"No, of course not. Wait a minute--I'm thinking." He spoke in a quick, hoarse tone, a tone alas! which Kitty at one time in their joint lives had come to associate with deep feeling on his part, in those days when she used to come and tell the lonely man of her sorrows, of her temptations, and of her vague, upward aspirations.... She lurched a little towards him. Everything was going far better than she could have hoped; why, Sherston did not seem angry, hardly annoyed, at her unheralded return! Suddenly he felt her thin, strong arms closing round his body, in a horrible vice-like grip-- "Don't touch me!" he cried fiercely; and making a greater physical effort than he would have thought himself capable of, he shook himself violently free. He saw her reel backwards and fall, with a queer grotesque movement, head over heels down the stone steps. The dull thud her body made as she fell on the half landing echoed up and down the bare well of the staircase. Sherston's heart smote him. He had not meant to do THAT. Then he reminded himself bitterly that drunkards always fall soft. She could not have hurt herself much, falling that little way. He waited a few moments; then, as she made no effort to raise herself, he walked down, slowly, unwillingly, towards her. From the little he could see in the dim light cast from above, Kitty was lying very oddly, all in a heap, her head against the wall. He knelt down by her side. "Kitty," he said quietly. "Try and get up. I'm sorry if I hurt you, but you took me by surprise. I--I--" But there came no word, no moan even, in answer. He felt for her limp hand, and held it a moment, but it lay in his, inertly. Filled with a queer, growing fear, he struck a match, bent down, and saw, for the first time that night, her face. It looked older, incredibly older, than when he had last seen it, five years ago! The hair near the temples had turned gray. Her eyes were wide open--and even as he looked earnestly into her face, her jaw suddenly dropped. He started back with an extraordinary feeling of mingled fear and repugnance. Striking match after match as he went, he rushed up again into his chambers, and looked about for a hand mirror.... He failed to find one, and at last he brought down his shaving glass. With shaking hands he laid it close against that hideous, gaping mouth, for five long dragging minutes. The glass remained clear, untarnished. Putting a great constraint on himself, he forced himself to move her head. And the truth came to him! In that strange short fall Kitty had broken her neck. For the second time he was free. But this time her death, instead of cutting a knot, bound him as with cords of twisted steel to shame, and yes, to deadly peril.