A great shudder shook her from head to foot--she lifted her haggard
face. The lull before the storm was over--Sir Victor Catheron had come.




CHAPTER VIII.

IN THE DARKNESS.


Half an hour's rapid gallop had brought Edwards, the valet, to Powyss
Place. The stately mansion, park, lawn, and terraces, lay bathed in
the silvery shower of moonlight. From the upper windows, where the
sick man lay, lights streamed; all the rest of the house was in deep
shadow.

In one of those dimly lighted rooms Sir Victor Catheron lay upon a
lounge fast asleep. He had remained for about two hours by the sick
man's bedside; then, persuaded by his aunt, had gone to lie down in an
inner department.

"You look pale and ill yourself," she had said, tenderly; "lie down
and rest for a little. If I need you, I will call you at once."

He had obeyed, and had dropped off into a heavy sleep. A dull
oppression of heart and soul beset him; he had no mind to slumber--it
had come upon him unawares. He was awakened suddenly by some one
calling his name.