briefly. In the beginning of October we saw Sir Joseph Dunbar. I should
then, by his advice, have taken Lady Studley to the Riviera, but she
opposed the idea with such passion and distress, that I abandoned it."

Sir Henry paused here, and I looked at him attentively. I remembered at
that moment what Lady Studley had said about her husband refusing to
leave the Grange under any circumstances. What a strange game of
cross-purposes these two were playing. How was it possible for me to get
at the truth?

"At my wife's earnest request," continued Sir Henry, "we returned to the
Grange. She declared her firm intention of remaining here until
she died.

"Soon after our return she suggested that we should occupy separate
rooms at night, reminding me, when she made the request, of the
infectious nature of consumption. I complied with her wish on condition
that I slept in the room next hers, and that on the smallest emergency I
should be summoned to her aid. This arrangement was made, and her room
opens into mine. I have sometimes heard her moving about at night--I
have often heard her cough, and I have often heard her sigh. But she has
never once sent for me, or given me to understand that she required my
aid. She does not think herself very ill, and nothing worries her more
than to have her malady spoken about. That is the part of the story
which relates to my wife."

"She is very ill," I said. "But I will speak of that presently. Now will
you favour me with an account of your own symptoms, Sir Henry?"

[Illustration: "HE LOCKED THE DOOR AND PUT THE KEY IN HIS POCKET."]