anger, or grief, or pride? "You had me once, and you would not keep me.
You shall never again have the chance of throwing me over: be assured
of that."

She draws her fingers from his burning clasp, and once more turns away,
with her eyes bent carefully upon the carpet, lest he shall notice the
tears that threaten to overflow them. She walks resolutely but slowly
past where he is standing, with folded arms, leaning against the wall,
toward the door.

Just as her fingers close on the handle she becomes aware of footsteps
on the outside coming leisurely toward her.

Instinctively she shrinks backward, casts a hasty, horrified glance at
her dressing-gown, her bare feet, her loosened hair; then, with a
movement full of confidence, mingled with fear, she hastens back to
Luttrell (who, too, has heard the disconcerting sound) and glances up
at him appealingly.

"There is somebody coming," she breathes, in a terrified whisper.

The footsteps come nearer,--nearer still; they reach the very
threshold, and then pause. Will their owner come in?

In the fear and agony and doubt of the moment, Molly lays her two white
hands upon her bosom and stands listening intently, with wide-open
gleaming eyes, too frightened to move or make any attempt at
concealment; while Luttrell, although alarmed for her, cannot withdraw
his gaze from her lovely face.

Somebody's hand steals along the door as though searching for the
handle. With renewed hope Luttrell instantly blows out both the candles
near him, reducing the room to utter darkness, and draws Molly behind
the window-curtains.

There is a breathless pause. The door opens slowly,--slowly. With a
gasp that can almost be heard, Molly puts out one hand in the darkness
and lays it heavily upon Luttrell's arm. His fingers close over it.

"Hush! not a word," whispers he.

"Oh, I am so frightened!" returns she.

His heart has begun to beat madly. To feel her so close to him,
although only through unwished-for accident, is dangerously sweet. By a
supreme effort he keeps himself from taking her in his arms and giving
her one last embrace; but honor, the hour, the situation, all alike
forbid. So he only tightens his clasp upon her hand and smothers a sigh
between his lips.

Whoever the intruder may be, he, she, or it, is without light; no
truth-compelling ray illumines the gloom; and presently, after a slight
hesitation, the door is closed again, and the footsteps go lightly,
cautiousl