left a half-hour
ago."

"My God!" groaned Sempland. "I am a disgraced and ruined man! Listen to
me, Fanny Glen! I swear to you, on my honor as a gentleman, if you do
not instantly open this door I'll blow my brains out in this room!"

"Oh, you wouldn't do that?"

"I will, so help me God!"

There was conviction in his voice. The girl listening in the passage
heard the click of a raised revolver hammer.

"Don't!" she cried in greater terror than ever, "I will open!"

He heard a brief whispered consultation, the key was turned in the
lock, and the door was suddenly flung open. Sempland darted toward it
on the instant and recoiled from the terrible figure of the little
woman barring him with outstretched arms. If he had suffered within,
she had suffered without the room. Such a look of mortal agony and
anguish he had never seen on any human face. She trembled violently
before him. Yet she was resolute not to give way, determined to keep
the door. Clustered at her back were the three trembling negroes armed
one with a knife, another with a pistol, another with a stout club. He
would have swept them out of his path in an instant had it not been for
the girl. She stood before him with outstretched arms, her attitude a
mixture of defiance and appeal.

[Illustration: "The door was suddenly flung open."]

"It is too late," she said, "you were to go at seven. It is past that
now. Saved, saved!"

He could do her no violence, that was certain. He stood silent before
her, his head bent toward the floor, thinking deeply. Her heart went
out to him then, her soul yearned to him. She had hurt him, he must
hate her--and she loved him.

"Will you not come in and speak to me for a moment?" he asked her
quietly enough at last.

She signed to the men, stepped forward, the door was closed, and locked
behind her, and they were alone.

"Did you think to be of service to me?" he burst out, as she drew near
and then paused irresolute, miserable. "You have ruined me for life! I
begged that detail. I volunteered. I must get out! They may wait for
me. It may not be too late. For God's sake unlock that door!"

She shook her head, she could not trust herself to speak.

"I don't understand you. If it is--love--for me--"

She stared at him beseechingly, mute appeal for mercy, for help, in her
lovely eyes.

"You are condemning me to death, to worse than death. I am going!"

"You cannot!"

She came nearer as she spoke. Suddenly he s