It was not until the morning of the fifth day that the constant vigil was broken. Brendon and I returned from the ‘Unusual,’ and found him lying in my room shot through the lungs. Lord help him! he's the very image of his father. “Veronica!” cried Miss Stanley, warningly, and, “Peter!” For a moment they seemed on the verge of an altogether desperate scuffle. In the midst of the holy place, which he had formerly profaned, lay the body of his unfortunate mother, and he could not help looking upon her untimely end as the retributive vengeance of Heaven for the crime he had committed. ‘It had better not be, by God,’ had barked Captain Hilary Roding. I need scarcely ask whether you've executed your appointed task, my dear? You're never behindhand.
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