He flung it from him and made a dash from the room. It was not a moment too soon, for the opposite door, which led to the private stair-way, had barely closed after him ere the sound of approaching footsteps was plainly heard hurrying quickly toward the library.
In that instant Hubert Varrick—who had been dazed by his fall, and the terrible blow on his head caused by striking it against the mantel—was struggling to a sitting posture. Varrick had scarcely regained his feet ere the portières were flung quickly aside, and his mother and half a dozen servants appeared.
A horrible shriek rent the air as Mrs. Varrick's eyes fell upon her son, and the figure of a woman but a few feet from him with a knife lying beside her.
"What does it mean?" cried Mrs. Varrick.
He pointed to the fallen figure.
"Gerelda has come back to torture me, mother!" he cried.
By a terrible effort Gerelda struggled to her knees.
"Hear me, one and all!" she cried. "Listen; while yet the strength is mine, I will proclaim it! See, I am dying—that man, my husband, is my murderer! He murdered me to keep me from touching the bell-rope—to tell you all I was here!"
With this horrible accusation on her lips, Gerelda sunk back unconscious.
Who shall picture the scene that ensued?