The wide window of the upper sitting-room at the Maze was thrown open to the night air. Gazing forth from it, stood Sir Adam Andinnian and his wife. He was in his usual evening dress, that he so obstinately continued to persist in assuming in the teeth of remonstrance: she wore a loose white robe and a blue cashmere shawl over it. She looked delicately fragile, very weak and ill still; and this was the first day that she had left her chamber for any length of time. There was no light in the sombre room: before light was allowed to come in, the window would be closed and the shutters shut for the night.

Not a word was being spoken between them. She had not long come into the room. A great terror lay on both their hearts. At least, it did on hers: and Sir Adam had grown to feel anything but easy. The suspicions, that appeared to be attaching themselves to the Maze outside the walls, were producing their effects on the comfort of the inmates within: and perhaps these suspicions were feared all the more because they did not as yet take any tangible or distinct form. That a detective officer was in the neighbourhood looking about, Adam had heard from his brother; and that it was the same man who had been seen by Ann Hopley watching the house in the moonlight and who had boldly presented himself at the gate the next day demanding permission to enter, Sir Adam had no doubt whatever of. Karl, too, was taking to write him notes of caution.

Brave though he was, he could not feel safe. There was not a moment of the day or night but he might see the officers of justice coming in to look for him. His own opinion was, that he should be able to evade them if they did come; to baffle their scrutiny; but he could not feel quite as easy as though he were on a bed of rose-leaves. In consequence of this apprehension, the ears of himself and his wife were ever on the alert, their eyes rarely went off the watch, their conscious hearts never lost the quick beat of fear. It was enough to wear them both out.

Can the reader really realize, I wonder, what the situation was? Can he only imagine one single hour of its terrors, or picture its never-ceasing, prolonged doubt and agony? I think not. It cannot be adequately told of. Behind and before there was the awful vista of that dreadful Portland Island: look which way they would, nothing else presented itself.

A gentle breeze suddenly arose, stirring the trees outside. Never an unexpected sound, however faint, was heard, but it stirred their beating hearts; stirred them to a fast, fluttering, ugly throbbing. It was but the wind; they knew it was only that: and yet the emotion did not subside quickly. Rose had another great anxiety, separate and apart: perhaps he had it also in a degree, but he did not admit it. It was on the score of her husband\'s health. There could be no doubt that something or other was amiss, for he had occasional attacks of pain that seemed to arise without any explainable cause. Ann Hopley, who considered herself wise in ailments, declared that he ought to see a doctor. She had said it to her master ineffectually; she now began to say it to her mistress. Sir Adam laughed when his wife was present, and ridiculed her advice with mocking words of pleasantry; but Ann Hopley gave nothing but grave looks in return.

The fact was, she knew more than Rose did: more than Sir Adam intended or would allow his wife to know. One day, going to a part of the grounds where she knew she should find her master, she discovered him on the ground amidst the trees in a fainting-fit, his face of a bluish-white. Some acute pain, or spasm, sharper than he had ever felt before, had caused him to lose consciousness, he said, when he recovered; and he threatened the woman with unheard of pains and penalties if she breathed a word to her mistress. Ann Hopley held her tongue accordingly: but when Rose was about again she could see that Adam was not well. And the very impossibility of calling in a medical man to him, without arousing curiosity and comments that might lead to danger, was tormenting her with its own anxiety.

"The baby sleeps well to-night, Rose."

"He has slept better and has been altogether easier since he was baptised," was her answer. "It is just as though he knew he had been made a little Christian, and so feels at rest."

"Goose!" smiled Sir Adam. "Don\'t you think you are sitting up too late, you young mamma?"

"I am not tired, Adam. I slept well this afternoon."

"It is later than perhaps you are aware of, Rose. Hard upon ten."

"Would you like to have lights!" she asked.

"No. I\'d rather be without them."

She also would rather be without them. In this extended cause for fear that was growing up, it seemed safer to be at the open window looking out, than to be shut up in the closed room where the approaches of danger could neither be seen nor heard. Perhaps the same kind of feeling was swaying Sir Adam.

