ment had opened and Mr. Benson had come in. He passed immediately to the table, poured out the wine upon the powder, and drank it off without a moment's hesitation. I heard him sigh as he put the glass down.
With a turn of my hand I slipped off both domino and mask, and prepared to announce my presence by tapping on the lintel of the door beside which I stood. But a sudden change in Mr. Benson's lofty figure startled me. He was swaying, and the arms which had fallen to his side were moving with a convulsive action that greatly alarmed me. But almost instantly he recovered himself, and paced with a steady step toward the hall door, which at that moment resounded with a short loud knock.
"Who is there?" he asked, with every appearance of his usual sternness.
"Hartley," was the reply.
"Are you alone?" the old gentleman again queried, making a move as if to unlock the door.
"Carrie is with me; no one else," came in smothered accents from without.
Mr. Benson at once turned the key, but no sooner had he done so than he staggered back.
