too early gray, and restless lips muttering in dreams.

"I wish I could spare her this," he sighed, stooping to wake her with a
word. But he did not speak, for, suddenly clutching the chain about her
neck, she seemed to struggle with some invisible foe and beat it off,
muttering audibly as she clenched her thin hands on the golden case.
Paul leaned and listened as if the first word had turned him to stone,
till the paroxysm had passed, and with a heavy sigh my lady sank into a
calmer sleep. Then, with a quick glance over his shoulder, Paul
skillfully opened the locket, drew out the silver key, replaced it with
one from the piano close by, and stole from the house noiselessly as he
had entered it.

That night, in the darkest hour before the dawn, a figure went gliding
through the shadowy Park to its most solitary corner. Here stood the
tomb of the Trevlyns, and here the figure paused. A dull spark of light
woke in its hand, there was a clank of bars, the creak of rusty hinges,
then light and figure both seemed swallowed up.

Standing in the tomb where the air was close and heavy, the pale glimmer
of the lantern showed piles of moldering coffins in the niches, and
everywhere lay tokens of decay and death. The man drew his hat lower
over his eyes, pulled the muffler closer about his mouth, and surveyed
the spot with an undaunted aspect, though the beating of his heart was
heard in the deep silence. Nearest the door stood a long casket covered
with black velvet and richly decorated with silver ornaments, tarnished
now. The Trevlyns had been a stalwart race, and the last sleeper brought
there had evidently been of goodly stature, for the modern coffin was as
ponderous as the great oaken beds where lay the bones of generations.
Lifting the lantern, the intruder brushed the dust from the