s mind.

He heard then a few words whispered as if to the portrait: 'Father, oh,
father, we were so happy with him! It is almost the only time that we
have been quite happy since you went away.'

The sense of the broken whispers came tardily to Courthope's
understanding through the smothering door. The handle of the door was on
a level with the hands that were bound to his sides; he turned himself
in order to bring his fingers near it.

Before he touched it he heard Madge sob and whisper again: 'I was so
happy, father; I thought it was such fun he had come. I like gentlemen,
and we never, never see any except the ones that come out of books.'

To Courthope it suddenly seemed that the whole universe must have been
occupied with purpose to bring him here in order to put an end to her
gloom and flood her life with sunshine; the universe could not be foiled
in its attempt. Young love argues from effect to cause, and so limitless
seemed the strength of his sentiment that the simplicity of her mind and
the susceptibility of her girlhood were to him like some epic poem which
arouses men to passion and strong deeds. Ignominiously bound as he was,
his heart lightened; all doubt of his mission to love her and its
ultimate success passed from him. He turned the handle and pushed the
door half open.

The long drawing-room was almost dark; the shutters had not been opened;
the furniture remained as it had stood when the brilliant assembly of
the previous evening had broken up; the large fireplace was full of
ashes; the atmosphere was deadly cold. Courthope stood in the streak of
light which entered with him. Upon the floor, crouching, her cheek
leaning against the lower part of her father's picture, was Madge King.
She was dressed in a blanket coat; moccasins were upon her feet; a fur
cap lay upon the ground beside her. At the instant of his entrance she
lifted her bare head, and across the face flushed with tears and prayers
there flashed the look of haughty intolerance of his presence. She had
thought that he was locked up in one of the kitchens; she told him so,
intensely offended that he should see her tears. It was for that reason
that she did not rise or come to the light, only commanding and
imploring him to be gone.

'I am quite helpless, even if I wanted to harm you.' He spoke
reproachfully, knowing instinctively that if she pitied him she would
accept his pity.

'You have harmed us enough already,' she sighed; 'all