The room at the head of the stairs had been the governess’, and the exhausted Salome turned into it, only to sink on her knees with a groan of superstitious terror. The governess had gone. Then, who was this who lay like a log on the floor, face down? “Lawd, Lawd!” moaned Salome, her eyes all whites in her ashy face. “Missus, missus!” But the white thing on the floor never moved. Only the rising afternoon breeze came through the open window and lifted the long locks of loose, ruddy hair, and through the silence came that endless, blood-curdling wail of the madman outside. Inch by inch the black woman crawled nearer, her eyes standing out with terror. If this thing on the floor should leap up and spring at her, as ghosts and haunts were well known to do! But it never stirred. With the last remnant of her waning courage, Salome stretched out a shaking, black hand, and then recoiled with a yell of sheer horror. It was no ghost, but the governess herself; but, whether dead or alive, the servant could not tell. Her weariness all forgotten, she lifted the quiet body in her arms, and saw why it had lain so motionless. On one temple was a dark bruise, a deep, oozing cut, such as might be made by the sharp edges of a man’s signet ring. And a man’s handkerchief had bound the slack wrists together; a man’s clumsy, hurried hand tied a thick, wet bath-towel over the unconscious face, and knotted the cord from the curtain cruelly tight around the slim, bare feet. There were scissors on the toilet-table, and it took Salome no time to cut the double-knotted towel from Andria’s head and face. But it took minutes before the almost suffocated lungs did their work again. Salome was frightened as she dashed water on the swollen, crimson face. “Set up, my lamb!” she cried quickly, when the first struggle for breath was over. “You ain’t hurt. Wait, ole Salome’ll cut your hands an’ feet loose!” To her unutterable joy, Andria began to move. Presently, she lifted her hand to the cut on her head, but it fell again, limply. “Dat’s right,” said Salome, fanning her, “dat’s just right. You’s coming round, honey. Lean against Salome!” She looked down at the face on her knee, and the torn, white dressing-gown, and poured eau de cologne with a lavish hand on the bare, white throat. At the pungent scent of it, Andria’s eyelids flickered. “Beryl,” she said, “Beryl.” Salome nearly dropped her. “Ain’t she here?” she cried, and something in her voice roused Andria more than all the restoratives in the world. “Oh, missus! Ain’t she in her room?” for if they had not taken one, surely they had not taken the other. Dizzy and sick, Andria clutched at her. “They took her,” she said thickly, as if her throat hurt her. “Salome, where are they? Why do you look like that?” She raised herself till she could see the dark face. “Oh, missus, dey’s gone!” Salome cried wildly. “Dey’s gone in de steamer, all but him; and he’s et. De jaguar done got him.”