him. His right hand was pressed to his throat and his eyes seemed
starting from their sockets as he shouted hoarsely: "A light, a
light! For God's sake, don't let him strike me again in the dark!"
Maitland was already lighting the gas and Herne and Browne, so Browne
afterward told me, were preparing to seize the assailant. I
remembered, after it all was over, a quick movement Browne had made
toward the darkest corner of the room.

The apartment was now flooded with light, and I looked for the
assassin. He was not to be found! The room contained only Gwen,
Darrow, and his four invited guests! The doors were closed; the
windows had not been touched. No one could possibly have entered
or left the room, and yet the assassin was not there. But one
solution remained; Darrow was labouring under a delusion, and
Gwen's voice would restore him. As she was about to speak I
stepped back to note the effect of her words upon him. "Do not
fear, father," she said in a low voice as she laid her face against
his cheek, "there is nothing here to hurt you. You are ill,--I
will get you a glass of cordial and you will be yourself again in
a moment." She was about to rise when her father seized her
frantically by the arm, exclaiming in a hoarse whisper: "Don't
leave me! Can't you see? Don't leave me!" and for the first time
he removed his hand from his throat, and taking her head between
his palms, gazed wistfully into her face. He tried to speak again,
but could not, and glanced up at us with a helpless expression
which I shall never forget. Maitland, his eyes riveted upon the
old gentleman, whose thoughts he seemed to divine, hurriedly
produced a pencil and note-book and held them toward him, but
he did not see them, for he had drawn Gwen's face down to him and
was kissing her passionately. The next instant he was on his feet