Every one fell back into the house.

There had been no time to light lamps, and in the little uncarpeted parlor, in the unnatural darkness, Rowland felt Mary's hand upon his arm.

For a moment it had an eloquent pressure; it seemed to retract her senseless challenge, and to say that she believed, for Roderick, what he believed.

But nevertheless, thought Rowland, the cry had come, her heart had spoken; her first impulse had been to sacrifice him.

He had been uncertain before; here, at least, was the comfort of certainty! It must be confessed, however, that the certainty in question did little to enliven the gloom of that formidable evening.