Part 38 (1/2)

Margaret shrank back; she had been standing in profile, not two feet from the window, and her ear had caught the indistinct sounds so clearly that she was able to trace them immediately to their cause.

A man was in the balcony outside her window, and he was listening to know whether she was sleeping or waking. Perhaps a burglar? No.

Mortlake was there to retrace his false step before the morning light should place his secret in other hands.

”He's going to force an entrance and murder me,” thought Margaret, who could reason distinctly in this moment of peril; ”and, knowing that I only share the knowledge of his guilt, he hopes to escape suspicion. He will arrange it like a burglary--likely take away my few jewels and articles of value, and drop them in the mere. I am afraid I am lost.”

These thoughts just glanced through her mind as lightning glimmers through the thunderous clouds, and, with the sudden instinct of self-preservation, she ran to the door, determined to rush into safety.

Before she had reached it, or her hand could touch the lock, a slow and gentle scratching on the window-pane arrested her, and she paused, fascinated, to understand it. Scratch--scratch--scratch--cr-ick! the tiny tinkle of falling gla.s.s.

Scratch--scratch--scratch--scratch--scratch--scratch! cr-ick--cr-ick!

More gla.s.s falling, a crunching footstep, a soft tremor of the mahogany shutter!

Margaret essayed to wrench round the heavy lock of her door.

Her hand had no more strength than an infant's. She shuddered from head to foot.

One more desperate wrench!

A low snarl reached her ear! Eager paws beat at the bottom of her door!

She stood transfixed as the devil's cunning of her adversary dawned upon her mind.

The terrible sleuth-hound had been stationed outside her door, ready to tear her limb from limb when she should issue.

CHAPTER XIX.

A PRAYER TO HEAVEN.

The game had pa.s.sed out of her hands. Should she trust to the blood-thirsty brute, or to the blood-thirsty man?

I think she would have thrown herself upon such mercy as the hound would show her, rather than trust to Roland Mortlake. But the time had pa.s.sed even while she stood in sore doubt.

That mysterious tremor of the shutter had ceased, and now, in the ominous stillness, she saw--oh horror! what was that?

A small circular hole had been cut in the panel, and through it she caught the glitter of a _human eye_ watching her.

The blood curdled in her veins, her hands fell, clasped, before her, she stood, with her head bent forward, and dilated eyes returning that awful stare.

No horror, caused by death in any form, could have equaled that caused by the mere stealthy glare of a human eye watching her, gleaming upon her, unaccompanied by the visible face.

Suddenly the eye was removed, a sharp click broke the supreme silence, a long, slender tube was thrust half-length through the aperture, and pointed with deliberate aim at her heart.

A blind haze came between her and the hideous vision. Quicker than thought she darted to one side, and sank to the floor, almost insensible.

Her sight cleared, and she looked for the pointed pistol.