"It is the fiend!" she exclaimed, recoiling. And ever after it struck him that her backward smile as she disappeared was charged with some special significance. He tore his gaze away, aware of the quickening of his heartbeat. On the other a wretched engraving of the Chevalier de Saint George, or, as he was styled in the label attached to the portrait, James the Third, raised a suspicion that the inmate of the house was not altogether free from some tincture of Jacobitism. “Hospital? What for? What’s the matter with me?” Courtlaw’s voice sank to a whisper. Then she sang.
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