The scene in the drawing-room represented the ideal of domesticcomfort. The fire of wood and coal mixed burned brightly; thelamps shed a soft glow of light; the solid shutters and the thickred curtains kept the cold night air on the outer side of twolong windows, which opened on the back garden. Snug arm-chairswere placed in every part of the room. In one of them Sir Josephreclined, fast asleep; in another, Miss Lavinia sat knitting; athird chair, apart from the rest, near a round table in onecorner of the room, was occupied by Natalie. Her head was restingon her hand, an unread book lay open on her lap. She looked paleand harassed; anxiety and suspense had worn her down to theshadow of her former self. On entering the room, Turlingtonpurposely closed the door with a bang. Natalie started. MissLavinia looked up reproachfully. The object was achieved--SirJoseph was roused from his sleep.

"If you are going to the vicar's to-night. Graybrooke," saidTurlington, "it's time you were off, isn't it?"

Sir Joseph rubbed his eyes, and looked at the clock on themantel-piece. "Yes, yes, Richard," he answered, drowsily, "Isuppose I must go. Where is my hat?"

His sister and his daughter both joined in trying to persuade himto send an excuse instead of groping his way to the vicarage inthe dark. Sir Joseph hesitated, as usual. He and the vicar hadrun up a sudden friendship, on the strength of their commonenthusiasm for the old-fashioned game of backgammon. Victoriousover his opponent on the previous evening at Turlington's house,Sir Joseph had promised to pass that evening at the vicarage, andgive the vicar his revenge. Observing his indecision, Turlingtoncunningly irritatedhim by affecting to believe that he was really unwilling toventure out in the dark. "I'll see you safe across thechurchyard," he said; "and the vicar's servant will see you safeback." The tone in which he spoke instantly roused Sir Joseph. "Iam not in my second childhood yet, Richard," he replied, testily."I can find my way by myself." He kissed his daughter on theforehead. "No fear, Natalie. I shall be back in time for themulled claret. No, Richard, I won't trouble you." He kissed hishand to his sister and went out into the hall for his hat:Turlington following him with a rough apology, and asking as afavor to be permitted to accompany him part of the way only. Theladies, left behind in the drawing-room, heard the apologyaccepted by kind-hearted Sir Joseph. The two went out together.

"Have you noticed Richard since his return?" asked Miss Lavinia."I fancy he must have heard bad news in London. He looks as if hehad something on his mind."

"I haven't remarked it, aunt."

For the time, no more was said. Miss Lavinia went monotonously onwith her knitting. Natalie pursued her own anxious thoughts overthe unread pages of the book in her lap. Suddenly the deepsilence out of doors and in was broken by a shrill whistle,sounding from the direction of the church-yard. Natalie startedwith a faint cry of alarm. Miss Lavinia looked up from herknitting.

"My dear child, your nerves must be sadly out of order. What isthere to be frightened at?"

"I am not very well, aunt. It is so still here at night, theslightest noises startle me."

There was another interval of silence. It was past nine o'clockwhen they heard the back door opened and closed again. Turlingtoncame hurriedly into the drawing-room, as if he had some reasonfor wishing to rejoin the ladies as soon as possible. To thesurprise of both of them, he sat down abruptly in the corner,with his face to the wall, and took up the newspaper, withoutcasting a look at them or uttering a word.

"Is Joseph safe at the vicarage?" asked Miss Lavinia.

"All right." He gave the answer in a short, surly tone, stillwithout looking round.

Miss Lavinia tried him again. "Did you hear a whistle while youwere out? It quite startled Natalie in the stillness of thisplace."

He turned half-way round. "My shepherd, I suppose," he said aftera pause--"whistling for his dog." He turned back again andimmersed himself in his newspaper.

Miss Lavinia beckoned to her niece and pointed significantly toTurlington. After one reluctant look at him, Natalie laid herhead wearily on her aunt's shoulder. "Sleepy, my dear?" whisperedthe old lady. "Uneasy, aunt--I don't know why," Natalie whisperedback. "I would give the world to be in London, and to hear thecarriages going by, and the people talking in the street."

