And now with madness on her face she caught up a pair of scissors and cut off her hair:  one after the other the great tresses of gold and brown fell, until the floor was strewn with them.

A step was heard on the stairs; her quick ears caught the sound, and she rushed to the door to lock it.  But she was too late.  John held it fast.

“Kitty, Kitty,” he cried, “for God’s sake, tell me what is the matter!”

“Save me! save me!” she cried, and she forced the door against him with her whole strength.  He was, however, determined on questioning her, on seeing her, and he passed his head and shoulders into the room.  His heart quailed at the face he saw.

For now had gone that imperceptible something which divides the life of the sane from that of the insane, and he who had so long feared lest a woman might soil the elegant sanctity of his life, disappeared forever from the mind of her whom he had learned to love, and existed to her only as the foul dull brute who had outraged her on the hills.

“Save me, save me! help, help!” she cried, retreating from him.

“Kitty, Kitty, what do you mean?  Say, say—­”

“Save me; oh mercy, mercy!  Let me go, and I will never say I saw you, I will not tell anything.  Let me go!” she cried, retreating towards the window.

“For Heaven’s sake, Kitty, take care—­the window, the window!”

But Kitty heard nothing, knew nothing, was conscious of nothing but a mad desire to escape.  The window was lifted high—­high above her head, and her face distorted with fear, she stood amid the soft greenery of the Virginia creeper.

“Save me,” she cried, “mercy, mercy!”

“Kitty, Kitty darling!”

* * * * *

The white dress passed through the green leaves.  John heard a dull thud.

CHAPTER IX.

And the pity of it!  The poor white thing lying like a shot dove, bleeding, and the dreadful blood flowing over the red tiles....

Mr Hare was kneeling by his daughter when John, rushing forth, stopped and stood aghast.

“What is this?  Say—­speak, speak man, speak; how did this happen?”

“I cannot say, I do not know; she did not seem to know me; she ran away.  Oh my God, I do not understand; she seemed as if afraid of me, and she threw herself out of the window.  But she is not dead ...”

The word rang out in the silence, ruthlessly brutal in its significance.  Mr Hare looked up, his face a symbol of agony.  “Oh, dead, how can you speak so ...”

John felt his being sink and fade like a breath, and then, conscious of nothing, he helped to lift Kitty from the tiles.  But it was her father who carried her upstairs.  The blood flowed from the terrible wound in the head.  Dripped.  The walls were stained.  When she was laid upon the bed, the pillow was crimson; and the maid-servant coming in, strove to staunch the wound with towels.  Kitty did not move.