It could only have been a short time before I opened my eyes.  Some one was knocking at the door.  Outside I could hear the low panting of a motor-car, the flashing of brilliant lamps threw a gleam of light across the floor of my room.  Again there came a sharp rapping upon the door.  I raised myself upon my elbow, but I made no attempt at speech.  The motor was the Rowchester Daimler omnibus.  What did these people want with me?  I was horribly afraid of being found in such straits.  I lay quite still, and prayed that they might go away.

But my visitor, whoever he was, had apparently no idea of doing anything of the sort.  I heard the latch lifted, and the tall bulky form of a man filled the threshold.  With him came the wind, playing havoc about my room, sending papers and ornaments flying around in wild confusion.  He closed the door quickly with a little imprecation.  I heard the scratching of a match, saw it carefully shielded in the hollow of the man’s hand.  Then it burned clearly, and I knew that I was discovered.

The man was wrapped from head to foot in a huge ulster.  He was so tall that his cap almost brushed my ceiling.  I raised myself upon my elbow and looked at him, looked for the first time at Mostyn Ray.  He had the blackest and the heaviest eyebrows I had ever seen, very piercing eyes, and a finely shaped mouth, firm even to cruelty.  I should have known him anywhere from the pictures which were filling the newspapers and magazines.  My first impression, I think, was that they had done him but scanty justice.

As for me, there is no doubt but that I was a pitiful object.  Of colour I had never very much, and my fainting fit could scarcely have improved matters.  My cheeks, I had noticed that morning when shaving, were hollow, and there were black rims under my eyes.  With my disordered clothing and hair, I must indeed have presented a strange appearance as I struggled to gain my feet.

He looked at me, as well he might, in amazement.

“I would ask you,” he said, “to excuse my unceremonious entrance, but that it seems to have been providential.  You have met with an accident, I am afraid.  Allow me.”

He helped me to stagger to my feet, and pushed me gently into the easy chair.  The match burnt out, and he quietly struck another and looked around the room for a candle or lamp.  It was a vain search, for I had neither.

“I am afraid,” I said, “that I am out of candles—­and oil.  I got a little overtired walking here, and my foot slipped in the dark.  Did I understand that you wished to see me?”

“I did,” he answered gravely.  “My name is Mostyn Ray—­but I think that we had better have some light.  I am going to get one of the motor lamps.”

“If you could call—­in the morning,” I began desperately, but he had already opened and closed the door.  I looked around my room, and I could have sobbed with mortification.  The omnibus was lit inside as well as out, and I knew very well who was there.  Already he was talking with the occupants.  I saw a girl lean forward and listen to him.  Then my worst fears were verified.  I saw her descend, and they both stood for a moment by the side of the man who was tugging at one of the huge lamps.  I closed my eyes in despair.