stifled sound, stepped forward quickly, clawing the air, and caught
between his fingers a wisp of some material, like silk, sheer and
glacé, a portion of some garment.

Simultaneously he heard a smothered cry, of anger or alarm, and the
night seemed to split and be rent into fragments by a thousand shooting
needles of coloured flame.

Smitten brutally on the point of the jaw, his head jerked back, he
reeled and fell against a chair, which went to the floor with a muffled
crash.




X

BUT AS A MUSTARD SEED...


Duchemin woke up in his bed, glare of sunlight in his eyes.

From the latter circumstance he reckoned, rather groggily, it must be
about the middle of the forenoon; for not till about that time did the
sun work round to the windows.

Still heavy with lees of slumber, his wits occupied themselves
sluggishly with questions concerning the enervation that oppressed him,
the reason for his oversleeping, why he had not been called. Then,
reminded that noon was the hour set for Eve's departure, fear lest she