Turlington suddenly dropped his newspaper. "What's the secretbetween you two?" he called out roughly. "What are you whisperingabout?"

"We wish not to disturb you over your reading, that is all," saidMiss Lavinia, coldly. "Has anything happened to vex you,Richard?"

"What the devil makes you think that?"

The old lady was offended, and showed it by saying nothing more.Natalie nestled closer to her aunt. One after another the clockticked off the minutes with painful distinctness in the stillnessof the room. Turlington suddenly threw aside the newspaper andleft his corner. "Let's be good friends!" he burst out, with aclumsy assumption of gayety. "This isn't keeping Christmas-eve.Let's talk and be sociable. Dearest Natalie!" He threw his armroughly round Natalie, and drew her by main force away from heraunt. She turned deadly pale, and struggled to release herself."I am suffering--I am ill--let me go!" He was deaf to herentreaties. "What! your husband that is to be, treated in thisway? Mustn't I have a kiss?--I will!" He held her closer with onehand, and, seizing her head with the other, tried to turn herlips to him. She resisted with the inbred nervous strength whichthe weakest woman living has in reserve when she is outraged.Half indignant, half terrified, at Turlington's roughness, MissLavinia rose to interfere. In a moment more he would have had twowomen to overpower instead of one, when a noise outside thewindow suddenly suspended the ignoble struggle.

There was a sound of footsteps on the gravel-walk which ranbetween the house wall and the garden lawn. It was followed by atap--a single faint tap, no more--on one of the panes of glass.

They all three stood still. For a moment more nothing wasaudible. Then there was a heavy shock, as of something fallingoutside. Then a groan, then another interval of silence--a longsilence, interrupted no more.

Turlington's arm dropped from Natalie. She drew back to her aunt.Looking at him instinctively, in the natural expectation that hewould take the lead in penetrating the mystery of what hadhappened outside the window, the two women were thunderstruck tosee that he was, to all appearance, even more startled and morehelpless than they were. "Richard," said Miss Lavinia, pointingto the window, "there is something wrong out there. See what itis." He stood motionless, as if he had not heard her, his eyesfixed on the window, his face livid with terror.

The silence outside was broken once more; this time by a call forhelp.

A cry of horror burst from Natalie. The voice outside--risingwildly, then suddenly dying away again--was not entirely strangeto _her_ ears. She tore aside the curtain. With voice and handshe roused her aunt to help her. The two lifted the heavy barfrom its socket; they opened the shutters and the window. Thecheerful light of the room flowed out over the body of aprostrate man, lying on his face. They turned the man over.Natalie lifted his head.

Her father!

His face was bedabbled with blood. A wound, a frightful wound,was visible on the side of his bare head, high above the ear. Helooked at her, his eyes recognized her, before he fainted againin her arms. His hands and his clothes were covered with earthstains. He must have traversed some distance; in that dreadfulcondition he must have faltered and fallen more than once beforehe reached the house. His sister wiped the blood from his face.His daughter called on him frantically to forgive her before hedied--the harmless, gentle, kind-hearted father, who had neversaid a hard word to her! The father whom she had deceived!

The terrified servants hurried into the room. Their appearanceroused their master from the extraordinary stupor that had seizedhim. He was at the window before the footman could get there. Thetwo lifted Sir Joseph into the room, and laid him on the sofa.Natalie knelt by him, supporting his head. Miss Lavinia stanchedthe flowing blood with her handkerchief. The women-servantsbrought linen and cold water. The man hurried away for thedoctor, who lived on the other side of the village. Left aloneagain with Turlington, Natalie noticed that his eyes were fixedin immovable scrutiny on her father's head. He never said a word.He looked, looked, looked at the wound.

The doctor arrived. Before either the daughter or the sister ofthe injured man could put the question, Turlington put it--"Willhe live or die?"

The doctor's careful finger probed the wound.

"Make your minds easy. A little lower down, or in front, the blowmight have been serious. As it is, there is no harm done. Keephim quiet, and he will be all right again in two or three days."

