d blocking out the
light, pressing his face against the glass, peering into the room. For
a moment the shock of horror stunned her. Then she tore frantically at
the cords. All thought of failure, of exposure, of dismissal had fled
from her. The three poor women--that was her thought--were sitting
unwarned, unsuspecting, defenceless in the pitch-blackness of the
salon. A few feet away a man, a thief, was peering in. They were
waiting for strange things to happen in the darkness. Strange and
terrible things would happen unless she could free herself, unless she
could warn them. And she could not. Her struggles were mere efforts to
struggle, futile, a shiver from head to foot, and noiseless as a
shiver. Adele Rossignol had done her work well and thoroughly. Celia's
arms, her waist, her ankles were pinioned; only the bandage over her
mouth seemed to be loosening. Then upon horror, horror was added. The
man touched the glass doors, and they swung silently inwards. They,
too, had been carelessly left unbolted. The man stepped without a sound
over the sill into the room. And, as he stepped, fear for herself drove
out for the moment from Celia's thoughts fear for the three women in
the black room. If only he did not see her! She pressed herself against
the pillar. He might overlook her, perhaps! His eyes would not be so
accustomed to the darkness of the recess as hers. He might pass her
unnoticed--if only he did not touch some fold of her dress.

And then, in the midst of her terror, she experienced so great a
revulsion from despair to joy that a faintness came upon her, and she
almost swooned. She saw who the intruder was. For when he stepped into
the recess he turned towards her, and the dim light struck upon him and
showed her the contour of his face. It was her lover, Harry Wethermill.
Why he had come at this hour, and in this strange way, she did not
consider. Now she must attract his eyes, now her fear was lest he
should not see her.

But he came at once straight towards her. He stood in front of her,
looking into her eyes. But he uttered no cry. He made no movement of
surprise. Celia did not understand it. His face was in the shadow now
and she could not see it. Of course, he was stunned, amazed.
But--but--he stood almost as if he had expected to find her there and
just in that helpless attitude. It was absurd, of course, but he seemed
to look upon her helplessness as nothing out of the ordinary way. And
he raised no h