ghostly, terrified murmur of her voice.
"Take me out of the house before he begins to speak."

"Keep still," I whispered. "He will soon get tired of this."

"You don't know him."

"Oh, yes, I do. Been with him two hours."

At this she let go my wrist and covered her face with her hands
passionately. When she dropped them she had the look of one morally
crushed.

"What did he say to you?"

"He raved."

"Listen to me. It was all true!"

"I daresay, but what of that?"

These ghostly words passed between us hardly louder than thoughts; but
after my last answer she ceased and gave me a searching stare, then drew
in a long breath. The voice on the other side of the door burst out with
an impassioned request for a little pity, just a little, and went on
begging for a few words, for two words, for one word--one poor little
word. Then it gave up, then repeated once more, "Say you are there,
Rita, Say one word, just one word. Say 'yes.' Come! Just one little
yes."

"You see," I said. She only lowered her eyelids over the anxious glance
she had turned on me.

For a minute we could have had the illusion that he had stolen away,
unheard, on the thick mats. But I don't think that either of us was
deceived. The voice returned, stammering words without connection,
pausing and faltering, till suddenly steadied it soared into impassioned
entreaty, sank to low, harsh tones, voluble, lofty sometimes and
sometimes abject. When it paused it left us looking profoundly at each
other.

"It's almost comic," I whispered.

"Yes. One could laugh," she assented, with a sort of sinister
conviction. Never had I seen her look exactly like that, for an instant
another, an incredible Rita! "Haven't I laughed at him innumerable
times?" she added in a sombre whisper.

He was muttering to himself out there, and unexpectedly shouted: "What?"
as though he had fancied he had heard something. He waited a while
before he started up again with a loud: "Speak up, Queen of the goats,
with your goat tricks. . ." All was still for a time, then came a most
awful bang on the door. He must have stepped back a pace to hurl himself
bodily against the panels. The whole house seemed to shake. He repeated
that performance once more, and then varied it by a prolonged drumming
with his fists. It _was_ comic. But I felt myself struggling mentally
with an invading gloom as though I were no longer sure of myself.

"Take me out," whispe