been mistaken, when there was a
faint rustle, and a heavy breath was drawn, the sounds coming from the
lesser drawing-room.

He listened more intently, his heart beating heavily, and a strange
singing in his ears.

Another sound as of something being touched.

The pen-tray on the little card-table where Mr Girtle sat and worked;
and what was that?

Undoubtedly one of the keys that lay there. Another and another was
touched, and as they were moved on the thin mahogany that formed the
bottom of the receptacle fo