strange thoughts. At last a firm resolve takes possession of him. "I know!—I know the best way to discover the real secret,—I must find it out!—and I will!"
And he does. With the cool deliberation that is often a distinguishing attribute of one bent on self-destruction, he goes to bed in the usual way. When the house is quite still, and all its other inmates are slumbering, he steals down to his schoolroom, where he carefully pens some letters—one to his father, another to the Professor, and a third to Mr. Montrose. This done, he falls upon his knees by the open window and prays to that Being whom he feels "must be a God, really and truly," in spite of the many learned theories to the contrary by which his child-mind has been distracted.
A little later "there came a heavy stillness, . . . and a sudden sense of cold in the air, as of the swift passing of the Shadow of Death."
One may reasonably contend that such passages as these are unnecessarily distressing, and certainly there are several of Miss Corelli's works which should not be left in the way of weak-minded persons. The authoress, it is clear, wishes to drive home her arguments in a manner that will be remembered. Chapter XIV. of "The Mighty
