speaking slowly, saying
each word as if he loved it. "And you're going to sit on my knee, now,
and read this letter to me. Come."

Helen heard no more. She rushed to the front door and found it locked,
and wasted precious seconds in shaking it before she abandoned caution
and rushed noisily round the house where the kitchen door luckily
yielded to her hand. Through a narrow passage and up narrow stairs she
blundered, involved in ignorance and darkness, until a streak of light
ran across her path and she almost fell into a room where Miriam stood
with her back against the wall. She had the look of one who has been
tortured without uttering a sound and, in the strain of her dark head
against the flowered wall, there was a determination not to plead.

Her face crumpled like paper at the sight of Helen.

"Oh," she said, smiling foolishly, "what--a good thing--you came."

She slipped as a picture falls, close to the wall, and there was hardly
a thud as her body met the floor.

Helen did not stir: she looked at Miriam and at Halkett, who was sitting
on the bed, and on him her gaze rested. His answered it, and while, for
a moment, she saw the man beyond the beast, his life was enlightened by
what was rare in her, and his mind, softened by passion to the
consistency of clay, was stamped with the picture of her as she stood
and looked at him. Vaguely, with uneasiness and dislike, he understood
her value; it was something remote as heaven and less desired, yet it
strengthened his sensual scorn of Miriam, and rising, he went and made a
hateful gesture over her. Some exclamation came from him, and he stooped
to pick her up and slake his thirst for kisses. He wanted to beat her
about the face before he cast her out.

"Don't touch her!" Helen said in tones so quiet that he hesitated. "She
has only fainted."

He laughed at that. "Don't think I'm worrying, but she's mine, and I'll
do what I like with her."

He drew up her limp body and held it until it seemed to be merged into
his own, and though his mouth was close on hers, he did not kiss it. His
lips moved fast, but no words came, and he lowered her slowly and
shakily to the floor. He turned to Helen, and she saw that all the
colour had left his face.

"Go out!" he said, and pointed.

The clasp of her hands tightened, and while she looked up at him, she
prayed vehemently. "O God, God," she thought, "let me save her. O God,
what shall I do? O God, God, God!"

"Go out,"