Eustace was as white as he was himself.  He held him in a grip of iron.  “What the—­devil do you mean?” he said, his voice husky with the strong effort he made to control it.

The younger brother was absolutely controlled, but his eyes shone like a dazzling white flame.  “Ask yourself that question!” he said, and his words, though low, had a burning quality, almost as if some force apart from the man himself inspired them.  “You know the answer as well as I do.  You have studied the damnable game so long, offered so many victims upon the altar of your accursed sport.  There is nothing to prevent your going on with it.  You will go on no doubt till you tire of the chase.  And then your turn will come.  You will find yourself alone among the ruins, and you will pay the price.  You may repent then—­but repentance sometimes comes too late.”

He was gone with the words, gone as if an inner force compelled, shaking off the hand that had detained him, and passing scatheless within.

He went up the stairs as calmly as if he had entered the house without interruption.  Someone was sobbing piteously behind a closed door, but he did not turn in that direction.  He moved straight to the door of Isabel’s room, as if a voice had called him.

And on the threshold Biddy met him, her black eyes darkly mysterious, her wrinkled face drawn with awe rather than grief.

“Ah, Master Scott, and is it yourself?” she whispered.  “I was coming to fetch ye—­coming to tell ye.  It’s the call; she’s had her last summons.  Faith, and I almost heard it meself.  She’ll be gone by morning, the blessed lamb.  There’ll be no holding her after this.”

Scott passed her by without a word.  He went straight to his sister’s bedside.

She was lying with her face turned up to the evening sky, but on the instant her eyes met his, and in them was that look of a great expectation which many term the Shadow of Death.

“Oh, Stumpy, is it you?” she said.  Her breathing was quick and irregular, but it did not seem to hurt her.  “I’ve had—­such a wonderful—­dream.  Or could it have been—­a vision?”

He bent and took her hand in his.  His eyes were infinitely tender.  All the passion had been wiped out of his face.

“It may have been a vision, dear,” he said.

Her look brightened; she smiled.  “He was here—­in this room—­with me,” she said.  “He was standing there—­at the foot of the bed.  And—­and—­I held out my arms to him.  Oh, Stumpy, I almost thought—­I was going with him then.  But—­I think he heard you coming, for he laughed and drew back.  ‘We shall meet in the morning,’ he said.  And while I was still looking, he was gone.”

She began to pant.  He stooped and raised her.  She clung to him with all her waning strength.  “Stumpy!  Stumpy!  You will help me—­through the night?”

“My darling, yes,” he said.

She clung to him still.  “It won’t be—­good-bye,” she urged softly.  “You will be coming too—­very soon.”