"Ah," said Aymer; "thank you, I understand. But who are you?--who _are_ you?"

"I am a young old man. Who are you?"

"I am a young man," said Aymer, growing curious, and for the moment forgetting his position. "My name you know--I can't tell how. I come from World's End."

"Ah!" said the voice, sadly; "I had hoped you were sane."

"So I am."

"Why then say you came from the world's end?"

"I did not. I said from World's End; it is a place near Bury Wick."

"You are sane then so far. I know _that_ World's End very well. I only tried you. I overheard your name when you were carried in. Now, answer me. Why are you here?"

"There, that is what I want to know."

"If you do not know, you are not sane. Cannot you see the motive for your confinement?"

"Certainly I can. It is easy to see that."

And Aymer briefly related the circ.u.mstances.

"And where is your Violet?"

"Doubtless at Belthrop, or spirited away--perhaps abroad. Far enough from me, at all events."

"Not so: she is in this very place."

"I don't believe it. They would keep her away."

"I am sure of it. What should you do if you got out?"

"I should go straight to Belthrop--or, stay, perhaps I should go to Mr Broughton. He would protect me."

"Broughton--ah! he is a lawyer. I see you are sane. I must have a look at you. Turn your face towards the picture of the 'Last Supper.'"

Wondering and yet curious, Aymer did as he was bid. On the wall above a side-board was a large copy of Vinci's "Last Supper." In a few seconds the voice came again; and soon he found it came from the picture.

"I see you. I have read you. You have talent, perhaps genius; but your chin is weak. You know not how to fight men. You do not comprehend that men are beasts, and that it is necessary to be always fighting them. Still you are sane, you are young--eat, and get strong--you will do. Your name is familiar to me. Who was your father?"

Aymer told him. The voice replied--"I knew him--a clever man, and, excuse me, a fool. How came you to reside at World's End?"

Aymer told him. "But who are you?" he said, eagerly. "Let me see you also."

"Very well. Look at the dog under the table in the picture. Now."

Aymer saw a slender white finger suddenly protruded through the body of the dog.

"But I only see your finger."

"Well, that is me. Don't you know that the hand is the man, and the claw is the beast? You can see by my finger that I have a hand."

It was evident that the stranger was proud of his white hand and slender finger.

"Who on earth are you?" said Aymer, beginning to get excited. "If you do not answer me I will pull the picture down."

"If you do, you will ruin us both."

"Well, tell me who you are."

"I am a prisoner like yourself. My name is, or was, for I am dead now, Fulk Lechester."

"Fulk Lechester--Lady Agnes' cousin! Ah! I have heard of you," said Aymer. "You were very clever, and you went--well, I mean--"

"Ha! ha! ha! I will convince you that I am as sane as yourself--saner; for what a goose you were to be so easily trapped."

"So I certainly was."

"Would you like to get out? Of course. So should I. Let me see.

First, I have seen you--your physiognomy is good; next, I have read of your book, for I see the papers; thirdly, I knew your father, at least I knew all about his career; fourthly, you come from World's End, and that is my neighbourhood; fifthly, you are young; sixthly, you are in love, which is a strong stimulus to exertion. Yes, you will do. Now eat your dinner; you must get strong."

"I will not touch it till I see you. I will tear the picture down."

"Oh, rash, headstrong! Lift it up instead."

Aymer tried. "I can't," he said.

"No, because I have fixed it. Now try."

The picture lifted easily, and Aymer was face to face with the stranger.

He saw a little man, a head and a half shorter than himself, elegantly made, and dressed in the fashion. His brow was very broad and high, his eyes dark and large, deeply set; his lips perfect. He had a small moustache but no beard or whiskers. His complexion was the worst part of his appearance; it was almost yellow. Fulk smiled, and showed good teeth.

"I am yellow, I know," he said. "So would you be if you had not been out of doors for two years. I look forty, I know; I am really just thirty-three. Nipped in the bud. Ha! ha! However, there is no time to waste--the warder will return. Eat your dinner. Let us shake hands."

Aymer readily extended his hand. Suddenly he said--

"How do I know that this is not a new trap?"

Fulk smiled sadly. "A week ago you believed everybody," he said; "now you run to the other extreme. That is youth. I am young; but I am also old. Trouble makes men old, thought perhaps still older. For seven years I have done nothing but think."

"For seven years!" echoed Aymer, in horror. "Have you been here seven years?"

"Yes; I was then twenty-six, now I am thirty-three. Ah! I blossomed too fast. It is a bad sign, friend Aymer, when life is all roses too early; the frosts are sure to come."

"True," said Aymer, thinking of his wedding-day, so strangely, so dreadfully interrupted.

"I was a Secretary of State at twenty-six. I had everything--money, youth, power, a career, a loving wife. A few hours changed it."