But this voice was a woman's. At the sound of it, the heart in the man's great chest beat, in a sledge-hammer fashion, against his ribs. His hand trembled as he turned the handle, and when he had opened the door, and stood within the room, his heart, which had been beating so tumultuously a moment before, stood still. The room, which was nothing but a bare attic with raftered ceiling, was imperfectly lighted by a small skylight--a skylight which seemed as though it had not been cleaned for ages, so obscured was the glass by the accumulations of the years. By the light of this skylight Mr. Gibbs could see that a woman was standing in the centre of the room. "Nelly!" he cried. The woman shrank back with, as it were, a gesture of repulsion. Mr. Gibbs moved forward. "Nelly! Don't you know me? I am Tom." "Tom?" The woman's voice was but an echo. "Tom! Yes, my own, own darling, I am Tom." Mr. Gibbs advanced. He held out his arms. He was just in time to catch the woman, or she would have fallen to the floor. CHAPTER II "Nelly, don't you know me?" The woman was coming to. "Haven't you a light?" The woman faintly shook her head. "See, I have your portrait where you placed it; it has never left me all the time. But when I saw your picture I did not need your portrait to tell me it was you." "When you saw my picture?" "Your portrait in Mr. Bodenham's picture at Academy 'Stitch! Stitch! Stitch!'" "Mr. Bodenham's--I see." The woman's tone was curiously cold. "Nelly, you don't seem to be very glad to see me." "Have you got any money?" "Any money, Nelly?" "I am hungry." "Hungry!" The woman's words seemed to come to him with the force of revelation. "Hungry!" She turned her head away. "Oh, my God, Nelly." His voice trembled. "Wa-wait here, I--I sha'n't be a moment. I've a cab at the door." He was back almost as soon as he went. He brought with him half the contents of a shop--among other things, a packet of candles. These he lighted, standing them, on their own ends, here and there about the room. The woman ate shyly, as if, in spite of her confession of hunger, she had little taste for food. She was fingering the faded photograph of a girl which Mr. Gibbs had taken from his pocket-book. "Is this my portrait?" "Nelly! Don't you remember it?" "How long is it since it was taken?" "Why, it's more than seven years, isn't it?" "Do you think I've altered much?" Mr. Gibbs went to her. He studied her by the light of the candles. "Well, you might be plumper, and you might look happier, perhaps, but all that we'll quickly alter. For the rest, thank God, you're my old Nelly." He took her in his arms. As he did so she drew a long, deep breath. Holding her at arms-length, he studied her again. "Nelly, I'm afraid you haven't been having the best of times." She broke from him with sudden passion.