mine too minutely into the
reasons for this sudden passion. He was in love, and admitting as much
to himself, there was an end of all argument. The long lane of his
youthful and loveless life had turned in another direction at the
signpost of a woman's face, and down the new vista the lover saw
flowering meadows, silver streams, bowers of roses, and all the
landscape of Arcadia. He was a piping swain and Diana a complaisant
shepherdess; but they had not yet entered into the promised Arcadia, and
might never do so unless Diana was as kindly as he wished her to be.

Lucian was in love with Diana, but as yet he could not flatter himself
that she was in love with him, so he resolved to win her affection--if
it was free to be bestowed--by doing her will, and her will was to
revenge the death of her father. This was hardly a pleasant task to
Lucian in his then peace-with-all-the-world frame of mind; but seeing no
other way to gain a closer intimacy with the lady of his love, he took
the bitter with the sweet, and set his shoulder to the wheel.

The next morning, therefore, Lucian called on the landlord of No. 13 and
requested the keys of the house. But it appeared that these were not in
the landlord's keeping at the moment.

"I gave them to Mrs. Kebby, the charwoman," said Mr. Peacock, a retired
grocer, who owned the greater part of the square. "The house is in such
a state that I thought I'd have it cleaned up a bit."

"With a view to a possible tenant, I suppose?"

"I don't know," replied Peacock, with a rueful shake of his bald head,
"although I'm hoping against hope. But what with the murder and the
ghost, there don't seem much chance of letting it. What might you be
wanting in No. 13, Mr. Denzil?"

"I wish to examine every room, to find, if possible, a clue to this
crime," explained Lucian, suppressing the fact that he was to have a
companion.

"You'll find nothing, sir. I've looked into every room myself. However,
you'll find Mrs. Kebby cleaning up, and she'll let you in if you ring
the bell. You aren't thinking of taking the house yourself, I suppose?"
added Peacock wishfully.

"No, thank you. My nerves are in good order just now; I don't want to
upset them by inhabiting a house with so evil a reputation."

"Ah! that's what every one says," sighed the grocer. "I wish that
Berwin, or Vrain, or whatever he called himself, had chosen some other
place to be killed in."

"I'm afraid people who meet with unexpect