fe out of herself. Then again her head fell forward and her body
swayed regularly to and fro, and low words broke fiercely from her
trembling lips now and then, bitter words of a wild, strong language in
which it is easier to curse than to bless. As the sudden love that had
in a few hours taken such complete possession of her was boundless, so
its consequences were illimitable. In a nature strange to fear, the fear
for another wrought a fearful revolution. Her anger against herself was
as terrible as her fear for him she loved was paralysing. The instinct
to act, the terror lest it should be too late, the impossibility of
acting at all so long as she was imprisoned in the room, all three came
over her at once.

The mechanical effort of rocking her body from side to side brought no
rest; the blow she struck upon her breast in her frenzy she felt no more
than the oaken door had felt those she had dealt it with the club. She
could not find even the soothing antidote of bodily pain for her intense
moral suffering. Again the time passed without her knowing or guessing
of its passage.

Driven to desperation she sprang at last from her seat and cried aloud.

"I would give my soul to know that he is safe!"

The words had not died away when a low groan passed, as it were, round
the room. The sound was distinctly that of a human voice, but it seemed
to come from all sides at once. Unorna stood still and listened.

"Who is in this room?" she asked in loud clear tones.

Not a breath stirred. She glanced from one specimen to another, as
though suspecting that among the dead some living being had taken a
disguise. But she knew them all. There was nothing new to her there. She
was not afraid. Her passion returned.

"My soul!--yes!" she cried again, leaning heavily on the table, "I would
give it if I could know, and it would be little enough!"

Again that awful sound filled the room, and rose now almost to a wail
and died away.

Unorna's brow flushed angrily. In the direct line of her vision stood
the head of the Malayan woman, its soft, embalmed eyes fixed on hers.

"If there are people hidden here," cried Unorna fiercely, "let them show
themselves! let them face me! I say it again--I would give my immortal
soul!"

This time Unorna saw as well as heard. The groan came, and the wail
followed it and rose to a shriek that deafened her. And she saw how
the face of the Malayan woman changed; she saw it move in the bright
lamp-