e checked himself from the kiss? She was too
tired to reason it out. She was conscious that she was very wretched, and
the tears gathered in her eyes; and in the darkness of her room she cried
silently, pressing the sheet to her lips lest a sob should be heard. Were
all her dreams mere empty imaginings? she asked. If so, why should they
ever have come to her? she inquired piteously; why should she have found
solace in them--why should they have become her real life? Did no one
walk the earth of all that company which went with her in her fancies?

Upon that her thoughts flew to the Alps, to the evening in the Pavillon
de Lognan, the climb upon the rocks and the glittering ice-slope, the
perfect hour upon the sunlit top of the Aiguille d'Argentiere. The
memory of the mountains brought her consolation in her bad hour, as her
friend had prophesied it would. Her tears ceased to flow, she lived that
day--her one day--over again, jealous of every minute. After all that
had been real, and more perfect than any dream. Moreover, there had been
with her through the day a man honest and loyal as any of her imagined
company. She began to take heart a little; she thought of the Col Dolent
with its broad ribbon of ice set in the sheer black rocks, and always in
shadow. She thought of herself as going up some such hard, cold road in
the shadow, and remembered that on the top of the Col one came out into
sunlight and looked southward into Italy. So comforted a little, she
fell asleep.

It was some hours before she woke. It was already day, and since she had
raised her blinds before she had got into bed, the light streamed into
the room. She thought for a moment that it was the light which had waked
her. But as she lay she heard a murmur of voices, very low, and a sound
of people moving stealthily. She looked out of the window. The streets
were quite empty and silent. In the houses on the opposite side the
blinds were drawn; a gray clear light was spread over the town; the sun
had not yet risen. She looked at her watch. It was five o'clock. She
listened again, gently opening her door for an inch or so. She heard the
low voices more clearly now. Those who spoke were speaking almost in
whispers. She thought that thieves had broken in. She hurried on a few
clothes, cautiously opened her door wider, slipped through, and crept
with a beating heart down the stairs.

Half way down the stairs she looked over the rail of the banister,
turning