Hearing those welcome words, Natalie and her aunt sank on theirknees in silent gratitude. After dressing the wound, the doctorlooked round for the master of the house. Turlington, who hadbeen so breathlessly eager but a few minutes since, seemed tohave lost all interest in the case now. He stood apart, at thewindow, looking out toward the church-yard, thinking. Thequestions which it was the doctor's duty to ask were answered bythe ladies. The servants assisted in examining the injured man'sclothes: they discovered that his watch and purse were bothmissing. When it became necessary to carry him upstairs, it wasthe footman who assisted the doctor. The foot man's master,without a word of explanation, walked out bare headed into theback garden, on the search, as the doctor and the servantssupposed, for some trace of the robber who had attempted SirJoseph's life.

His absence was hardly noticed at the time. The difficulty ofconveying the wounded man to his room absorbed the attention ofall the persons present.

Sir Joseph partially recovered his senses while they were takinghim up the steep and narrow stairs. Carefully as they carried thepatient, the motion wrung a groan from him before they reachedthe top. The bedroom corridor, in the rambling, irregularly builthouse rose and fell on different levels. At the door of the firstbedchamber the doctor asked a little anxiously if that was theroom. No; there were three more stairs to go down, and a cornerto turn, before they could reach it. The first room wasNatalie's. She instantly offered it for her father's use. Thedoctor (seeing that it was the airiest as well as the nearestroom) accepted the proposal. Sir Joseph had been laid comfortablyin his daughter's bed; the doctor had just left them, withrenewed assurances that they need feel no anxiety, when theyheard a heavy step below stairs. Turlington had re-entered thehouse.

(He had been looking, as they had supposed, for the ruffian whohad attacked Sir Joseph; with a motive, however, for the searchat which it was impossible for other persons to guess. His ownsafety was now bound up in the safety of Thomas Wildfang. As soonas he was out of sight in the darkness, he made straight for themalt-house. The change of clothes was there untouched; not atrace of his accomplice was to be seen. Where else to look forhim it was impossible to tell. Turlington had no alternative butto go back to the house, and ascertain if suspicion had beenaroused in his absence.)

He had only to ascend the stairs, and to see, through the opendoor, that Sir Joseph had been placed in his daughter's room.

"What does this mean?" he asked, roughly.

Before it was possible to answer him the footman appeared with amessage. The doctor had come back to the door to say that hewould take on himself the necessary duty of informing theconstable of what had happened, on his return to the village.Turlington started and changed color. If Wildfang was found byothers, and questioned in his employer's absence, seriousconsequences might follow. "The constable is my business," saidTurlington, hurriedly descending the stairs; "I'll go with thedoctor." They heard him open the door below, then close it again(as if some sudden thought had struck him), and call to thefootman. The house was badly provided with servants' bedrooms.The women-servants only slept indoors. The footman occupied aroom over the stables. Natalie and her aunt heard Turlingtondismiss the man for the night, an hour earlier than usual atleast. His next proceeding was stranger still. Looking cautiouslyover the stairs, Natalie saw him lock all the doors on theground-floor and take out the keys. When he went away, she heardhim lock the front door behind him. Incredible as it seemed,there could be no doubt of the fact--the inmates of the housewere imprisoned till he came back. What did it mean?

(It meant that Turlington's vengeance still remained to bewreaked on the woman who had deceived him. It meant that SirJoseph's life still stood between the man who had compassed hisdeath and the money which the man was resolved to have. It meantthat Richard Turlington was driven to bay, and that the horrorand the peril of the night were not at an end yet.)

Natalie and her aunt looked at each other across the bed on whichSir Joseph lay. He had fallen into a kind of doze; noenlightenment could come to them from _him_. They could only askeach other, with beating hearts and baffled minds, what Richard'sconduct meant--they could only feel instinctively that somedreadful discovery was hanging over them. The aunt was the calmerof the two--there was no secret weighing heavily on _her_conscience. _She_ could feel the consolations of religion. "Ourdear one is spared to us, my love," said the old lady, gently."God has been good to us. We are in his hands. If we know that,we know enough."

