, unshaken voice. "I am
not afraid. Something is near me which will stand between us--something
which DIED to-day."

He almost gasped before the strangeness of it, but caught back his
breath and recovered himself.

"Died to-day! That's recent enough," he jeered. "Let us hear about it.
Who was it?"

"It was Mount Dunstan," she flung at him. "The church-bells were tolling
for him when I rode away. I could not stay to hear them. It killed me--I
loved him. You were right when you said it. I loved him, though he never
knew. I shall always love him--though he never knew. He knows now.
Those who died cannot go away when THAT is holding them. They must stay.
Because I loved him, he may be in this place. I call on him----" raising
her clear voice. "I call on him to stand between us."

He backed away from her, staring an evil, enraptured stare.

"What! There is that much temperament in you?" he said. "That was what I
half-suspected when I saw you first. But you have hidden it well. Now it
bursts forth in spite of you. Good Lord! What luck--what luck!"

He moved to the door and opened it.

"I am a very modern man, and I enjoy this to the utmost," he said. "What
I like best is the melodrama of it--in connection with Fifth Avenue.
I am perfectly aware that you will not discuss this incident in the
future. You are a clever enough young woman to know that it will be more
to your interest than to mine that it shall be kept exceedingly quiet."

The white fire had not died out of her and she stood straight.

"What I have called on will be near me, and will stand between us," she
said.

Old though it was, the door was massive and heavy to lift. To open it
cost him some muscular effort.

"I am going to the horses now," he explained before he dragged it back
into its frame and shut her in. "It is safe enough to leave you here.
You will stay where you are."

He felt himself secure in leaving her because he believed she could not
move, and because his arrogance made it impossible for him to count
on strength and endurance greater than his own. Of endurance he knew
nothing and in his keen and cynical exultance his devil made a fool of
him.

As she heard him walk down the path to the gate, Betty stood amazed at
his lack of comprehension of her.

"He thinks I will stay here. He absolutely thinks I will wait until he
comes back," she whispered to the emptiness of the bare room.

Before he had arrived she had loosened her boot,