ly her body seemed swept by fire, by emotions--emotions of fear, of
anger, of desire so intense as to make her helpless. And when at length
she reached out for a sheet of carbon paper her hand trembled so she
could scarcely hold it. Only by degrees was she able to get sufficient
control of herself to begin her copying, when she found a certain relief
in action--her hands flying over the keys, tearing off the finished
sheets, and replacing them with others. She did not want to think, to
decide, and yet she knew--something was trying to tell her that the
moment for decision had come. She must leave, now. If she stayed on,
this tremendous adventure she longed for and dreaded was inevitable.
Fear and fascination battled within her. To run away was to deny
life; to remain, to taste and savour it. She had tasted it--was it
sweet?--that sense of being swept away, engulfed by an elemental power
beyond them both, yet in them both? She felt him drawing her to him, and
she struggling yet inwardly longing to yield. And the scarlet stain on
his handkerchief--when she thought of that her blood throbbed, her face
burned.

At last the door of the inner office opened, and Ditmar came out and
stood by the rail. His voice was queer, scarcely recognizable.

"Miss Bumpus--would you mind coming into my room a moment, before you
leave?" he said.

She rose instantly and followed him, closing the door behind her, but
standing at bay against it, her hand on the knob.

"I'm not going to touch you--you needn't be afraid," he said. Reassured
by the unsteadiness of his voice she raised her eyes to perceive that
his face was ashy, his manner nervous, apprehensive, conciliatory,--a
Ditmar she had difficulty in recognizing. "I didn't mean to frighten,
to offend you," he went on. "Something got hold of me. I was crazy, I
couldn't help it--I won't do it again, if you'll stay. I give you my
word."

She did not reply. After a pause he began again, repeating himself.

"I didn't mean to do it. I was carried away--it all happened before I
knew. I--I wouldn't frighten you that way for anything in the world."

Still she was silent.

"For God's sake, speak to me!" he cried. "Say you forgive me--give me
another chance!"

But she continued to gaze at him with widened, enigmatic eyes--whether
of reproach or contempt or anger he could not say. The situation
transcended his experience. He took an uncertain step toward her, as
though half expecting her to f