"I cannot account for my sensations, Robert," she said. "The shadow of this awful tragedy seems to shut away the sunshine from me. You cannot, of course, help coming of age on Monday, but surely there is nothing unreasonable in my asking to have the wedding postponed for a week. I will own that I am superstitious—I come of a superstitious race—my grandmother had the gift of second sight—perhaps I inherit it also, I cannot say. Do yield to me in the matter, Robert. Do postpone the wedding."
Awdrey stood close to Margaret. She looked anxiously into his eyes; they met hers with a curious expression of irritation in them. The young squire was pale; there were fretful lines round his mouth.
"I told you before," he said, "that I am affected with a strange and unaccountable apathy with regard to this terrible murder. I try with all my might to get up sympathy for that poor unfortunate Everett. Try as I may, however, I utterly fail to feel even pity for him. Margaret, I would confess this to no one in the world but yourself. Everett is nothing to me—you are everything. Why should I postpone my happiness on Everett's account?"
"You are not well, dearest," said Margaret, looking at him anxiously.
"Yes, I am, Maggie," he replied. "You must not make me fanciful. I never felt better in my life, except——" Here he pressed his hand to his brow.
"Except?" she repeated.
"Nothing really—I have a curious sensation of numbness in the back of my head. I should think nothing at all about it but for the fact——"
Here he paused, and looked ahead of him steadily.
"But for what fact, Robert?"
"You must have heard—it must have been whispered to you—every one all over the county knows that sometimes—sometimes, Maggie, queer things happen to men of our house."