"You are sure you are well wrapped up, Rose?"

"Certain. And I could not take cold in this weather. It is like summer still."

All around was quiet as death. The stars shone in the sky: the gentle breeze, that had ruffled the trees just before, seemed to have died away. Breaking just then upon the stillness, came the sound of the church clock at Foxwood, telling its four quarters and the ten strokes of the hour after it. The same quarters, the same strokes that Miss Blake also heard, emerging from Dame Bell\'s cottage. The husband and wife, poor banned people, stood on again side by side, they hardly knew how long, hushing the trouble that was making a havoc of their lives, and from which they knew there could be no certain or complete escape so long as time for him should last. Presently he spoke again.

"Rose, if you stay here longer I shall close the window. This night air, calm and warm though it is, cannot be good for you----"

She laid her warning hand upon his arm. The ears of both were quick, but he was speaking at the moment, and so she caught the sound first. A pause of intense silence, their hearts beating almost to be heard; and then the advance of footsteps, whether stealthy ones or not, might be distinctly traced, coming through the maze.

"Go, Adam," she whispered.

But, before Sir Adam could quit the room, the whistle of a popular melody broke out upon the air, and they knew the intruder was Karl. It was his usual advance signal. Ann Hopley heard it below and opened the heavily barred door to him.

"You are late to-night, sir."

"True. I could not come earlier, Ann: it was not safe."

Poor Karl Andinnian! Had he but known that it was not safe that night, later as well as earlier! That is, that he had not come in unwatched. For, you have understood that it was the night mentioned at the close of the last chapter, when his interview with Mr. Strange had taken place on his return from London, and the detective and Miss Blake had subsequently watched him in.

"Now then, Karl," began Sir Adam, when the room was at length closed and lighted, and Ann Hopley had gone down again, "what was the precise meaning of the cautionary note you sent me to-day?"

"The meaning was to enjoin extra caution upon you," replied Karl, after a moment\'s hesitation, and an involuntary glance at Rose.

"If you have anything to say and are hesitating because my wife is present, you may speak out freely," cried the very un-reticent Sir Adam. Rose seconded the words.

"Speak, Karl, speak," she said, leaning towards him with a painful anxiety in her tone. "It will be a relief to me. Nothing that you or any one else can say can be as bad as my own fears."

"Well, I have found out that that man is a London detective," said Karl, deeming it best to tell the whole truth. "He is down here looking after an escaped fugitive. Not you, Adam: one Salter."

"One Salter?" echoed Sir Adam, testily, while Rose started slightly. "Who\'s he? What Salter? Is there any Salter at Foxwood?"

"It seems that the police in London have been suspecting that he was here and they sent this detective, who calls himself Strange, to look after him. Salter, however, cannot be found; there\'s no doubt that the suspicion was altogether a mistake; but, unfortunately, Strange has had his thoughts directed to the Maze, and is looking after it."

"After me?" cried Adam.

"No. I do not believe there exists the smallest suspicion that you are not in the family vault in Foxwood churchyard. He fancies some one is concealed here, and thinks it must be Salter."

"But why on earth should his suspicions be directed to the Maze at all?" demanded Sir Adam, with a touch of his native heat.

"Ah, why! We have to thank Moore for that, and your own incaution, Adam, when you allowed yourself to be seen the night he brought Nurse Chaffen in. It seems the woman has talked of it outside; telling people, and Strange amid the rest, that it was either a real gentleman in dinner attire, or a ghost in the semblance of one. Some have taken unhesitatingly to the ghost theory, believing it to be a remnant of the Throcton times; but detectives are wiser men."

"And so this man is looking after the Maze!"

"Just so. He is after Salter, not after you."

Sir Adam made no immediate observation. Rose, listening eagerly, was gazing at Karl.

"Is it sure that Salter is not in the place?" she asked in a low tone. "That he has not been here?"

