Backwards and forwards from the fireplace to the door, the footsteps came and went--without haste and without cessation; stealthily regular; inhumanly light.

Their very monotony helped them to pass as unnoticed as the ticking of a clock.

Mr.Pollard continued the preparation of his class-work for a full hour, and only when the dusk was falling, and it was becoming difficult for him to see what he was writing, did he lean back in his chair and stretch his arms above his head with a sigh of relief.
Then once more he became aware of the footsteps overhead.

He rose and rang the bell.
"Who is that walking up and down the drawingroom, Evans ?" he asked of the butler.
The butler threw back his head and listened.
"I don't know, sir," he replied.
"Those footsteps have been sounding like that for more than an hour." "For more than an hour ?" Evans repeated.

"Then I am afraid, sir, it's the new young gentleman from India." Arthur Pollard started.
"Has he been waiting up there alone all this time ?" he exclaimed.