and from the swollen veins that stood out like cords upon his neck
and forehead, we could see the terrible effort he was making to
speak. At last the words came,--came as if they were torn hissing
from his throat, for he took a full breath between each one of them.
"Gwen--I--knew--it! Good-bye! Remember--your--promise!"
--and he fell a limp mass into his chair, overcome, I felt sure,
by the fearful struggle he had made. Maitland seized a glass of
water and threw it in his face. I loosened the clothing about his
neck and, in doing so, his head fell backward and his face was
turned upward toward me. The features were drawn,--the eyes were
glazed and set. I felt of his heart; he was dead!



CHAPTER II

Silence is the only tender Death can make to Mystery.


The look of pain and astonishment upon my face said plainly enough
to Gwen:

"Your father is dead." I could not speak. In the presence of her
great affliction we all stood silent, and with bowed heads. I had
thought Darrow's attack the result of an overwrought mental condition
which would speedily readjust itself, and had so counted upon his
daughter's influence as all but certain to immediately result in a
temporary cure. When, therefore, I found him dead without any
apparent cause, I was, for the time being, too dazed to think, much
less to act, and I think the other gentlemen were quite as much