to seek a tête-à-tête with him, who knows what might come of it? Blood;
my own heart whispers--blood! I'll not trust myself."

He strode to the study door, locked it, and taking out the key, shut it
in the drawer of one of the cabinets.

"Now it will need more than accident or impulse to lead me to him. I
cannot go, at least, without reflection, without premeditation. Avaunt,
fiend. I have baffled you."

He stood in the center of the room, cowering and scowling as he said
this, and looked round with a glance half-defiant, half-fearful, as if he
expected to see some dreadful form in the dusky recesses of the desolate
chamber. He sat himself by the smouldering fire, in somber and agitated
rumination. He was restless; he rose again, unbuckled his sword, which he
had not loosed since evening, and threw it hastily into a corner. He
looked at his watch, it was half-past twelve; he glanced at the door, and
thence at the cabinet in which he had placed the key; then he turned
hastily, and sate down again. He leaned his elbows on his knees, and his
chin upon his clenched hand; still he was restless and excited. Once more
he arose, and paced up and down. He consulted his watch again; it was now
but a quarter to one.

Sir Wynston's man having received the letters, and his master's
permission to retire to rest, got into his bed, and was soon beginning to
dose. We have already mentioned that his and Sir Wynston's apartments
were separated by a small dressing room, so that any ordinary noise or
conversation could be heard but imperfectly from one to the other. The
servant, however, was startled by a sound of something falling on the
floor of his master's apartment, and broken to pieces by the violence of