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"Because the man has some power over her. What that power may be, I know no more than you do. Although," added Jen, with an afterthought, "you may be able to explain." "Poor David!" echoed Etwald, with a sneer. "Foolish David, you might say, to die for the sake of a woman." The two young men burst out simultaneously with the speech in tones of sheer astonishment, and stared at Etwald as at some strangle animal. That this elderly man--Etwald was midway between thirty and forty, but that looked elderly to these boys of twenty-five--should dare to love Isabella Dallas, was a thing unheard of. She so young, so beautiful, so full of divine youth and diviner womanhood; he so sombre, pale and worn with intellectual vigils; with a mysterious past, a doubtful present and a problematic future..
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"I think it is my fault," said Isabella, hastily. "I remarked that Dido was always agitated when you came to this house." "Not much you won't!" cried David. "You're going to have lunch with us—we've only just begun. I want you to meet my sisters. That is, if you haven't any other engagement," and here he snickered, for there was a rumor current in the Prep that Hilton was secretly devoted to some unknown charmer. Suddenly a match flared and the twinkling tip of light grew at a candle end and she saw a ghostly figure, its white hand busy with the candle wick and its hollow, black eyes fixed on the tiny growing flame. Instantly other matches flickered and more candles glimmered in ghostly fingers, until the room was flashing with tiny points of light, while the masses of heavy shadow trembled and surged about an array of white-clad, mysterious, skull-faced figures that slowly formed in line and, two by two, moved to the center of the room, chanting a low, monotonous song as they walked in solemn procession. "Ho! ho!" murmured Maurice, rather taken back. "So the art of devil-raising is not a lost one after all. Dido can still call spirits from the vasty deep.".
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