As she spoke there was a loud ring at the doorbell. Thewomen-servants crowded into the bedroom in alarm. Strong innumbers, and encouraged by Natalie--who roused herself and ledthe way-- they confronted the risk of opening the window and ofventuring out on the balcony which extended along that side ofthe house. A man was dimly visible below. He called to them inthick, unsteady accents. The servants recognized him: he was thetelegraphic messenger from the railway. They went down to speakto him--and returned with a telegram which had been pushed inunder the door. The distance from the station was considerable;the messenger had been "keeping Christmas" in more than one beer-shop on his way to the house; and the delivery of the telegramhad been delayed for some hours. It was addressed to Natalie. Sheopened it--looked at it--dropped it--and stood speechless; herlips parted in horror, her eyes staring vacantly straight beforeher.

Miss Lavinia took the telegram from the floor, and read theselines:

"Lady Winwood, Hertford Street, London. To Natalie Graybrooke,Church Meadows, Baxdale, Somersetshire. Dreadful news. R. T. hasdiscovered your marriage to Launce. The truth has been kept fromme till to-day (24th). Instant flight with your husband is youronly chance. I would have communicated with Launce, but I do notknow his address. You will receive this, I hope and believe,before R. T. can return to Somersetshire. Telegraph back, Ientreat you, to say that you are safe. I shall follow my messageif I do not hear from you in reasonable time."

Miss Lavinia lifted her gray head, and looked at her niece. "Isthis true?" she said--and pointed to the venerable face laidback, white, on the white pillow of the bed. Natalie sank forwardas her eyes met the eyes of her aunt. Miss Lavinia saved her fromfalling insensible on the floor.

* * * * * * * * *

The confession had been made. The words of penitence and thewords of pardon had been spoken. The peaceful face of the fatherstill lay hushed in rest. One by one the minutes succeeded eachother uneventfully in the deep tranquillity of the night. It wasalmost a relief when the silence was disturbed once more byanother sound outside the house. A pebble was thrown up at thewindow, and a voice called out cautiously, "Miss Lavinia!"

They recognized the voice of the man-servant, and at once openedthe window.

He had something to say to the ladies in private. How could hesay it? A domestic circumstance which had been marked by Launce,as favorable to the contemplated elopement, was now noticed bythe servant as lending itself readily to effecting the necessarycommunication with the ladies. The lock of the gardener'stool-house (in the shrubbery close by) was under repair; and thegardener's ladder was accessible to any one who wanted it. At theshort height of the balcony from the ground, the ladder was morethan long enough for the purpose required. In a few minutes theservant had mounted to the balcony, and could speak to Natalieand her aunt at the window.

"I can't rest quiet," said the man, "I'm off on the sly to seewhat's going on down in the village. It's hard on ladies like youto be locked in here. Is there anything I can do for either ofyou?"

Natalie took up Lady Winwood's telegram. "Launce ought to seethis," she said to her aunt. "He will be here at daybreak," sheadded, in a whisper, "if I don't tell him what has happened."

Miss Lavinia turned pale. "If he and Richard meet--" she began."Tell him!" she added, hurriedly--"tell him before it is toolate!"

Natalie wrote a few lines (addressed to Launce in his assumedname at his lodgings in the village) inclosing Lady Winwood'stelegram, and entreating him to do nothing rash. When the servanthad disappeared with the letter, there was one hope in her mindand in her aunt's mind, which each was ashamed to acknowledge tothe other --the hope that Launce would face the very danger thatthey dreaded for him, and come to the house.

They had not been long alone again, when Sir Joseph drowsilyopened his eyes and asked what they were doing in his room. Theytold him gently that he was ill. He put his hand up to his head,and said they were right, and so dropped off again into slumber.Worn out by the emotions through which they had passed, the twowomen silently waited for the march of events. The same stupor ofresignation possessed them both. They had secured the door andthe window. They had prayed together. They had kissed the quietface on the pillow. They had said to each other, "We will livewith him or die with him as God pleases." Miss Lavinia sat by thebedside. Natalie was on a stool at her feet--with her eyesclosed, and her head on her aunt's knee.

Time went on. The clock in the hall had struck--ten or eleven,they were not sure which--when they heard the signal which warnedthem of the servant's return from the village. He brought news,and more than news; he brought a letter from Launce.

