The sputtering candle feebly flickered, and seemed to give its dim light only that the darksome shadows might flit and hover about us like vampires on the scent of blood.

A cold perspiration induced by a nameless fear came upon me, and in that dark future to which my heated imagination travelled I saw, as if revealed by black magic, fair, sweet, generous Dorothy, standing piteously upon Bowling Green hillside.

Over her drooping form there hung in air a monster cloudlike image of her father holding in its hand a deadly bludgeon.

So black, so horrid was this shadow-demon that I sprang from my chair with a frightful oath, and shrieked:-- "Hell is made for man because of his cruelty to woman." Sir George had sunk into his chair.

Liquor had finished its work, and the old man, resting his head upon his folded arms, leaned forward on the table.