[CHAPTER V.]
A pale gray light, like a stray moonbeam glimmering upon the headstone of a grave, crept into the room and softly touched the face of the girl that lay upon the floor in a death-like swoon.
There is an inexplicable something in magnetism that annihilates distance and speaks louder than a human voice.
It has baffled scientists for generations, and will for generations more, yet its presence has been more or less felt by every one, like the influence of a haunting but half-forgotten dream.
Some such feeling disturbed the slumbers of Leonard Chandler. He tried vainly to sleep, and at last, in sheer desperation, he arose, slipped on his trousers, slippers, and dressing-gown, and sat down to that consoler of man—a smoke.
It had not, however, its usual influence. His nervousness increased with each moment, until at last he sprung to his feet, the expression of his countenance indicating great anxiety.
"It is the same feeling that I had while I was being robbed the last time," he muttered. "I wonder if it can mean anything? I am going down to the library and sleep there on the couch to-night. No one will know of my presence there, and it may be that I shall detect the thief myself. Pshaw! It seems too absurd an idea to think of—and yet it can do no harm. How Anna and Evelyn would laugh if they knew of this!"
He hesitated, puffing out great volumes of smoke in his perplexity, then turned resolutely toward the door.
"They will have to laugh," he exclaimed aloud, compressing his lips firmly. "Something tells me to go, and I must go!"