ght, saw the gesture, and
stared. Then his jaw dropped, and his face became ashy-grey. Sister
Ursula had never seen Terror in the flesh, well-dressed and fresh from a
round of calls. She gathered herself up to climb on, but the man within
uttered a cry that even the double windows could not altogether stifle,
and ran round the room in circles as a dog runs seeking a lost glove.

"He is mad," thought Sister Ursula. "Oh, heavens, and _that_ is what has
driven him mad."

He was stooping fondly over something that seemed like the coffin of a
little child. Then he rushed directly at the window open-mouthed. Sister
Ursula went upwards and onwards, none the less swiftly because she
heard a muffled oath, the crash of broken glass, and the tinkling of the
broken splinters on the pavestones below. For the second time only in
her career, she looked down--down between the ladder and the wall. A
silk hat was bobbing wildly, as a fishing-float on a troubled stream,
not a dozen rungs beneath, and a voice--the voice of fear--cried
hoarsely, "Where is it? Where is it?" Then went up to the roofs the
roaring and the laughter of a great crowd; yells, cat-calls, ki-yis and
hootings many times multiplied. Her Saint had heard her at last, and
caused Sister Ursula to disregard the pains of going through the window.
Her one desire now was to reach that haven, to jump, dive, leap-frog
through it if necessary, and shut out the unfortunate maniac. It was a
short race, but swift, and Saint Ursula took care of the bottle. A long
course of afternoon calls, with refreshments at clubs in the intervals,
is not such good training as the care of the sick in all weathers for
sprinting over a course laid at ninety degrees. Nor again can the best
of athletes go swiftly up a ladder if he carries a priceless violin in
one hand and its equally priceless bow in his teeth, and handicaps
himself with varnished leather buttoned boots. They climbed, the one
below the other.

[Illustration: "'OPEN THE WINDOW!' ROARED COTT."]

The window at the foot of the invalid's bed was open. At the next window
was the white face of the invalid. Sister Ursula reached the sash, threw
it up, went through--let no man ask how--shut it gently but with amazing
quickness, and sank panting at the foot of the bed, one hand on the
bottle.

"There was no other way," she panted. "The door was locked. I could not
help. Oh! He is here!"

The face of Terror in the top hat rose to the wind