smaller logs tumble together noiselessly, scattering
their grey and stealthy ashes underneath,
a sudden shaft of flame, which seems to lift the
darkness of the room like a heavy pall, and,
before it dies away, is reflected all down the
panels of tlie opposite side, as in a row of shadowy
mirrors.

In the silence of this chamber, thus rendered
dimly visible, two persons are sitting— a brother
and a sister. The man, Major Strangeways, is
a rough soldier, who has now settled down to
the peaceful occupation of farming some land
left him by his father, of whose will the major's
sister, being the elder of the two, is executrix.
Hitherto they have lived together happily; but,
as we observe them now, in the fluctuating light
of the fire, we see that there is some quarrel
between them. The aspect of the man is wild
and threatening; that of the woman, quiet and
subdued— somewhat alarmed indeed, but firm.
Presently, their conversation, which has been
broken off for a time, is resumed; and then we
gather that the sister has consented to marry a
certain Mr. Fussell, a lawyer, and that the
brother disapproves of the match. He is loud
and coarse in his language, taking no heed of
what is due to the susceptibility of a woman's
mind; but on the face of that woman we see
written the records of a love which cannot
falter, and which knows it must not yield. We
behold the violent and fiery man writhing in his
passion, as though he were an agony to himself,
and the woman remaining calm and steadfast,
because she knows that she is true.

He is endeavouring to persuade her to break
her engagement; but in vain. At length he
rises from his seat, and declares with an oath
that, if ever his sister marries Mr. Fussell, he
will kill him, either in his chamber or elsewhere.
A look of speechless horror comes upon the face
of the sister, and contrasts, in its stillness and
rigidity, with the fluctuating passions which
agitate the features of the man; and, as we
glance alternately at both, a dimness passes over
the scene, and it has vanished.

Some months elapse before we again see the
principal figures in this drama. The brother
and sister have parted, and in so doing have disagreed
about the division of their property. The
sister is by this time married; and Mr. Fussell,
her husband, has, in consequence of these disagreements,
entered into law proceedings against
Strangeways. The former has come up to London,
in order to attend personally to the litigations;
and, like his shadow, Strangeways follows
him.

Another room rises to our sight— a town room,
as we infer from its dinginess, and from the
noise of the great city's life which falls upon our
ears. In this room we behold the lawyer, Fussell,
seated at a table covered with papers. He
has pen and ink before him, and is continually
making notes, and turning over, in an anxious
and thoughtful way, the documents that lie
scattered about. He is so absorbed in his occupation
that, although the table at which he sits
is close against the window, he never glances
out: otherwise, he might perhaps observe that
half-shrouded figure at the window of the house
immediately opposite; for the street (like almost
all London streets at that period, the Great Fire
not having yet come to clear the way for a more
modern style of building) is very narrow, and it
is no difficult task for a man to look from his
own casement into the dark, cave-like rooms on
the other side of the way, with their winking
little lattice-windows, glancing like evil eyes
below the overhanging brows of the upper
stories. Not that the figure is very conspicuous;
for it lurks to a great degree behind the curtains,
and is evidently not there for publicity. Beyond
saying that the form is that of a man, the most
intimate friend could not venture an opinion;
for the whole face, as well as much of the body,
is hidden by the curtain. But, whatever he may
be, one cannot look long at him, in his muffled
obscurity, without a feeling of horror— the
whole aspect is so crouching, cat-like, and
deadly.

The lawyer, however, sees nothing of this.
He is deep in his papers, thinking of his fierce
brother-in-law, Strangeways, and planning how
he shall defeat his claims. Very profound is he
in these matters, his whole intellectual existence
being quite absorbed in their contemplation.
To him, at the present moment, there is
nothing else in all this boundless universe
worthy of meditation; and yet he is standing
on the very brink of that abyss into which all
such temporary arrangements are being continually
swept, and reduced to naught. For
does not the obscure figure opposite keep fatal
watch on him?

Nevertheless, temporary arrangements must
be attended to, in this temporary state of being;
so the lawyer works on.

Suddenly there is the report of a musket; a
pane of glass in the window beneath which Mr.
Fussell is sitting is shattered; and at the same
instant the lawyer falls back from his chair,
with two death-wounds from two bullets through
his body. The temporary arrangements are at
an end with him. Looking instinctively to the
window of the opposite house, we see the grey
smoke curling lazily away from there. But the
figure of the shrouded man has vanished, like a
Fate fulfilled.

The murder makes a great sensation all over
town, and everybody is wondering how it can
have been committed, and who can be the
assassin. Poor Mrs. Fussell has a double grief
to bear: the loss of her husband, and the suspicions
which in her mind cannot fail to attach
themselves to her brother. These suspicions
getting abroad, Strangeways is arrested; but, as
there is no direct evidence against him, some
must be sought. The magistrates of those days
are no flippant scoffers at what irreverend wits
are wont to call the lingering superstitions of the
dark ages. They are not infected with the spirit
of an audacious philosophy. They are grave,
elderly, retrospective men; fond of what is based
on authority and prescription; full of a religious
veneration for their great-grandfathers. A method