THE RED BOOK.
Dermoyne flung his cloak over his arm, drew his cap over his forehead, and grasped the iron bar with his right hand.
"Come with me," he said, in a low voice, to Barnhurst. He drew the key from his pocket, and led the way to the door. As though fascinated by his look, Herman followed him,—followed him trembling and with terror stamped on every line of his face.
"At ten o'clock, to-morrow morning, remember!" said Dermoyne, turning his face over his shoulder. He turned the key in the lock, and stood upon the threshold. "Come with me," he said, quietly, to Barnhurst. "Nay, take the light and walk before me."
Herman, with a quivering hand, seized a lighted lamp and led the way from the room, along the passage. He dared not turn his head. He heard Dermoyne's footsteps at his back, and shook with fright. "Does he intend to murder me?" and then he thought of the iron bar; of the strong hand of Dermoyne; and of his own defenseless head.
"Herman, don't, don't desert me," muttered Alice, in her delirium, as they crossed the threshold.
Dermoyne turned and saw the fixed eyes, the sunny hair, the lips white with foam; saw the writhing form and the hands clasped madly over the half-bared bosom; and then he looked no more.
Along the passage, Herman led the way and down the stairs, Dermoyne following silently at his heels. Thus they descended to the second floor.
"The Madam has a room where she keeps her papers and arranges her most important affairs. Conduct me there."
And Herman, scarce knowing what he did, led the way to the small room in the rear of the second floor,—the small room in which we first beheld the Madam. He entered, followed by Dermoyne, who carefully closed the door, and then, at a glance, surveyed the place. It looked the same as when we first beheld the Madam. The shaded lamp stood on the desk, describing a brief circle of light around it, while the rest of the place was vailed in twilight. On the desk was the seal and the pearl-handled pen, and beside it, was the capacious arm-chair.