Williams came up with a request as to whether he could do
anything more before he went to bed.

"Just one thing," said Enid. "The good dogs have done their work well
to-night, but they have not quite finished. Find Rollo for me, and bring
him here quick. Then you can shut up the house, and I will see that Mr.
Henson is made comfortable after his fright."

The big dog came presently and followed Enid timidly upstairs. Apparently
the great black-muzzled brute had been there before, as evidently he knew
he was doing wrong. He crawled along the corridor till he came to the
room where the sick girl lay, and here he followed Enid. The lamp was
turned down low as Enid glanced at the bed. Then she smiled faintly, yet
hopefully.

There was nobody in the room. The patient's bed was empty!

"It works well," Enid murmured. "May it go on as it has been started.
Lie down, Rollo; lie there, good dog. And if anybody comes in tear him
to pieces."

The great brute crouched down obediently, thumping his tail on the floor
as an indication that he understood. As if a load had been taken from her
mind Enid crept down the stairs. She had hardly reached the hall before
Henson followed her. His big face was white with passion; he was
trembling from head to foot from fright and pain. There was a red rash on
his forehead that by no means tended to improve his appearance.

"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded, hoarsely.

Enid looked at him coolly. She could afford to do so now. All the danger
was past, and she felt certain that the events of the evening were
unknown to him.

"I might ask you the same question," she said. "You look white and
shaken; you might have been thrown violently into a heap of stones. But
please don't make a noise. It is not fitting now. Chris--"

Enid hesitated; the prevarication did not come so easily as she
had expected.

"Chris has gone," she said. "She passed away an hour ago."

Henson muttered something that sounded like consolation. He could be
polite and suave enough on occasions, but not to-night. Even
philanthropists are selfish at times. Moreover, his nerves were badly
shaken and he wanted a stimulant badly.

"I am going to bed," Enid said, wearily. "Goodnight."

She went noiselessly upstairs, and Henson passed into the library. He was
puzzled over this sudden end of Christiana Henson. He was half inclined
to believe that she was not dead at all; he belonged to the class of men
who believe no