always regard as in some way the cause of my husband's death."

In the pause that followed her words, Monck's hand left hers. He lay
still looking at her, but with that steely intentness that told her
nothing. She could not have said whether he were vitally interested in
the matter or not when he spoke again.

"You think that he was murdered then?"

A sharp shudder went through her. "I am very nearly convinced of it,"
she said. "But I shall never know for certain now."

"And you imagine that the murderer can have followed you here?" he
pursued.

"No! Oh no!" Hastily she made answer. "It is ridiculous of course. He
would never be such a fool as to do that. It was only my imagination. I
saw the figure at the window and was reminded of him."

"Are you sure the figure at the window was not imagination too?" said
Monck. "Forgive my asking! Such things have happened."

"Oh, I know," Stella said. "It is a question I have been asking myself
ever since. But, you know--" she smiled faintly--"I had no fever that
night. Besides, I fancy you saw him too."

His smile met hers. "I saw many things that night as they were not. And
you also were overwrought and very tired. Perhaps you had had an
exciting supper!"