of caution.

"It is the horror of the place," shuddering; "the horror!" And indeed,
at that moment, her face expressed horror.

"Is it some one dead?" lowering his voice.

"Dead?" with a flash of cold anger in her eyes. "Yes--to me, to truth,
to honor; dead to everything that should make life worth the living.
Oh, it is impossible to say more in this place, to tell you here what
has happened this day to rob me of all my tender illusions. This
morning I awoke happy, my heart was light; now, nothing but shame and
misery!" She hid her eyes for a space behind the back of her hand.

"I will take you home," he said simply.

"You trust me?"

"Why not? I am a man, and can take care of myself."

"Thank you!"

What a voice! It possessed a marvelous quality, low and penetrating,
like the voices of great singers and actresses. Any woman with such a
voice ...

Here the waiter returned to announce that a cab awaited them in the
street below. Warrington paid the two checks, dropped a liberal tip,
rose and got into his coat. The girl also rose, picked up his card,
glanced carelessly at it, and put it into her hand-bag--a little
gold-link affair worth many dinners. It was the voice and these
evidences of wealth, more than anything else, that determined
Warrington. Frauds were always perpetrated for money, and this
exquisite creature had a small fortune on her fingers.

Silently they left the restaurant, entered the cab, and went rolling
out into Broadway. Warrington, repressing his curiosity, leaned back
against the cushions. The girl looked dully ahead.

What manner of tragedy was about to unfold itself to his gaze?

The house was situated in Central Park, West. It was of modern
architecture, a residence such as only rich men can afford to build.
It was in utter gloom; not a single light could be seen at any window.
It looked, indeed, as if tragedy sat enthroned within. Warrington's
spine wrinkled a bit as he got out of the cab and offered his hand to
the girl.

Mute and mysterious as a sphinx, the girl walked to the steps, not
even looking around to see if he was coming after her. Perhaps she
knew the power of curiosity. Without hesitance she mounted the steps;
he followed, a step behind. At the door, however, she paused. He could
hear her breath coming in quick gasps. Oddly enough, the recollection
of some detective stories flashed through his mind.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Nothing, nothing; only I am afraid."