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‘I have come, Francis, to bid you good night,’ I said, cheerfully. ‘To-morrow morning I shall look in at breakfast time, before I leave home on а journey.’

‘Thank you for all your kindness, sir. You will not see me alive to-morrow morning. She will find me this time. Mark my words – she will find me this time.’

‘My good fellow! she couldn’t find you in England. How in the world is she to find you in France?’

‘It’s borne in on my mind, sir, that she will find me here. At two in the morning on my birthday I shall see her again, and see her for the last time.’

‘Do you mean that she will kill you?’

‘I mean that, sir, she will kill me – with the knife.’

‘And with Rigobert in the room to protect you?’

‘I am а doomed man. Fifty Rigoberts couldn’t protect me.’

‘And you wanted somebody to sit up with you?’

‘Mere weakness, sir. I don’t like to be left alone on my deathbed.’

I looked at the surgeon. If he had encouraged me, I should certainly, out of sheer compassion, have confessed to Francis Raven the trick that we were playing him. The surgeon held to his experiment; the surgeon’s face plainly said – ‘No.’

The next day (the twenty-ninth of February) was the day of the ‘Silver Wedding.’ The first thing in the morning, I went to Francis Raven’s room. Rigobert met me at the door.

‘How has he passed the night?’ I asked.

‘Saying his prayers, and looking for ghosts,’ Rigobert answered. ‘A lunatic asylum is the only proper place for him.’

I approached the bedside. ‘Well, Francis, here you are, safe and sound, in spite of what you said to me last night.’

His eyes rested on mine with а vacant, wondering look.

‘I don’t understand it,’ he said.

‘Did you see anything of your wife when the clock struck two?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Did anything happen?’

‘Nothing happened, sir.’

‘Doesn’t this satisfy you that you were wrong?’

His eyes still kept their vacant, wondering look. He only repeated the words he had spoken already: ‘I don’t understand it.’

I made а last attempt to cheer him. ‘Come, come, Francis! keep а good heart. You will be out of bed in а fortnight.’

He shook his head on the pillow. ‘There’s something wrong,’ he said. ‘I don’t expect you to believe me, sir. I only say there’s something wrong – and time will show it.’

I left the room. Half an hour later I started for Mr. Beldheimer’s house; leaving the arrangements for the morning of the first of March in the hands of the doctor and my wife.

XVI

The one thing which principally struck me when I joined the guests at the ‘Silver Wedding’ is also the one thing which it is necessary to mention here. On this joyful occasion а noticeable lady present was out of spirits. That lady was no other than the heroine of the festival, the mistress of the house!

In the course of the evening I spoke to Mr. Beldheimer’s eldest son on the subject of his mother. As an old friend of the family, I had а claim on his confidence which the young man willingly recognized.