"Quite sure, Rose. The idea was a misapprehension entirely," replied Karl, returning her meaning glance. "Therefore, you see," he added, by way of giving what reassurance he could, "the man you have so dreaded is not on the track of Adam at all; but on the imaginary one of Salter."

"One scent leads to another," broke forth Sir Adam. "While the fellow is tracking out Salter, he may track out me. Who\'s to know that he has not a photograph of Adam Andinnian in his pocket, or my face in his memory?"

"I should like to ask him the question, whether he knew Sir Adam Andinnian personally; but I fear I dare not," remarked Karl. "A suspicion once awakened would not end. Your greatest security lies in their not knowing you are alive."

"My only security," corrected Sir Adam. "Well, Karl, if that man has his eyes directed to the Maze, it puts an end to all hope of my trying to get away. Little doubt, I suppose, but he is watching the outer walls night and day; perhaps with a dozen comrades to help him."

"For the present, you can only stay where you are," acknowledged Karl. "I have told you all this, Adam, to make you doubly careful. But for your reckless incaution I would have spared you the additional uneasiness it must bring."

"Even though the man does know me, the chances are that he would not find me if he came in," mused Sir Adam aloud. "With my precautions, the task would be somewhat difficult. You know it, Karl."

"Yes, but you are not always using your precautions," returned Karl. "Witness you here, sitting amidst us openly this evening in full dress! Don\'t do in so future, Adam! conceal yourself as you best can--I beseech it of you for the love of Heaven. When this present active trouble shall have subsided--if in God\'s mercy it does so subside--why then you may resume old habits again. At least, there will not be so much risk: but I have always considered them hazardous."

"I\'ll see," assented Sir Adam. Which was a concession from him.

"Be on your guard day and night. Let not one moment of either season find you off it, or unready for any surprise or emergency. Strange talked about applying for a search-warrant to examine the house. Should he do so, I will warn you of it, if possible. But your safer course is to be looking for the enemy with every ring that the bell gives, every breath that stirs the trees in the labyrinth, every sound that vibrates on the air."

"A pretty state of things!" growled Adam. "I\'m sure I wish I never had come here!"

"Oh that you had not!" returned Karl.

"It\'s my proper place, though. It is. My dear little son, heir to all, ought to be brought up on his own property. Karlo, old fellow, that remark must have a cruel ring on your ear: but I cannot put the child out of his birthright."

"I should never wish you to do it, Adam."

"Some arrangement shall be made for the far-off future; rest assured of that, and tell your wife so. In any case, Foxwood will be yours for one-and-twenty years to come, and the income you now enjoy, to keep it up with. After the boy shall be of age----"

"Let us leave those considerations for the present," interrupted Karl. "All of us may be dead and buried before then. As for me, I seem not to see a single step before me, let alone a series of years."

"Right, Karl. These dreams lay hold of me sometimes, but it is worse than silly to speak of them. Are you going?"

"Yes. It is late. I should not have come in to-night, but for wishing to warn you. You will try and take care of yourself, Adam?" he affectionately added, holding out his hand.

"I\'ll take care of myself; never fear," was Sir Adam\'s light answer as he grasped it. "Look here, brother mine," he resumed, after a slight pause, and his voice took a deeper tone. "God knows that I have suffered too heavily for what I did; He knows that my whole life, from the rising up of the sun to its going down, from the first falling shade of night\'s dark curtain to its lifting, is one long, unbroken penance: and I believe in my heart that He will in His compassion shield me from further danger. There! take that to comfort you, and go in peace. In your care for me, you have needed comfort throughout more than I, Karl."

Retaining his brother\'s hand in his while Karl said good night to Rose, Adam went down stairs with him, and beyond the door after Ann Hopley had unbarred it. It was only since the advent of the new fears that these extra precautions of barring up at sunset had been taken.

"Don\'t come out," urged Karl.

"Just a step or two."

Karl submitted: he felt secure enough against active danger to-night. But it w............