Athelstone's apartments. As he jumped to his feet, he heard a
hand grasp the doorknob. He looked around for a hiding-place, ran a few
steps from the altar, doubled like a baited rat, and dove into the
blackness behind the veil of Isis. There had been no time to choose; for
hardly was he safe under cover and peeping out from between the folds of
the veil than the door swung open slowly.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
VI
It was Mrs. Athelstone who came through the doorway. She was all in
white, a soft, silken white, which floated about her like a cloud,
drifting back from her bare arms and throat, and suggesting the rounded
outlines of her limbs. Her black hair, braided, hung below her waist,
and from her forehead the golden asp bound back the curls. Her arms were
full of roses--yellow, white and red.
For an uncertain moment she stood just within the hall, bathed in the
light that shone through from her apartments. Then she closed the door
and walked toward the veil. As she came through the shafts of light from
the windows, her gown was stained with crimson spots. She was at the
altar now, and Simpkins could no longer see her without changing his
position. Stealthily he edged along, careless of the statue just behind
him. As he parted the folds of the veil he saw that the altar was heaped
with flowers.
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