crossed the corridor softly and opened the door.

By the light of a single candle, she saw the young man seated at a table; his head was resting, face downward, on one arm; his whole attitude was eloquent of despair; but it was not this abandonment of grief which caused her to thrill with quick terror; it was because the hand held clenched in its grasp a revolver.

Most women have a horror of firearms; Celia stood motionless, her eyes fixed on the shining, deadly weapon, as if it were a poisonous snake. She wanted to cry out, to rush at the beastly thing and snatch it from the hand that gripped it; but she felt incapable of speech or movement; she could only stare with distended eyes at the revolver and the head lying on the arm.

So quick, so noiseless had been her entrance, that the man had not heard her; but presently, after a few moments which seemed years to her, he became conscious of her presence. He raised his head slowly and looked at her with vacant eyes, as if he were half-dazed and were asking himself if she were a vision. The movement released Celia from her spell; a pang of pity smote her at the sight of the white, drawn face, the hopeless despair in the young fellow's eyes; her womanly compassion, that maternal instinct which the youngest of girl-children possesses, gave her courage. She leant forward, loosened the stiff, cold fingers and took the revolver from them. He submitted, as if he were still only half-conscious of her presence, and her action; and he glanced at his empty hand, at the revolver in hers, and then at her face. Guided once more by impulse, Celia closed the door, then went back and seated herself in a chair on the other side of the table; and so, face to face, they regarded each other in silence.

The man broke it.

"How—how did you know?" he asked. He spoke almost in a whisper, as a man speaks who is recovering from an anæsthetic.

"I heard you—groan," said Celia, also almost in a whisper.

"You did?" he said, more clearly, and with disgust. "I must have groaned pretty loudly." His self-contempt was evident.

There was a pause, then he said: "You are the girl who lives opposite?" A flicker of irritation and impatience shone in his eyes. "Why do you interfere? It is no business of yours!"

"Yes, it is," she said, and there was something like a note of anger in her voice; for it seemed to her that he was 

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