tervals. "Don't talk," he said, "You make me nervous.
You did very wrong; you ought never to have come to me. I hate
anarchists; I never could bear them; and now they take me for one! I
shall live here all my days--and my Stradivarius, my treasure--Heaven
knows where they have put it--lying on the platform of the station, or
perhaps broken, or stolen! I shall never see it again, never! Ah, it
is cruel--it is not to be borne! Don't speak, I tell you, I can't bear
it! You shouldn't have coaxed me!--Ugh! these rats--brr--did you feel
it?"

The girl gave a muffled cry. She had shrunk away in the corner, but
now she crouched forward, her eyes dilated, staring into the darkness.

"A rat, Monsieur? Ah, it is so dark--I feel things,
crawling--crawling; and the damp oozes down from the walls. I am
frightened--frightened!"

The last words were a whisper; her throat swelled and she was choked,
trembling with terror. She put out her hand and touched something
soft--it slid from her and ran. She cried out faintly.

"Come here," said Velasco, "Come nearer! The rats won't hurt you.
Rest on my cloak, poor child, are you cold? Where are you?--Let me
touch you!"

"Here," said the girl, "I can feel the edge of your cloak; don't put it
around me--no! I deserve to suffer, but you--no wonder you hate me!
Don't put it around me."

"Come nearer," said Velasco, "I can't see you in this devilish
darkness. Are you crying?"

"No, Monsieur, no, let me tell you--it was your playing, your playing
that night. I saw you, and then the thought came to me--I will go to
him, he will help me; and then--I came."

"Your teeth click together like a castanet rattling," said Velasco,
"You tremble like a string under the bow. Come closer. There--one ran
over my sleeve, curse the creature! Did you feel him, the vermin? Put
my cloak close around you."

"No--no--not your cloak! You are shivering yourself, you need it.
Don't--I pray you!"

There was a moment of silent struggle between them.

"Keep still," said Velasco, "My hands are cut, but they are strong
still, and yours are like wax, soft as rose leaves. Hold it around
you; don't push it away. Now, lean against me; they won't touch you."

The struggle continued for a moment; then the form of the girl relaxed,
her head drooped and he felt the light rings of her hair brushing his
cheek. She started and then sank back again.

"Can you hear me?" said Velasco, "Perhaps there a