Tales of Terror and Mystery

heart stand still.

large as a tiger, but as black and sleek as ebony. It was simply a very enormous and very well-kept black cat, and it cuddled up and basked in that yellow pool of light exactly as a cat would do

Mr. Everard King, my unknown cousin, was standing in person upon the steps of his house, for he had seen us in the distance, and guessed that it was I. His appearance was very homely and benevolent, short and stout, forty-five years old, perhaps, with a round, good-humoured face, burned brown with the tropical sun, and shot with a thousand wrinkles.

took the slightest notice of me,

There is surely something divine in man himself that he should rise so superior to the limitations which Creation seemed to impose—rise, too, by such unselfish, heroic devotion as this air-conquest has shown. Talk of human degeneration! When has such a story as this been written in the annals of our race?

But why should you expect otherwise of me

"The torture of the water—the 'Extraordinary Question,' as it was called in the genial days of 'Le Roi Soleil.'

done—that they could be done without God striking the villains dead.

If you think of it, some of our popular observances show that the fact has already been recognized by our ancestors, although we, in our wisdom, have classed it among superstitions."

I do not know whether it was from a look upon Dacre's face, or from some subtle suggestion in his manner,