“You have other injuries, madam!  What is this?” Two vivid red spots stood out on one of the white, round limbs.  She hastily covered it.

“It is nothing.  It has no connection with this hideous business to-night.  If you and your friend will sit down, I will tell you all I can.

“I am the wife of Sir Eustace Brackenstall.  I have been married about a year.  I suppose that it is no use my attempting to conceal that our marriage has not been a happy one.  I fear that all our neighbours would tell you that, even if I were to attempt to deny it.  Perhaps the fault may be partly mine.  I was brought up in the freer, less conventional atmosphere of South Australia, and this English life, with its proprieties and its primness, is not congenial to me.  But the main reason lies in the one fact, which is notorious to everyone, and that is that Sir Eustace was a confirmed drunkard.  To be with such a man for an hour is unpleasant.  Can you imagine what it means for a sensitive and high-spirited woman to be tied to him for day and night?  It is a sacrilege, a crime, a villainy to hold that such a marriage is binding.  I say that these monstrous laws of yours will bring a curse upon the land—­God will not let such wickedness endure.”  For an instant she sat up, her cheeks flushed, and her eyes blazing from under the terrible mark upon her brow.  Then the strong, soothing hand of the austere maid drew her head down on to the cushion, and the wild anger died away into passionate sobbing.  At last she continued: 

“I will tell you about last night.  You are aware, perhaps, that in this house all the servants sleep in the modern wing.  This central block is made up of the dwelling-rooms, with the kitchen behind and our bedroom above.  My maid, Theresa, sleeps above my room.  There is no one else, and no sound could alarm those who are in the farther wing.  This must have been well known to the robbers, or they would not have acted as they did.

“Sir Eustace retired about half-past ten.  The servants had already gone to their quarters.  Only my maid was up, and she had remained in her room at the top of the house until I needed her services.  I sat until after eleven in this room, absorbed in a book.  Then I walked round to see that all was right before I went upstairs.  It was my custom to do this myself, for, as I have explained, Sir Eustace was not always to be trusted.  I went into the kitchen, the butler’s pantry, the gun-room, the billiard-room, the drawing-room, and finally the dining-room.  As I approached the window, which is covered with thick curtains, I suddenly felt the wind blow upon my face and realized that it was open.  I flung the curtain aside and found myself face to face with a broad-shouldered elderly man, who had just stepped into the room.  The window is a long French one, which really forms a door leading to the lawn.  I held my bedroom candle lit in my hand, and, by its light, behind the first man I saw two