Orlean retired again about ten, and had fallen into a troubled sleep. She felt the same as she did the night she had returned from Mrs. Merley's, and she could not account for the strange nausea that lingered over her.

When N.J. McCarthy returned, he went to the kitchen for a drink of water, after which, he must return through the room in which his daughter, Orlean, lay sleeping. As he had done on that occasion two years before, he had paused at the foot of the bed to observe his sleeping daughter. How long he stood thus, he never knew, but after a time he became conscious of that strange sensation that had come over him on the memorable night before. He tried to throw off the uncanny feeling, but it seemed to hang on like grim death. And as he stood enmeshed in its sinister thraldom, he thought he again saw her rise and point an accusing finger at him. Out of it all he was sure he heard again her voice in all its agony as it had spoken that other night. But tonight the accusation was more severe.

CHAPTER XIX

From a painting by W.M. Farrow.

HE TRIED TO THROW OFF THE UNCANNY FEELING, BUT IT SEEMED TO HANG ON LIKE GRIM DEATH. AND AS HE STOOD ENMESHED IN ITS SINISTER THRALDOM, HE THOUGHT HE SAW HER RISE AND POINT AN ACCUSING FINGER AT HIM.

"There you are again, my betrayer," she said coldly. "Today you completed your nefarious task; you completed the evil that began more than thirty years ago, oh, debaser of women! Where is Speed, and the wife of his you ruined? Where? In hell and its tortures did you say? Yes, and where are my brothers? Oh, don't tremble, for you should know! No, you made me pretend to feel that you had not committed that sin, and other sins, also. But I knew—yes, I knew! You never told me I had brothers. You said foolish things to deceive me and the mother of mine. You called me by a boy's name, Jim, and pretended, because you did not recognize your illegitimate off-spring, that there were none. And then came Jean. Oh, you had him at a disadvantage always! When he was a little boy, you started your evil, and twenty years later you renewed it. Why, oh, you vain sinner, you know! He married me—perhaps he didn't love me then as he might have—as he would have had I tried to be the woman he wished me to be. But you took advantage of the weakness that was in me by the heritage of my mother, and you made me subservient unto your evil will!