Judge heard her to the end attentively, and then, turning half away, began to whistle beneath his breath, between his teeth. Isbel, looking very distressed, sat down again.

"Has either of you ever been here before?" asked Mrs. Richborough, glancing first at one and then at the other.

"I have, a good many times, in former years," answered Judge.

"Then surely you have some idea where we are?"

"I haven't." His tone was dry and decided.

Mrs. Richborough launched a queer look at him, and began to gaze around her restlessly.

"What's in that other room?"

"Which one?"

"On the right, as you come up the stairs. The other one can't be anything much."

"What makes you say that?" questioned Isbel, surprised out of her silence.

"Intuition…But what is in that right-hand room?"

"I've never been inside it," replied Judge.

"Why ever not? Most likely it's the key to the whole place. Someone ought to go in. May I go?"

"I don't care to ask you, Mrs. Richborough. It's totally unexplored, and you might quite conceivably meet with an unpleasant experience."

"I don't view these things from the common standpoint. For me, there's nothing whatever terrifying in the supernatural…Have I your permission to go?"

"Of course-but perhaps we ought to accompany you?"

"Oh, no-there's not the slightest necessity. Besides, you have your talk to finish. I'm perfectly conscious of having interrupted you."

Isbel clutched the couch on either side of her with her hands, and looked up. "Have you nothing to say about…your surprise…at finding us together like this?"

Mrs. Richborough gave a strange, but not unpleasant smile.

"No, I have nothing to say about that."

"But, of course, you…put the worst construction…"

"No…" She passed her hand across her eyes. "A change of some sort has come over me. It is this terribly unreal place, I think. Your meeting is not what I expected to find. You must be struggling against your hearts, both of you…No, I have nothing to say."

"And yet you came to look for us?"

"Yes, I did; but it is all different. As I came upstairs I hated you both, and vowed revenge-I confess it. but now I can't even remember how I came to be like that. All that state of mind suddenly seems so trivial and unimportant."

She was about to move towards the door.

"Mrs. Richborough!…" said Isbel abruptly.

"What is it?"

"Why were you so anxious to bring me here to-day?"

"You must know that without my telling you. Here all things are so transparent to all of us."

"You meant to tell Mr. Stokes, didn't you?"

The older woman looked down at her calmly. "Yes, I meant to restore you to your duty. But now I no longer pretend to know where your duty lies. Let me go now, my dear. All that is ancient history; everything has changed."

Isbel said nothing more, but allowed her to leave the room. The door closed behind her.

Judge resumed his seat.

"We need not fear this development," he said slowly. "She will remember nothing."

"So much the worse, for she will go back to her plots and schemes. You haven't thought of that?"

The suggestion startled him. "You think so?"

"How can it be otherwise? Oh, if her present mood lasted, I should never, never wish to speak ill of her. But we know it will disappear with her memory. What is to be done?"

He preserved silence for a few moments.

"After all, there is no cause for alarm. She will demand her price, and we shall pay it."

"No, no; she will accept nothing short of the whole-I know her. In that she will be disappointed, and so she will do whatever mischief she can. Oh, I'm quite sure of it."

"What do you mean by 'the whole?"

"She intends to marry you."

"And failing that?…"

"Failing that, she will dishonour me-or perhaps she means to dishonour me in any case. You heard with your ears what she said."

"Bit if I consented to marry her I should, of course, make her silence a condition." The words came in a very low voice, as he bent his head towards the floor.

"What do you mean?" she demanded, sharply. "How could you marry her? You don't love her."

"No."

"Then it would be wicked of you!…What put that awful thought in your head? I can't understand."

"Yet it would solve other difficulties, too."

"What difficulties? What difficulties can a wrong marriage solve? It would be criminal."

"Some such decisive step must be taken to end the situation. Our friendship won't continue to pass unnoticed."

"You wish to terminate it, then?"

"For your sake; not mine."

"And to achieve that result you accept a living death?…But perhaps you do really love her?"

"No."

Isbel laid her hand on his arm. "Promise me never to think of this again. It is absolute madness. We will find some other way out of our troubles. Promise me."

"You may be sure of one thing," replied Judge, looking at her steadily; "I shall not renounce my moral right to devote my life to your service, except as the very last resource. Beyond that I cannot go."

Suddenly Isbel raised her head and seemed to listen to some sound outside the room.

"What was that?" she asked quickly.

"It sounded extremely like a stiff window-shutter being jerked open; it's probably Mrs. Richborough in the next room."

He had scarcely spoken when another noise, more distinct and far more peculiar, struck their ears.

"It's music!" said Isbel, shaking from head to foot, and attempting unsuccessfully to rise.

"Yes…A bass viol-but some way off. I can't conceive what it can be. Would you wait here while I go and investigate?"

"No, you mustn't-I won't have it! I won't be left…"

Judge sat down again, and they went on listening in silence. The low, rich, heavy scraping sound certainly did resemble that of a deep-toned stringed instrument, heard from a distance, but to Isbel's imagination, it resembled something else as well. She thought she recognised it as the must of that dark upstairs corridor, which she had heard on her first visit to the house. But this time it was ever so much nearer, fuller, and more defined; the electric buzzing had resolved itself into perfectly distinct vibrations…A tune was being played, so there was no doubt about the nature of the noise. It was a simple, early-English rustic air-sweet, passionate and haunting. The sonorous and melancholy character of the instrument added a wild, long-drawn-out charm to it which was altogether beyond the range of the understanding and seemed to belong to other days, when feelings were more poignant and delicate, less showy, splendid, and odourless…After the theme had been repeated once, from beginning to end, the performance ceased, and was succeeded by absolute stillness.

They looked at each other.

"How beautiful!…but how perfectly awful!" said Isbel.

"Do you wish to go downstairs at once?"

Some seconds passed before she answered.

"No, I'll stay. How could we leave it without finding out?…We'll go in there in a minute. I don't wish to while she's there. Let's finish what we were saying…You mustn't commit that crime."

"Your honour comes before everything."

"You don't belong to her." She drew a long breath before proceeding…"You belong to me."

"I do not belong to you."

"Yes-you know it is so."

"I beg you to reflect upon what you're saying. You are not yourself at present. Don't use language you will be sure to regret afterwards."

Isbel ignored his interruption.

"I have lied too much to my own heart, and it's time I were honest. They talk of faith and loyalty, but how can one be loyal to others if one is not first loyal to one's own nature? There cannot be a greater sin than to pretend that our feelings are what in reality they are not."