He cannot tell whether it is Miss Inez or not. He opens the door and
enters.

This room is unlit too--the shine of the moon fills it as it fills
that other room below. Here too a solitary figure sits, crouches,
rather, near the window in a strange, distorted attitude of pain. He
knows the flowing black hair, the scarlet wrap--he cannot see her face,
she does not look round.

"Miss Inez!"--his voice shakes--"I bring you bad news, awful news.
Don't be shocked--but--a murder has been done."

There is no answer. If she hears him she does not heed. She just sits
still and looks out into the night.

"Miss Inez! you hear me?"

He comes a little nearer--he tries to see her face.

"You hear me?" he repeats.

"I hear you."

The words drop like ice from her lips. One hand is clutching the arm
of her chair--her wide-open black eyes never turn from the night-scene.

"My lady is dead--cruelly murdered. O Miss Inez! do you
hear?--_murdered_! What is to be done?"

She does not answer. Her lips move, but no word comes. An awful fear