Angel of Terror

his breakfast, with a newspaper propped up before him.He was the dark-skinned man whom Lydia had seen at the theatre, and he looked up over his gold-rimmed spectacles as the girl came in."You have be

face was distorted and puckered with anger and grew a shade darker. "Married, you lying little beast! He couldn't have been married! It was only a few minutes after eight, and the parson didn't come till nine. I'll break your neck if you try to scare me! I've told you about that before...."He raved on, and she listened unmoved."He was married at eight o'clock by a man they brought down from Oxford, and who stayed the night in the house," she repeated with great calmness. "There's no sense in lashing yourself into a rage. I've seen the bride, and spoken to the clergyman."From the bullying, raging madman, he became a whimpering, pitiable thing. His chin trembled, the big hands he laid on the tablecloth shook with a fever."What are we going to do?" he wailed. "My God, Jean, what are we going to do?"She rose and went to the sideboard, poured out a stiff dose of brandy from a decanter and brought it across to him without a word. She was used to these tantrums, and to their inevitable ending. She was neither hurt, surprised, nor disgusted. This pale, ethereal being was the dominant partner of the combination. Nerves she did not possess, fears she did not know. She had acquired the precise sense of a great surgeon in whom pity was a detached emotion, and one which never intruded itself into the operating chamber. She was no more phenomenal than they, save that she did not feel bound by the conventions and laws which govern them as members of an ordered society. It requires no greater nerve to slay than to cure. She had had that matter out with herself, and had settled it to her own satisfaction."You will have to put off your trip to Monte Carlo," she said, as he drank the brandy greedily."We've lost everything now," he stuttered, "everything.""This girl has no relations," said the daughter steadily. "Her heirs-at-law are ourselves."He put down the glass, and looked at her, and became almost immediately his old self."My dear," he said admiringly, "you are really wonderful. Of course, it was childish of me. Now what do you suggest?""Unlock that door," she said in a low voice, "I want to call the maid."As he walked to the door, she pressed the footbell, and soon after the faded woman who attended her came into the room."Hart," she said, "I want you to find my emerald ring, the small one, the little pearl necklet, and the diamond scarf pin. Pack them carefully in a box with cotton wool.""Yes, madam," said the woman, and went out."Now what are you going to do, Jean?" asked her father."I am returning them to Mrs. Meredith," said the girl coolly. "They were presents given to me by her husband, and I feel after this tragic ending of my dream that I can no longer bear the sight of them.""He didn't give you those things, he gave you the chain. Besides, you are throwing away good money?""I know he never gave them to me, and I am not throwing away good money," she said patiently. "Mrs. Meredith will return them, and she will give me an opportunity of throwing a little light upon James Meredith, an opportunity which I very much desire."Later she went up to her pretty little sitting-room on the first floor, and wrote a letter."Dear Mrs. Meredith.--I am sending you the few trinkets which James gave to me in happier days. They are all that I have of his, and you, as a woman, will realise that whilst the possession of them brings me many unhappy memories, yet they have been a certain comfort to me. I wish I could dispose of memory as easily as I send these to you (for I feel they are really your property) but more do I wish that I could recall and obliterate the occasion which has made Mr. Glover so bitter an enemy