Fiends increase their torments at the sight of heaven!  Hildebrand threw back his cloak,—­with one clenched hand he struck his forehead, and with a loud groan he rushed from the spot.  He sought rest in the gloom and solitude of his chamber; but hours passed on, during which the conscience-stricken culprit endured the horrors of accumulated guilt.  Sometimes he opened the casement, gazing on the dark heavens, until he thought they were peopled, and he held converse with unseen and terrible things.  Inarticulate murmurs broke from his lips.  A few words might occasionally be distinguished—­“Murder!—­An old man too—­The children—­they are at rest!” A gleam of pleasure passed over his haggard features.

“I am now”—­looking round—­“now master of all.”

“All?” breathed a low voice in the chamber.

The cringing wretch was speechless.  Sense almost forsook him:  horror fastened on his spirit, while he turned his eyes, as if by some resistless constraint, towards the place from whence the voice had issued.  Near his couch was a curiously-wrought cabinet inlaid with ivory and gems of the most costly workmanship.  An heir-loom of the house, it was highly valued, and tradition reports that it was one of those spoils on which our forefathers cast a longing glance in the wars of the Holy Sepulchre.  Be this as it may, every document of value connected with the family was here deposited.  By virtue of the power given to him from the dying Sir Henry, though ostensibly for the benefit of his lady and her infant offspring, Hildebrand guarded the trust with a jealous eye.  No one had access to it but himself, nor did he permit any other person than old Geoffery, the house-steward, to visit his chamber.

Before this cabinet stood a figure enveloped in a dark robe.  Pale, deadly pale, were the features, though scarcely discernible in their form and outline.  The lamp burnt dimly; but with the quickened apprehension of guilt he recognised the wan resemblance of Lady Fairfax!

A cry of exhausted anguish escaped him, and he fell senseless on the floor.

Morning had risen, casting its bright and cheerful rays into the chamber, ere Hildebrand Wentworth awoke.  Consciousness but slowly returned, and the events of the preceding hours came like shadows upon his soul.  He stamped thrice, and immediately the vapid countenance of Geoffery Hardpiece was before him.

“Come hither, Hardpiece.  I am wondrous heavy and ill at ease.”

“Why, master, your bed has not been disturbed these two nights.—­How should there be anything but an aching head, and complaining bones, when”——­

Hildebrand cast a hasty and confused glance towards the couch as he replied—­

“I have matters of moment just now that weigh heavily on my spirit.  I cannot”——­

Here was a short pause; he continued, with a slow and tremulous accent—­

“I hope the children are safe.”