Ralph made no reply; he was holding his breath hard. There was a queer grinning smile on his face as he turned toward the window.
The fumbling clutching long hands rested for a moment on Ravenspur's forehead, and the next moment there was a sound of smashing glass, as with his naked fists Ralph beat in the lozenge-shaped windows.
A quick cool draught of air rushed through the room, and the figure on the bed ceased to struggle.
"Come in," said Ralph. "There is no danger now."
Marion entered. She was trembling from head to foot; her face was like death.
"What is it, what is it?" she cried. "Uncle Ralph, do you know what it is?"
"That is a mystery," Ralph replied. "There is some fiend at work here. I only guessed that the sickly odor was the cause of the mischief. You are better, sir?"
Ravenspur was sitting up in bed. The color had come back to his lips; he no longer struggled to breathe.
"I am all right," he said. His eyes beamed affectionately on Marion. "Ever ready and ever quick, child, you saved my life from that nameless horror."
"It was Uncle Ralph," said Marion. "I heard your cry, but Uncle Ralph was here as soon as I was. And it was a happy idea of his to break the window."