Harry looked leisurely about the room, into which he had been wafted on the magic carpet of the Arabian genii, so far as he knew.  It was small and without splendor and he knew at once from the character of its belongings that it was a woman’s room.

He sat up.  His head throbbed, but touching it cautiously he knew that he had sustained no serious injury.  But he felt chagrin, and a lot of it.  Shepard had known that he was following him and had laid a trap, into which he had walked without hesitation.  The man, however, had spared his life, although he could have killed him as easily as he had stunned him.  Then he laughed bitterly at himself.  A duel between them, he had called it!  Shepard wouldn’t regard it as much of a duel.

His head became so dizzy that he lay down again rather abruptly and began to wonder.  What was he doing in a woman’s room, and who was the woman and how had he got there?  This would be a great joke for Dalton and St. Clair and Happy Tom.

He was fully dressed, except for his boots, and he saw them standing on the floor against the wall.  He surveyed once more the immaculate neatness of the room.  It was certainly a woman’s, and most likely that of an old maid.  He sat up again, but his head throbbed so fearfully that he was compelled to lie down quickly.  Shepard had certainly put a lot in that right hand punch of his and he had obtained a considerable percentage of revenge for his defeat in the river.

Then Harry forgot his pain in the intensity of his curiosity.  He had sustained a certain temporary numbing of the faculties from the blow and his fancy, though vivid now, was vague.  He was not at all sure that he was still in Richmond.  The window still showed that it was night, and the rain was pouring so hard that he could hear it beating against the walls.  At all events, he thought whimsically, he had secured shelter, though at an uncommon high price.

He heard a creak, and a door at the end of the room opened, revealing the figure and the strong, haggard features of Henrietta Carden.  Evidently she had taken off a hood and cloak in an outer room, as there were rain drops on her hair and her shoes were wet.

“How are you feeling, Mr. Kenton?” she asked.

“Full of aches and wonder.”

“Both will pass.”

She smiled, and, although she was not young, Harry thought her distinctly handsome, when she smiled.

“I seem to have driven you out of your room and to have taken your bed from you, Miss Carden,” he said, “but I assure you it was unintentional.  I ran against something pretty hard, and since then I haven’t been exactly responsible for what I was doing.”

She smiled again, and this time Harry found the smile positively winning.

“I’m responsible for your being here,” she said.

Then she went back to the door and said to some one waiting in the outer room: