for the first time the heap of rubbish in the center of the floor
engaged his attention. Taking his hinge, he stirred up the mass; some
shreds of cloth, which fell to pieces on being touched, and beneath
them some human bones. This was all, but it was enough; and
overwhelmed with horror, Henley rushed out of the room, bounding
through the aperture he had made in the wall, and up the rickety
stairs into his own bed chamber. He carefully closed the scuttle,
heaped some firewood upon it, shut the closet door and fastened it
securely from without. He then built up a roaring fire, lit another
candle, and sat meditating over what he had seen until the dawn of
day. When the light of the sun came streaming into his room, he
undressed and went to bed.

Whatever may have been Mr. Henley's suspicions concerning the
implication of the Guirs with the crime which he could no longer
doubt had been committed in their house, they were promptly
dispelled, so far as the young lady was concerned, upon meeting
Dorothy at the breakfast table. Her innocent though serious face was
a direct rebuke to any distrust he might have entertained; and he
even doubted if she had any knowledge of the state of things he had
discovered in the vault. This, of course, only added to the mystery;
nor was Mr. Henley's self-esteem fortified by the memory of how
unscrupulously he had become the guest of these people, and of how
equivocal had been his treatment of their hospitality. All this,
however, related to the past, and, as he felt, could not be now
undone. He must act to the best of his ability in the extraordinary
position in which he found himself.

After breakfast they walked again into the garden, and while Paul
smoked his cigarette, meditatively, Dorothy gathered flowers for the