‘Here, miss,’ came faintly from somewhere close at hand. unless a copyright notice is included. He got up. The door was too strong, and too well secured, to break open,—the walls too thick: but the ceiling,—if he could reach it—there, he doubted not, he could make an outlet. It was obviously pitched well, hitting her head at a good thirtyfive miles per hour. The thought caused him an odd kind of pang—of pity, naturally. She could have kissed Cathy. Advancing towards him, he made him a formal salutation, which was coldly returned. She tried not to pant, not to reveal herself, and she began to shake. ‘Shall we abandon the guard, then, sir?’ ‘Certainly not. “That,” he said, grimly, with his hand on the doorhandle, “must be your own affair, unless you choose to live at Morningside Park.
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