form Laurence Thorndyke, to win forgiveness from
Heaven and her friends. Fifteen minutes brought her to the street.
Before one house a crowd had collected, a suppressed murmur of infinite
excitement running through the throng.

"It is the very house we are looking for, ma'am" said the coachman,
opening the door.

She could not tell why, but some swift feeling of evil made her get out
and join the crowd.

"What is it?" she breathlessly inquired.

"Man jumped from a three-story window and killed himself," was the
answer.

She pressed forward, her hand on her heart--very pale.

"Why did he do it?" she asked.

"Del. trem., ma'am."

"Jim jams, misses."

"Delirium tremens, madam," interposed a gentlemanly man, touching his
hat. "He jumped from that upper window, stark crazy, not five minutes
ago. Very sad case--very sad case, indeed. A gentleman once. I knew him
well. His name is Laurence Thorndyke."

CHAPTER XXII.

"THE WAY OF THE TRANSGRESSOR IS HARD."

She stood for a moment faint, sick, stunned, unable to speak or move;
then she pressed forward, still without a word, through the throng. All
made way for the beautiful, richly-robed lady with the death-white face
and dilated eyes.

"Wife," one whispered, falling away.

"Not his wife--his sister," another conjectured.

"Neither," a third said. "I know her. It's Mrs. Hugh Darcy, his late
uncle's adopted daughter. He has no sister, and his wife left him long
ago."

It is doubtful if she heard; it is certain she never heeded. All she
felt or knew was that Laurence Thorndyke lay yonder on the blood-stained
flags, dying hard. She was kneeling beside him--a bleeding, mangled
heap, crushed almost out of semblance of humanity.

"Laurence! Laurence!" she gasped. "Oh, Heaven! not dead! not dead!"

"Not dead, madam," a pitying voice answered--"not dead yet. I am a
physician, and I tell you so. He is insensible at present, but
consciousness will return. You know him?"

"Know him!" She looked into the grave, compassionate face with dazed
eyes. "Know Laurence Thorndyke? What is it you intend doing with him?"
she asked.

The medical man shrugged his shoulders.

"Send him to Bellevue, I suppose, unless some friend steps forward and
takes charge of him. They won't want him there"--signifying the
boarding-house--"again. And if he is sent to a hospital, I wouldn't give
much for his chances of life."

"There is still a chance, then?"

"Well--you know the