"Which do you think?"

"It looks like a woman."

"I was afraid it was a man in a long cloak."

"It may be a man. In this dim light it is not
possible to be certain."

"Wait, Marian! I'm frightened—I don't see
the path. Suppose the figure should follow us?"

"Not at all likely, Laura. There is really
nothing to be alarmed about. The shores of the
lake are not far from the village, and they are free
to any one to walk on, by day or night. It is only
wonderful we have seen no living creature there
before."

We were now in the plantation. It was very
dark—so dark, that we found some difficulty in
keeping the path. I gave Laura my arm, and we
walked as fast as we could on our way back.

Before we were halfway through, she stopped,
and forced me to stop with her. She was
listening.

"Hush!" she whispered. " I hear something
behind us."

"Dead leaves," I said, to cheer her, "or a
twig blown off the trees."

"It is summer time, Marian; and there is
not a breath of wind. Listen!"

I heard the sound, too—a sound like a light
footstep following us.

"No matter who it is, or what it is," I said;
"let us walk on. In another minute, if there
is anything to alarm us, we shall be near enough
to the house to be heard."

We went on quickly—so quickly, that Laura
was breathless by the time we were nearly
through the plantation, and within sight of the
lighted windows.

I waited a moment, to give her breathing-time.
Just as we were about to proceed, she
stopped me again, and signed to me with her
hand to listen once more. We both heard
distinctly a long, heavy sigh, behind us, in the
black depths of the trees.

"Who's there?" I called out.

There was no answer.

''Who's there?" I repeated.

An instant of silence followed; and then we
heard the light fall of the footsteps again, fainter
and fainter—sinking away into the darkness—
sinking, sinking, sinking—till they were lost in
the silence.

We hurried out from the trees to the open
lawn beyond; crossed it rapidly; and without
another word passing between us, reached the
house.

In the light of the hall-lamp, Laura looked at
me, with white cheeks and startled eyes.

"I am half dead with fear," she said. "Who
could it have been?"

"We will try to guess to-morrow," I replied.
"In the mean time, say nothing to any one of
what we have heard and seen."

"Why not?"

"Because silence is safe—and we have need
of safety in this house."

I sent Laura up-stairs immediately—waited a
minute to take off my hat, and put my hair
smooth—and then went at once to make my
first investigations in the library, on pretence of
searching for a book.

There sat the Count, filling out the largest
easy-chair in the house; smoking and reading
calmly, with his feet on an ottoman, his cravat
across his knees, and his shirt collar wide open.
And there sat Madame Fosco, like a quiet child,
on a stool by his side, making cigarettes. Neither
husband nor wife could, by any possibility, have
been out late that evening, and have just got
back to the house in a hurry. I felt that my
object in visiting the library was answered the
moment I set eyes on them.

Count Fosco rose in polite confusion, and tied
his cravat on, when I entered the room.

"Pray don't let me disturb you," I said. "I
have only come here to get a book."

"All unfortunate men of my size suffer from
the heat," said the Count, refreshing himself
gravely with a large green fan. "I wish I
could change places with my excellent wife.
She is as cool, at this moment, as a fish in the
pond outside."

The Countess allowed herself to thaw under
the influence of her husband's quaint comparison.
"I am never warm, Miss Halcombe," she
remarked, with the modest air of a woman who
was confessing to one of her own merits.

"Have you and Lady Glyde been out this
evening?" asked the Count, while I was taking
a book from the shelves, to preserve appearances.

"Yes; we went out to get a little air."

"May I ask in what direction?"

"In the direction of the lake—as far as the boat-house."

"Aha? As far as the boat-house?"

Under other circumstances, I might have
resented his curiosity. But, to-night I hailed it
as another proof that neither he nor his wife
were connected with the mysterious appearance
at the lake.

"No more adventures, I suppose, this evening?"
he went on. " No more discoveries, like
your discovery of the wounded dog?"

He fixed his unfathomable grey eyes on me,
with that cold, clear, irresistible glitter in them,
which always forces me to look at him, and
always makes me uneasy, while I do look. An
unutterable suspicion that his mind is prying
into mine, overcomes me at these times; and it
overcame me now.

No," I said, shortly; "no adventures—no
discoveries."

I tried to look away from him, and leave the
room. Strange as it seems, I hardly think I
should have succeeded in the attempt, if Madame
Fosco had not helped me by causing him to
move and look away first.

"Count, you are keeping Miss Halcombe
standing," she said.

The moment he turned round to get me a
chair, I seized my opportunity—thanked him—
made my excuses—and slipped out.

An hour later, when Laura's maid happened
to be in her mistress's room, I took occasion to
refer to the closeness of the night, with a view