The Forrest City times., 1891-07-03
CHAPTER x.

In the meantime the daylight dwin- dies, and twilight deseends. Even that too departs, and now darkness falls up on the distressed household, and still there is no news of Sir Adrian.
 Arthur Dynecourt, who is already beginning to be treated with due re- spect as the next heir to the baronetcy, has quietly hinted to old Lady FitzAl- mont that perhaps it will be as well, in the extraordinary circumstances, if they all take their departure. This the old lady, though strongly dislnclined to quit the castle, is debating in her own mind, and, being swayed by Lady Gertrude, who is secretly rather bored by the dullness that has ensued on the strange absence of their host, decides to leave on the morrow, to the great distress of both Dora and Florence Del maine, who shrink from deserting the castle while it's masters fate is undeci- ded. But they are also sensible that, to remain the only female guests, would be to outrage the conventionali- ties
 Henry Villiers, Ethel's father, is also of opinion that they should all quit the castle without delay. He is hunting man, an M. F. H. in his own county, and is naturally anxious to get back ta his own quarters some timo before the huntlng-seaSon commences. Some oth- CTS have already gone, and altogether it seems to Florence that there is no other course open to her but to pack up and desert him, whom she loves, in the hour of his direst need. For there are moments even now when she tells her self that he is still living, and only waiting for saving hand to drag him into smooth waters Onpn aCatp-
 A silence has fallen upon the house more melancholy than the loudest ex- pression of grief. The servants are conversing over their supper in fright ened whispers, and oniecturing mood- fly as to the fate of their late master. To them Sir Adrian is indeed dead if not buried.
 In the servants corridor strange dull liSht is being flung upon the pol | ished boards by a hanging-lamp that is burning dimly, as though oppressed by the dire evil that has fallen upon the | old castle. No sound is to be heard | here in this spot, remote from the rest l of the house, where the servants sell dom come except to go to bed, and never indeed without an inward shud- | der as they pass the door that leads to | the haunted chamber.
 | Just now, being at their supper, there | is no fear that any of them will be about, and so the dimly lighted corri- | dor is wrapped in an unbroken silence. | Not quite unbroken, however. What is this that strikes upon the ear? What sound comes to break the unearthly stiffness? A creeping footstep, a eau tious tread, a sinking, halting, uncer- tain motion, belonging surely to some one who sees an enemy, a spy in every fitting shadow. Nearer and nearer 1t comes now into the fuller glare of the lamp-light, and stops short at the door so dreaded by the castle servants. | Looking uneasily around him, Ar thur Dynecourt--for it is he--unfast- ems the door, and, entering hastily, clo- ses it firmly behind him, and ascends the staircase within. There is no halt ing i'll his footsteps now, no uncertain. ty, no caution, only haste that betok- ems desire to get his errand over as quick as possible.
 Having gained the first landing, he walks slowly and on tiptoe again, and creeping up u 6 stone stairs, crouches down so as to bring his ear on leyel with the lower chink of the door. Alas, all is still; no faintest groan can be heard! The silence of Death is all around. In spite of his hardihood the cold sweat of fear breaks out upon Dynecourt's brow; and yet he tells him. self that now he is satisfied, all is well his victim is secure, is beyond the pow CT of words or kindly search to recall him to life. He may be discovered now as soon as they like. Who can fix the fact of his death upon him? There is no blow, no mark of violence to crimi- nate any one. He is safe, and all the wealth he had so coveted is at last his Owul
 ITO os Continued.l
 I The monotony of life in a Saccarap- pa (Me. undertaker's rooms was va 1, ried, when man walked in and want. ed to make arrangements for his own funeral. saying that he contemplated