Natalie read these lines:

"I shall be with you, dearest, almost as soon as you receivethis. The bearer will tell you what has happened in the village--your note throws a new light on it all. I only remain behind togo to the vicar (who is also the magistrate here), and declaremyself your husband. All disguise must be at an end now. My placeis with you and yours. It is even worse than your worst fears.Turlington was at the bottom of the attack on your father. Judgeif you have not need of your husband's protection afterthat!--L."

Natalie handed the letter to her aunt, and pointed to thesentence which asserted Turlington's guilty knowledge of theattempt on Sir Joseph's life. In silent horror the two womenlooked at each other, recalling what had happened earlier in theevening, and understanding it now. The servant roused them to asense of present things, by entering on the narrative of hisdiscoveries in the village.

The place was all astir when he reached it. An old man--astranger in Baxdale--had been found lying in the road, close tothe church, in a fit; and the person who had discovered him hadbeen no other than Launce himself. He had, literally, stumbledover the body of Thomas Wildfang in the dark, on his way back tohis lodgings in the village.

"The gentleman gave the alarm, miss," said the servant,describing the event, as it had been related to him, "and theman--a huge, big old man--was carried to the inn. The landlordidentified him; he had taken lodgings at the inn that day, andthe constable found valuable property on him--a purse of moneyand a gold watch and chain. There was nothing to show who themoney and the watch belonged to. It was only when my master andthe doctor got to the inn that it was known whom he had robbedand tried to murder. All he let out in his wanderings before theycame was that some person had set him on to do it. He called theperson 'Captain,' and sometimes 'Captain Goward.' It wasthought--if you could trust the ravings of a madman--that the fittook him while he was putting his hand on Sir Joseph's heart tofeel if it had stopped beating. A sort of vision (as I understandit) must have overpowered him at the moment. They tell me heraved about the sea bursting into the church yard, and a drowningsailor floating by on a hen-coop; a sailor who dragged him downto hell by the hair of his head, and such like horrible nonsense,miss. He was still screeching, at the worst of the fit, when mymaster and the doctor came into the room. At sight of one orother of them--it is thought of Mr. Turlington, seeing that hecame first--he held his peace on a sudden, and then fell back inconvulsions in the arms of the men who were holding him. Thedoctor gave it a learned name, signifying drink-madness, and saidthe case was hopeless. However, he ordered the room to be clearedof the crowd to see what be could do. My master was reported tobe still with the doctor, waiting to see whether the man lived ordied, when I left the village, miss, with the gentleman's answerto your note. I didn't dare stay to hear how it ended, for fearof Mr. Turlington's finding me out."

Having reached the end of his narrative, the man looked roundrestlessly toward the window. It was impossible to say when hismaster might not return, and it might be as much as his life wasworth to be caught in the house after he had been locked out ofit. He begged permission to open the window, and make his escapeback to the stables while there was still time. As he unbarredthe shutter they were startled by a voice hailing them frombelow. It was Launce's voice calling to Natalie. The servantdisappeared, and Natalie was in Launce's arms before she couldbreathe again.

For one delicious moment she let her head lie on his breast; thenshe suddenly pushed him away from her. "Why do you come here? Hewill kill you if he finds you in the house. Where is he?"

Launce knew even less of Turlington's movements than the servant."Wherever he is, thank God, I am here before him!" That was allthe answer he could give.

Natalie and her aunt heard him in silent dismay. Sir Joseph woke,and recognized Launce before a word more could be said. "Ah, mydear boy!" he murmured, faintly. "It's pleasant to see you again.How do you come here?" He was quite satisfied with the firstexcuse that suggested itself. "We'll talk about it to- morrow,"he said, and composed himself to rest again.

Natalie made a second attempt to persuade Launce to leave thehouse.

"We don't know what may have happened," she said. "He may havefollowed you on your way here. He may have purposely let youenter his house. Leave us while you have the chance."

Miss Lavinia added her persuasions. They were useless. Launcequietly closed the heavy window-shutters, lined with iron, andput up the bar. Natalie wrung her hands in despair.

