as too vaguely uncomfortable to talk to her, as they
hurried along.

It was in front of a dark house that they finally stopped, and went up
the stone steps into a hall so dark that she was obliged to take the
child's dirty cold hands in hers to be sure of the way.

Perhaps it was a foolish distaste for the contact, combined with her
frame of mind, which prevented her from noticing facts far from
trifles, which came back to her afterward.

She groped her way up the uncarpeted stairs, and followed her still
whimpering guide along what seemed an upper corridor, stumbled on what
she immediately knew was the sill of a door, lurched forward as the
child let go of her hand, and, before she recovered her balance, the
door closed behind her.

She called to the child. No answer.

She felt for the door, found it--it was locked.

She was in perfect darkness.

A terrible wave of sickness passed over her and left her trembling and
weak.

All she had ever heard and found it difficult to believe, coursed
through her mind.

The folly of it all was worse. Fifteen minutes before all had been
well with her--and now--!

Through all her terror one idea was strong within her. She must keep
her head, she must be calm, she must be alertly ready for whatever
happened.

The whole thing had seemed so simple. The crying child had been so
plausible! Yet--to enter a strange dark house, in an unknown part of
the city! How absurd it was of her! And that--after noticing--as she
had--that, cold as the halls were and uncarpeted, there was neither
smell of dirt nor humanity in the air!

While all these thoughts pursued one another through her mind she
stood erect just inside the door.

She really dared not move.

Suddenly a fear came to her that she might not be alone. For a moment
that fear dominated all other sensations. She held her breath, in a
wild attempt to hear she knew not what.

It was deathly still!

She backed to the door, and began cautiously feeling her way along the
wall. Inch by inch, she crept round the room, startled almost to
fainting at each obstacle she encountered.

It was a large room with an alcove--a bedroom. There was but little
furniture, one door only, two windows covered with heavy drapery, the
windows bolted down, and evidently shuttered on the outside.

When she returned to the door, one thing was certain, she was alone.
The only danger she need apprehend must come through that one door.

Yet she pu