th and shake off
her giddiness, and a second to think; then with a new expression on her
face, an expression between hope and fear, she took her way weakly along
the street. The first turning on the right, the second on the left
brought her unmolested--for the enemy were quelling the last resistance
in the Square--to the front of the House on the Wall. She looked up
eagerly and saw that the windows were dark; looked at the door, and by
the light of the distant fire saw that it was closed.

Still she scarcely dared to hope that the thing was true; that thing
which her miraculous escape had suggested to a mind almost unhinged. It
took her more than a minute to mount the steps and push the heavy door
open, and satisfy herself that in the outer room at least all was as she
had left it. A spark of fire still glowed on the hearth; she groped her
way to it, and blew it into a flame; and with shaking hands she lit a
spill of wood and waved it above her head, then held it.

Yes, here all was as she had left it. But in the farther room--_the_
room? What would she find there? She stared at the door and dared not
open it; then with a desperate hand tore it open, and stood on the
threshold.

Yes, and here! Here, too, all was as she had left it. She waved the
little brand above her head heedless of the sparks, waved it until it
flamed high and cast a light into every corner. But the searcher's eyes
sought only one thing, saw only one thing, and that was the mask of
brickwork that blocked the great window.

It was untouched! It was untouched! She had hoped as much for the last
five minutes; for everything, the closed door, the unchanged room had
pointed to it. Yet now that she was assured of it, and knew for certain
that she had not done the thing--that guilty as she had been in will,
not one life lost that night lay at her door, not one outrage, she fell
on her face and wept--wept, though it was the sweetest moment of her
life, prayed though she sought nothing but to thank God--prayed and wept
with childish cries of gratitude, until the light at her side went out
and left her in darkness, and through a rift in the masonry a single
star peered in at her.

In Huymonde there was wailing enough that night; ruin and loss, and a
broadcasting of lifelong sentences of penury. One fell to the
Burgomaster's lot; and had she still aught against him--but she had
not--the score was paid. And many prayed, and a few, when morning came,
and sh