Mr. Gordon laughed. "If you once witnessed the thunder-storms that we get in the tropics, Mrs. Verner, you would not associate these with danger."
"I have seen dreadful thunder-storms, apart from what we get here, as well as you, Mr. Gordon," returned Sibylla.
"Perhaps you will deny that anybody's ever killed by them in this country. But why did you halt underneath the yew-tree?"
"I did not," he repeated. "I crossed the lawn, straight on to the upper end of the terrace. I did not go near the tree."
"Some one did, if you did not. They were staring right up at my dressing-room window. I was standing at it with Mr. Verner."
Mr. Gordon shook his head. "Not guilty, so far as I am concerned, Mrs. Verner. I met some man, when I was coming home, plunging into the thicket of trees as I emerged from them. It was he, possibly."
"What man?" questioned Sibylla.
"I did not know him. He was a stranger. A tall, dark man with stooping shoulders, and something black upon his cheek."
"Something black upon his cheek;" repeated Sibylla, thinking the words bore an odd sound.
"A large black mark it looked like. His cheek was white—sallow would be the better term—and he wore no whiskers, so it was a conspicuous looking brand. In the moment he passed me, the lightning rendered the atmosphere as light as—"