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He stole some paces nearer, then gave a start and stopped; he had seen blood stains on the man's clothing. At the same moment, the lines of the figure struck him as familiar, and while he strove to identify them, a light breeze lifted the leaves of an overhanging bush, and revealed an easily recognized profile. Immediately he was kneeling by Bergan, trying his best to discover some sign of life.��

��"Nothing, that I can imagine."

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"Who is 'me'?" he demanded again.�Carice felt a jealous pang. Beautiful! and Bergan's friend? Sad? of course, since he was in danger!

��"Fire and fury! what's that?"

Perhaps Bergan heard something of all this; at any rate, that cry from the river, whether real or imagined, had broken the thread of his review of the past, and brought back his mind to the question of the future. What was to be done? Leave Berganton, of course. The place was not wide enough to hold Carice and himself, with comfort to either. If her marriage had been brought about in the way that he suspected, the sight of him would scarce conduce to her peace; while the sight of her, in her new relation, could only cause him useless pain. Moreover, he had seen, from the first, that Berganton afforded little scope for talent; none whatever for ambition. And, now that his life seemed likely to be limited to its public side, and to have no sweet, compensating domestic one, he felt the necessity of directing its course to some quarter where there was room for proper expansion.The search began. Not a corner was left unexplored, not a shadow left undisturbed. Many strange relics of olden time were unearthed, much venerable dust raised, but it was all unavailing, so far as either the will or the blind woman was concerned.

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Tired and disappointed, they returned to the library. Then Doctor Remy stood forth with the light of triumph shining in his eyes. He had schemed and sinned to some purpose; his reward was sure."What are you doing?" he asked.�

Yet he had failed before. Bitterly he acknowledged to himself that, despite his rich natural endowments of intellect, courage, will, and resource, his life had been, on the whole, a succession of failures. The consequences of one early mistake had followed, hampered, modified, and defeated, every effort that he had made to rise above a certain level of station, fortune, or reputation. Nevertheless, he had saved from every wreck, thus far, an unbroken spirit and an inexhaustible invention. What was there in the present one to cause his heart to shiver and shrink with so deadly a chill of despair, to smite him with so heavy an intuition that the measure of his opportunities for good or evil was full, and that some set time of reckoning was at hand? Nay, he would not be daunted! There must be some expedient—some bold stroke or crafty subterfuge—by which he could still wring safety, at least, from the hands of defeat."Aye, I'll warrant! that is the saving grain of truth in the whole story. Do you remember the circumstances of your elder brother's death?"�

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��Astra whispered softly that she had left a strange visitor in the studio, who appeared to be singing unconsciously to herself.

�Some moments elapsed before Bergan could answer. Compelled by the question to make a sudden, rapid investigation into the deeper things of the heart, he was confounded at the unexpected result. Too truthful, however, to attempt to hide it, he finally answered, thoughtfully;—Mrs. Lyte had waked, as was too often the case, in a spasm of pain. Astra hastened to call Cathie from the kitchen to assist the laboring breath with gentle wafts of air from a fan, while she herself measured some drops of a soothing mixture, and lifted her mother's head on her arm, to enable her to swallow and to breathe more easily. Several anxious moments had passed thus, in silence broken only by the painful respirations of the invalid, when a low, sweet strain of melody stole so gently into the room that Astra could not tell, at first, from whence it came. So soft was it that it melted into the ear without making any apparent demand upon the attention, yet so clear that not one liquid note was lost. The swollen veins of Mrs. Lyte's forehead subsided; her chest ceased its agonized heaving; a peaceful, happy smile broke over her face.