“You will please sit over there,” he said, quietly, and pointing to the lounge. “I am not in need of any assistance at present, and can summon it myself if I think it necessary. It will be wiser for you to comply with my request,” he added, sternly, as she hesitated. “If you make any disturbance, I will have you lodged in a station-house in less than half an hour.” The woman cowed at once at this, and retreated in sullen silence to the lounge, where, settling herself comfortably, she did not move again, while Earle for the next two hours kept his vigil by Editha’s bedside, where she slept quietly, sweetly, and refreshingly. While she is thus sleeping we will take a bird’s-eye view of the time that had elapsed since her encounter with Tom Drake, after leaving John Loker’s house, and from which she was rescued by the sturdy policeman, only to fall into still deeper trouble. It will be remembered that after she had taken tea with her father she repaired to her own room, where she made a careful copy of John Loker’s confession, and then hid the original, with his signature attached, beneath the cushion of her jewel-box. She then inclosed the copy in an envelope addressed to Earle, and proceeded to write a long letter to him, recounting her adventures of the evening. Her father had gone out immediately after supper, the servants were all abed in their rooms, and she was entirely alone in the front portion of the house. It had taken her so long to make a copy of the confession that she was not half through with her letter when the cathedral clock near by struck the hour of eleven. Almost simultaneously with its last stroke the door of her room swung noiselessly open, and a fierce, ugly face, half shaded by a slouch hat, appeared in the aperture. A moment after the figure of a man entered, the door was softly closed, and he advanced with a stealthy, cat-like tread to where the young girl, who was deeply engaged in writing to her lover, sat bending over her writing-desk. She was not conscious of the presence of the intruder until, reaching for a new pen, she chanced to raise her eyes, and saw him standing close by her side. A cry of fright parted her lips as she instantly recognized the repulsive features and burly form of Tom Drake. Without giving her time to repeat her cry, he clapped his hand over her mouth in the same way he had done earlier in the evening. “Ah, ha! my plucky jade, did you think I would tamely give up the chase?” he asked, with a horrible leer. “Not so, my pretty,” he continued; “there is altogether too much at stake for that. But I can’t stand here to hold you—will you promise to keep still if I’ll take my hand from your mouth? You’d better, or I——” He stopped short, with a fierce look that frightened her excessively.