But while he sat, he became aware of human voices.  He looked out from his leafy screen, and saw once more, at the end of the Ghost’s Walk, a form clothed in white.  But there were voices of two.  He sent his soul into his ears to listen.  A horrible, incredible, impossible idea forced itself upon him —­ that the tones were those of Euphra and Funkelstein.  The one voice was weak and complaining; the other firm and strong.

“It must be some horrible ghost that imitates her,” he said to himself; for he was nearly crazy at the very suggestion.

He would see nearer, if only to get rid of that frightful insinuation of the tempter.  He descended the tree noiselessly.  He lost sight of the figure as he did so.  He drew near the place where he had seen it.  But there was no sound of voices now to guide him.  As he came within sight of the spot, he saw the white figure in the arms of another, a man.  Her head was lying on his shoulder.  A moment after, she was lifted in those arms and borne towards the house, —­ down the Ghost’s Avenue.

A burning agony to be satisfied of his doubts seized on Hugh.  He fled like a deer to the house by another path; tried, in his suspicion, the library window; found it open, and was at Euphra’s door in a moment.  Here he hesitated.  She must be inside.  How dare he knock or enter?

If she was there, she would be asleep.  He would not wake her.  There was no time to lose.  He would risk anything, to be rid of this horrible doubt.

He gently opened the door.  The night-light was burning.  He thought, at first, that Euphra was in the bed.  He felt like a thief, but he stole nearer.  She was not there.  She was not on the couch.  She was not in the room.  Jane was fast asleep in the dressing-room.  It was enough.

He withdrew.  He would watch at his door to see her return, for she must pass his door to reach her own.  He waited a time that seemed hours.  At length —­ horrible, far more horrible to him than the vision of the ghost —­ Euphra crept past him, appearing in the darkness to crawl along the wall against which she supported herself, and scarcely suppressing her groans of pain.  She reached her own room, and entering, closed the door.

Hugh was nearly mad.  He rushed down the stair to the library, and out into the wood.  Why or whither he knew not.

Suddenly he received a blow on the head.  It did not stun him, but he staggered under it.  Had he run against a tree?  No.  There was the dim bulk of a man disappearing through the boles.  He darted after him.  The man heard his footsteps, stopped, and waited in silence.  As Hugh came up to him, he made a thrust at him with some weapon.  He missed his aim.  The weapon passed through his coat and under his arm.  The next moment, Hugh had wrenched the sword-stick from him, thrown it away, and grappled with —­ Funkelstein.  But strong as Hugh was, the Bohemian was as strong, and the contest was doubtful.  Strange as it may seem —­ in the midst of it, while each held the other unable to move, the conviction flashed upon Hugh’s mind, that, whoever might have taken Lady Euphrasia’s ring, he was grappling with the thief of his father’s.