nfined space of
the room. Its low, sloping roof, which she had thought so quaintly
attractive, seemed to press down on her like the lid of a box. She
must get out--out into the black and silver night which beckoned to her
through the open window. She could not stay in this room--this little
room, alone with her thoughts.

She glanced down dubiously at the soft, chiffony negligee which she
had slipped on in place of a frock. Her feet, too, were bare. She had
stripped off her shoes and stockings first thing upon coming upstairs,
for the sake of coolness. Certainly her attire was not quite suitable
for out-of-doors. . . . But there would be no one to see her. Ashencombe
folk did not take their walks abroad at that hour of the night. And she
longed to feel the cool touch of the dewy grass against her feet.

Very quietly she opened her door and stole out into the passage.
The house was strangely, wonderfully still. Only the ticking of the
hall-clock broke the silence. So lightly that not a board creaked
beneath her step, Magda flitted down the old stairway, and, crossing the
hall, felt gingerly for the massive bolt which barred the heavy oaken
door. She wondered if it would slide back quietly; she rather doubted
it. She remembered often enough having heard it grate into its place
as Storran went his nightly round, locking up the house. But, as her
slender, seeking fingers came in contact with the knob, she realised
that to-night by some oversight he had forgotten to shoot the bolt and,
noiselessly lifting the iron latch, she opened the door and slipped out
into the moonlit garden. Down the paths she went and across the lawns,
the touch of the earth coming clean and cool to her bare feet. Now and
again she paused to draw a long breath of the night air, fresh and sweet
with the lingering scents of the day's blooming.

An arch of rambler roses led into the distant part of the garden towards
which she was wending her way, its powdering of tiny blossoms gleaming
like star clusters borrowed from the Milky Way. Magda stooped as
she passed beneath it to avoid an overhanging branch. Then, as she
straightened herself, lifting her head once more, she stood still,
suddenly arrested. On a stone bench, barely twenty yards away, sat Dan
Storran!

Against the pallid ghost-white of the bench his motionless figure showed
black and sombre like some sable statue. His big shoulders were bowed,
his hands hung loosely clasped between his knees