n the ordinary course of affairs she
would have retired also. Then she remembered that on stepping in by
the casement and closing it, she had not fastened the window-shutter,
so that a streak of light from the interior of the room might have
revealed her vigil to an observer on the lawn. How all things
conspired against her keeping faith with Grace!

The tapping recommenced, light as from the bill of a little bird; her
illegitimate hope overcame her vow; she went and pulled back the
shutter, determining, however, to shake her head at him and keep the
casement securely closed.

What she saw outside might have struck terror into a heart stouter than
a helpless woman's at midnight. In the centre of the lowest pane of
the window, close to the glass, was a human face, which she barely
recognized as the face of Fitzpiers. It was surrounded with the
darkness of the night without, corpse-like in its pallor, and covered
with blood. As disclosed in the square area of the pane it met her
frightened eyes like a replica of the Sudarium of St. Veronica.

He moved his lips, and looked at her imploringly. Her rapid mind
pieced together in an instant a possible concatenation of events which
might have led to this tragical issue. She unlatched the casement with
a terrified hand, and bending down to where he was crouching, pressed
her face to his with passionate solicitude. She assisted him into the
room without a word, to do which it was almost necessary to lift him
bodily. Quickly closing the window and fastening the shutters, she
bent over him breathlessly.

"Are you hurt much--much?" she cried, faintly. "Oh, oh, how is this!"

"Rather much--but don't be frightened," he answered in a difficult
whisper, and turning himself to obtain an easier position if possible.
"A little water, please."

She ran across into the dining-room, and brought a bottle and glass,
from which he eagerly drank. He could then speak much better, and with
her help got upon the nearest couch.

"Are you dying, Edgar?" she said. "Do speak to me!"

"I am half dead," said Fitzpiers. "But perhaps I shall get over
it....It is chiefly loss of blood."

"But I thought your fall did not hurt you," said she. "Who did this?"

"Felice--my father-in-law!...I have crawled to you more than a mile on
my hands and knees--God, I thought I should never have got here!...I
have come to you--be-cause you are the only friend--I have in the world
now....I can never