etween the raised knocker and its bed. It was
the sublime gesture of a martyr, and her large brown eyes gazed
submissively, yet firmly, at Mr. Batchgrew with the look of a martyr.
She had nothing to gain by the defiance of a great man, but she could
not permit her honoured employer to be wakened. She was accustomed to
emergencies, and to desperate deeds therein, and she did not fail
now in promptly taking the right course, regardless of consequences.
Somewhat younger than Mr. Batchgrew in years, she was older in
experience and in wisdom. She could do a thousand things well; Mr.
Batchgrew could do nothing well. At that very moment she conquered,
and he was beaten. Yet her brown eyes and even the sturdy uplifted arm
cringed to him, and asked in abasement to be forgiven for the impiety
committed. From her other hand a cloth dripped foul water on to the
topmost step.

And then the door yielded. Thomas Batchgrew and Mrs. Tarns both
abandoned the knocker. Rachel, pale as a lily, stern, with dilated
eyes, stood before them. And Mr. Batchgrew realized, as he looked
at her against the dark, hushed background of the stairs, that Mrs.
Maldon was indeed ill. Mrs. Tams respectfully retired down the steps.
A mightier than she, the young, naive, ignorant girl, to whom she
could have taught everything save possibly the art of washing cutlery,
had relieved her of responsibility.

"You can't see her," said Rachel in a low tone, trembling.

"But--but--" Thomas Batchgrew spluttered, ineffectively. "D'you know
I'm her trustee, miss? Let me come in."

Rachel would not take her hand off the inner knob.

There was the thin, far-off sound of an electric bell, breaking the
silence of the house. It was the bell in Rachel's bedroom, rung from
Mrs. Maldon's bedroom. And at this mysterious signal from the invalid,
this faint proof that the hidden sufferer had consciousness and
volition, Rachel started and Thomas Batchgrew started.

"Her bell!" Rachel exclaimed, and fled upstairs.

In the large bedroom Mrs. Maldon lay apparently at ease.

"Did they waken you?" cried Rachel, distressed.

"Who is there, dear?" Mrs. Maldon asked, in a voice that had almost
recovered from the weakness of the night, Rachel was astounded.

"Mr. Batchgrew."

"I must see him," said the old lady.

"But--"

"I must see him at once," Mrs. Maldon repeated. "At once. Kindly bring
him up." And she added, in a curiously even and resigned tone, "I've
lost all that m