as that was weeping within; who else but Diane could it be?
And at the sound of each choking sob, his heart was wrung, and he
longed to clasp her in his arms and comfort her. This love of his
which had taken its place so suddenly in his life thrilled through his
body like a fiery torrent roused to fever heat by the sound of the
girl's sobs.

Drawing the edge of the blind sharply on one side, he peered into the
room. His worst fears were realized. Diane was at the far side of the
kitchen sitting over the square cook-stove, rocking herself to and fro
in an access of misery, and, in what seemed to him, an attitude of
physical suffering. Her pretty head was bowed low upon her hands, and
her whole frame was shaken by the sobs she was struggling hard to, but
could not, suppress.

He took all this in at a glance, then his eyes rested upon her arms.
The sleeves of her dress had been unfastened, and were thrown back
from her wrists, leaving them bare to the elbow. And he saw, to his
horror and indignation, that the soft, rounded flesh of her forearm
was swollen and bruised. The sight made him clench his teeth, and his
blue eyes suddenly hardened. He no longer permitted caution to govern
his actions.

"Hist, Diane!" he whispered hoarsely. And he shook the stiff blind to
further draw her attention. "It is I, Tresler," he went on urgently.

And the girl sprang from her seat instantly and faced the window. She
dashed her hand across her eyes and hastily sought to readjust her
sleeves. But the pitiful attempt to thus hide her trouble only made
the signs more marked. The tears still flowed, in spite of her bravest
manner, and no effort of hers was able to keep the sweet lips from
quivering.

She took one step in the direction of the window, but drew up with
such a violent start and expression of alarm in her tearful eyes, that
Tresler peered all round the room for the cause. He saw nothing more
startling than a slumbering cat and the fragments of a broken lamp
upon the floor, and his eyes went back to her again. Then, as he
marked her attitude of attention, he understood. She was listening for
the familiar but ominous "tap, tap" of her father's stick. He too
listened. Then, as no sound came to his straining ears, he spoke
again.

"I must speak with you, Miss Diane," he whispered. "Open the back
door."

It was only after making his demand that he realized how impossible it
must have sounded to the distraught girl. It was the