The woman stared at him, her lips parted, and with dilated eyes. "You know what this place is. Not a sound can reach the outside. You have not a soul who would come to inquire after you, and the world would never know what had become of you. Now go." She stood up, trembling like a leaf, fascinated by his fierce eyes, and began to walk slowly round to the other side of the table, sidewise, so as to keep as far from him as she could. "Hah!" he said, through his set teeth, "you understand me then at last. Upstairs with you at once," and as he spoke he stepped quickly to Kate's side, dropped on one knee, and took hold of her icy hand. But he sprang to his feet, half stunned, the next moment, for with a wild cry, the woman threw open the door as if to escape from him, but tore out the key. "Becky! Becky!" she shrieked. "Yes, mother!" came from where the tied-up face was stretched over the balustrade on the first floor. "Lock yourself in master's room, open the window, and shriek murder until the police come." "Damnation!" roared Garstang; and he rushed at and seized the woman, who clung to one of the bookshelves, bringing it down with a crash, and a shriek came from the upper floor. "Stop her," roared Garstang. "There, I give in. Here, Becky, your mother will speak to you." "Lock yourself in the room, but don't scream till I tell you, or he comes," cried the woman. "That will do," said Garstang, savagely, and he loosed his hold, with the result that the woman ran back to the insensible girl, and once more clasped her in her arms. Garstang began to pace up and down the room, but paused at the door, to reach out and see Becky's white face and eyes displaying the white rings round them, peering down from above. At the sight of him she rushed to his bedroom, and stood half inside, ready to lock herself in if he attempted to ascend. A wild cry from Sarah Plant took Garstang back to her side. "I knew it--I knew it!" she cried, bursting into a passionate fit of sobbing; "you've killed her. Look at her, sir, look. Oh, my poor dear, my poor dear! God forgive me! What shall I do?" A chill of horror ran through Garstang, and he bent down over his victim, trembling violently now, as he raised one eyelid with his finger, then the other, bent lower so that his cheek was close to her lips, and then caught her hand, and tried to feel her pulse. "No, no; she is only sleeping," he said, hoarsely. "Sleeping!" moaned the woman, hysterically; "do you call that sleep?" Garstang drew a deep breath, and his horror increased. "Help me to lay her on the couch," he said, huskily. "No, no, I'm strong enough," groaned the woman. "Oh, my poor dear--my poor dear! he has murdered you." She rose quickly, and in her nervous exaltation, passed her arms round the helpless figure, and lifted it like a child, to bear it to the couch, and lay it helplessly down. "Oh, help, help!" she groaned, in a piteous wail. "A doctor--fetch a doctor at once."