bottle that by chance it came in contact with. The next instant, it
descended full upon her forehead, and with a moan of fear and pain, she
fell like lead upon the floor, and lay bleeding and motionless.

Philip, still grasping the shattered bottle, gazed aghast upon the
lifeless form. Then a cry of terror burst upon his ear. He turned, and
beheld Miranda, with dishevelled hair, pale as her night-clothes,
standing at the threshold of the open door. With a convulsive shudder,
she staggered into the room, and fainted at his feet, her white arm
stained with the blood that was sinking in little pools into the carpet.

He stood there gazing from one to the other, but without seeking to
succor either. The fumes of brandy, and the sudden revulsion from active
wrath to apathy, seemed to stupefy his brain. At last he stooped beside
the outstretched form of Molly, and, with averted face, felt in her
pocket and drew out the key. Stealthily, as if he feared that they could
hear him, he moved toward the door, opened it, and passing through,
closed it gently, as one does who would not waken a sleeping child or
invalid. Rapidly, but with soft steps, he descended the stairs, and went
out into the darkness and the storm.




CHAPTER XVI.


When Miranda awakened from her swoon, the lamp was burning dimly, and
the first light of dawn came faintly through the blinds. All was still
around her, and for some moments she could not recall the terrible scene