It occurred to him, at two o’clock, that pacing the floor in the agony of suspense was a very useless occupation.  He would go to bed.  Morning would bring relief and surcease to his troubled mind.  Constance was doubtless sound asleep in her room.  Everything would have been explained to her long before this hour; she would understand.  So, with the return of his old sophistry, he undressed and crawled into the strange bed.  Somehow he did not like it as well as the cot in the balcony below.

Just as he was dropping off into the long-delayed slumber, he heard a light tapping at his door.  He sat up in bed like a flash, thoroughly wide awake.  The rapping was repeated.  He called out in cautious tones, asking who was there, at the same time slipping from bed to fumble in the darkness for his clothes.

“’Sh!” came from the hallway.  He rushed over and put his ear to the door.  “It is I. Are you awake?  I can’t stay here.  It’s wrong.  Listen:  here is a note—­under the door.  Good night, darling!  I’m heartbroken.”

“Thank God, it’s you!” he cried softly.  “How I love you, Constance!”

“’Sh!  Edith is with me!  Oh, I wish it were morning and I could see you.  I have so much to say.”

Another querulous voice broke in:  “For heaven’s sake, Connie, don’t stand here any longer.  Our reputations are bad enough as it is.  Good night—­Roxbury!” He distinctly heard the heartless Edith giggle.  Then came the soft, quick swish of garments and the nocturnal visitors were gone.  He picked up the envelope and, waiting until they were safely down the hall, turned on the light.

“Dearest,” he read, “it was not my fault and I know it was not yours.  But, oh, you don’t know how I suffered all through those hours of waiting at the cafe.  They did not find me until after two.  They were drunk.  They tried to explain.  What do you think the authorities will do to me if they find that I gave that horrid man bribe money?  Really, I’m terribly nervous.  But he won’t dare say anything, will he?  He is as guilty as I, for he took it.  He took it knowing that you were free at the time.  But we will talk it over to-morrow.  I’ve just got back to the hotel.  I wouldn’t go to bed until Edith brought me up to hear your dear voice.  I am so glad you are not dead.  It is impossible to release you to-night.  Those wretches have the key.  How I loathe them!  Edith says the hotel is wild with gossip about everything and everybody.  It’s just awful.  Be of good heart, my beloved.  I will be your faithful slave until death.  With love and adoration and kisses.  Your own Constance.

“P.S.  Roxbury has not made a sign, Edith is frantic.”

Several floors below the relieved and ecstatic Brock, Mrs. Medcroft was soon urging her sister to go to bed and let the story go until daylight.  She persisted in telling all that she had done and all that she had endured.