"Have you been to the magistrate?" she asked. "Tell us, at least,are you here by his advice? Is he coming to help us?"

Launce hesitated. If he had told the truth, he must haveacknowledged that he was there in direct opposition to themagistrate's advice. He answered evasively, "If the vicar doesn'tcome, the doctor will. I have told him Sir Joseph must he moved.Cheer up, Natalie! The doctor will be here as soon asTurlington."

As the name passed his lips--without a sound outside to preparethem for what was coming--the voice of Turlington himselfsuddenly penetrated into the room, speaking close behind thewindow, on the outer side.

"You have broken into my house in the night," said the voice."And you don't escape _this_ way."

Miss Lavinia sank on her knees. Natalie flew to her father. Hiseyes were wide open in terror; he moaned, feebly recognizing thevoice. The next sound that was heard was the sound made by theremoval of the ladder from the balcony. Turlington, havingdescended by it, had taken it away. Natalie had but tooaccurately guessed what would happen. The death of the villain'saccomplice had freed him from all apprehension in that quarter.He had deliberately dogged Launce's steps, and had deliberatelyallowed him to put himself in the wrong by effecting a secretentrance into the house.

There was an interval--a horrible interval--and then they heardthe front door opened. Without stopping (judging by the absenceof sound) to close it again, Turlington rapidly ascended thestairs and tried the locked door.

"Come out, and give yourself up!" he called through the door. "Ihave got my revolver with me, and I have a right to fire on a manwho has broken into my house. If the door isn't opened before Icount three, your blood be on your own head. One!"

Launce was armed with nothing but his stick. He advanced, withoutan instant's hesitation, to give himself up. Natalie threw herarms round him and clasped him fast before he could reach thedoor.

"Two!" cried the voice outside, as Launce struggled to force herfrom him. At the same moment his eye turned toward the bed. Itwas exactly opposite the door--it was straight in the line offire! Sir Joseph' s life (as Turlington had deliberatelycalculated) was actually in greater danger than Launce's life. Hetore himself free, rushed to the bed, and took the old man in hisarms to lift him out.

"Three!"

The crash of the report sounded. The bullet came through thedoor, grazed Launce's left arm, and buried itself in the pillow,at the very place on which Sir Joseph's head had rested themoment before. Launce had saved his father-in-law's life.Turlington had fired his first shot for the money, and had notgot it yet.

They were safe in the corner of the room, on the same side as thedoor--Sir Joseph, helpless as a child, in Launce's arms; thewomen pale, but admirably calm. They were safe for the moment,when the second bullet (fired at an angle) tore its way throughthe wall on their right hand.

"I hear you," cried the voice of the miscreant on the other sideof the door. "I'll have you yet--through the wall."

There was a pause. They heard his hand sounding the wall, to findout where there was solid wood in the material of which it wasbuilt, and where there was plaster only. At that dreadful momentLaunce's composure never left him. He laid Sir Joseph softly onthe floor, and signed to Natalie and her aunt to lie down by himin silence. Their lives depended now on neither their voices northeir movements telling the murderer where to fire. He chose hisplace. The barrel of the revolver grated as he laid it againstthe wall. He touched the hair trigger. A faint _click_ was theonly sound that followed. The third barrel had missed fire.

They heard him ask himself, with an oath, "What's wrong with itnow?"

There was a pause of silence.

Was he examining the weapon?

Before they could ask themselves the question, the report of theexploding charge burst on their ears. It was instantly followedby a heavy fall. They looked at the opposite wall of the room. Nosign of a bullet there or anywhere.

Launce signed to them not to move yet. They waited, and listened.Nothing stirred on the landing outside.

Suddenly there was a disturbance of the silence in the lowerregions--a clamor of many voices at the open house door. Had thefiring of the revolver been heard at the vicarage? Yes! Theyrecognized the vicar's voice among the others. A moment more, andthey heard a general exclamation of horror on the stairs. Launceopened the door of the room. He instantly closed it again beforeNatalie could follow him.

The dead body of Turlington lay on the landing outside. Thecharge in the fourth barrel of the revolver had exploded while hewas looking at it. The bullet had entered his mouth and killedhim on the spot.