old lady trotted out of the room, strongly inclined to think that
the Evil Genius of the family might be Randal Linley after all!

They had both taken the shortest way to the garden; that is to
say, the way through the library, which communicated at its
furthest end with the corridor and the vaulted flight of stairs
leading directly out of the house. Of the two doors in the
drawing-room, one, on the left, led to the grand staircase and
the hall; the other, on the right, opened on the backstairs, and
on a side entrance to the house, used by the family when they
were pressed for time, as well as by the servants.

The drawing-room had not been empty more than a few minutes when
the door on the right was suddenly opened. Herbert Linley,
entered with hurried, uncertain steps. He took the chair that was
nearest to him, and dropped into it like a man overpowered by
agitation or fatigue.

He had ridden from the farm at headlong speed, terrified by the
unexplained delay in the arrival of the messenger from home.
Unable any longer to suffer the torment of unrelieved suspense,
he had returned to make inquiry at the house. As he interpreted
the otherwise inexplicable neglect of his instructions, the last
chance of saving the child's life had failed, and his wife had
been afraid to tell him the dreadful truth.

After an interval, he rose and went into the library.

It was empty, like the drawing-room. The bell was close by him.
He lifted his hand to ring it--and drew back. As brave a man as