“Who?  Who?  You came here to save me.  I knew it.  But you had saved me before you came.  Phyllis, in this very room I was alone with him.  I was mad—­mad with jealousy at the thought of losing him—­though I knew that I had lost him—­I was mad!  The passion breathed from the roses—­the twilight full of the memories of the spring we spent together in Italy—­all took possession of my heart—­my soul.  I whispered to him to come to me—­to come to me.  And he came.”

The cry the girl gave, as she covered her face with her hands and dropped back into her chair, was very pitiful.

“He came to me—­but only one step—­one little step, Phyllis; then there came before his eyes a vision of your face—­he felt your hand—­cool as a lily—­upon his wrist—­he heard your voice speaking into his ear; he turned and fled—­fled through that window—­fled from the demon that had taken possession of this room—­I said so to you.”

“Thank God—­oh, Ella, thank God!”

“That is my cry—­thank God—­thank God; and yet—­and yet—­God help me!  I feel ready to throw myself at your feet and say ’Give him back to me!  Give him back to me!’”

She had stood with her hands clasped above her head at her first utterance of that imploration—­“Give him back to me!” Then she threw herself on her knees and passionately caught both the girl’s hands in her own, crying, “Give him back to me!”

Phyllis flung her arms about her neck, and bowed her own head down to the shoulder of the woman whom she loved and pitied.

And then——­

Then through the silence of the house—­the hour was almost midnight—­there sounded the loud and continuous ringing of a bell.

It was only the usual visitors’ bell of the house; but its effect at that hour was startling—­shocking!

The two women were on their feet, waiting in silence, but with wildly beating hearts, for what was coming—­they felt that something terrible was coming.  The bell had an ominous jangle.  They heard the footsteps of the one servant who remained up to put out the lights, going to answer the summons of the bell—­they heard a man’s voice speaking in a low tone in the hall—­they heard a man’s steps approach the door of their room.  The door opened, and Mr. Ayrton appeared before them.

He closed the door slowly, and stood there staring not at his daughter, but at Ella Linton.  On his face was an expression that Phyllis had never seen on it before.  It frightened her.  She could not speak.

He stood there, with his eyes fixed upon Ella Linton—­rigid—­silent as a figure that symbolizes Death.

The silence became appalling.

“For God’s sake speak, if you are living!” cried Ella in a whisper tremulous with terror.

He did not speak—­he stood there, staring at her.