Then retired, and shut them in.
Thomas Carr remained alone. He was not fond of wine, and did not help himself during his host's absence. Five minutes, ten minutes, half-an-hour, an hour; and still he was alone. At the end of the first half-hour he began to think Val a long time; at the end of the hour he feared something must have happened. Could he be quarrelling with the mysterious stranger? Could he have forgotten him and gone out? Could he—
The door softly opened, and Lord Hartledon came in. Was it Lord Hartledon? Thomas Carr rose from his chair in amazement and dread. It was like him, but with some awful terror upon him. His face was of an ashy whiteness; the veins of his brow stood out; his dry lips were drawn.
"Good Heavens, Hartledon!" uttered Thomas Carr. "What is it? You look as if you had been accused of murder."
"I have been accused of it," gasped the unhappy man, "of worse than murder. Ay, and I have done it."
The words called up a strange confusion of ideas in the mind of Thomas Carr. Worse than murder!
"What is it?" cried he, aloud. "I am beginning to dream."
"Will you stand by me?" rejoined Hartledon, his voice seeming to have changed into something curiously hollow. "I have asked you before for trifles; I ask you now in the extremity of need. Will you stand by me, and aid me with your advice?"
"Y—es," answered Mr. Carr, his excessive astonishment causing a hesitation. "Where is your visitor?"
"Upstairs. He holds a fearful secret, and has me in his power. Do you come back with me, and combat with him against its betrayal."