a blow, heavier than any of the others; the noise of a heavy body falling to the ground, and bringing articles of furniture down crashing with it. Silence, except for the light footsteps of the girl who was flying down the staircase as if for life. Beaton!—that was what he had said. Someone had called upon her lover's name in that terrible voice. What did it mean? She was rushing down to see. As she neared the bottom she caught her heel in her dressing-gown; striving to disentangle it in her haste, in the darkness she missed her footing, stumbled, went bungling to the foot of the staircase. Luckily, she had only a short distance to fall, but it was far enough; the thing was so unlooked for. She had fallen clumsily, heavily; the shock had nearly stunned her. For some moments she lay in doubt as to what really had befallen her; then, rising, not without difficulty, to her feet, she found that she was trembling, that her whole frame seemed to ache, that her right ankle pained her so that she could scarcely stand on it.

But it was no time to consider her bruises, what had happened to her; there was something else for her to do. She listened, but all was still; there was no sound of voices, of struggling, of falling furniture, or blows—no sound of anything. The silence, after what she had heard, in itself was ominous. Something terrible had happened. She went limping across the hall, wincing each time her right foot touched the ground. All sorts of unseen things were in her way. The hall was used as a sitting-room; the household had its tea there. It was crowded with all kinds of impedimenta; it was not easy, by mere instinct, to find her way among them. She did not know until she had come in sometimes painful contact with them that the things were there. Presently she tripped, with her bad foot, over what doubtless was a footstool; she would have gone headlong to the ground had not an arm-chair saved her. It was an arm-chair; she was in doubt as to what it was at first, but when she perched herself upon its friendly arm she knew. She had been unable to keep back a cry of pain; the jerk to her twisted ankle had sent a shock all over her, as if red-hot needles were being driven into her limbs.

How it hurt her as she sat there; it really was excruciating agony. The foot was dangling in the air. How much worse it would be when, putting it back upon the ground, she would have to use it to stand and walk upon. She essayed a little experiment: putting it gingerly down, resting her weight upon it as lightly as she could. She flattered herself on her capacity to bear pain, but that was too much even for her. A sound, which was half wail, half sob, came from between her 

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