Symington, however, had made a second blunder, though he remained ignorant of it. He had left Kitty with a new horror to brood on and had thereby rendered her so much more desperate and helpless; but he had left her, also, a straw, so to speak, on the flood of her despair. Her intelligence did not perceive it at once; hours had passed and her spirit was well-nigh exhausted when it drifted into her ken. She clutched it because there was nothing else to lay hold on. Would it serve at all? Was the situation altered by the fact that her persecutor was going away—nay, he must have gone three hours ago!—for the night? Suddenly she sprang from the couch. Danger? What danger would she not dare in order to help—to save—Colin? Her mind was still very clear. She thought quickly. Then acted. She switched off the lights, groped her way behind the curtain to the bed, and lay down. On the wall, convenient to her hand, was a bell-button. She gave it a long pressure, then waited—in vain. Again she rang; again and yet again. At the end of ten minutes she began to fear for her scheme, but just then she heard shuffling steps in the passage. The bolt was drawn, the door opened, and a voice demanded crossly to know what she wanted at two in the morning. Kitty groaned and cried: “Oh, I can’t bear it any longer. Please bring some food—bread, water—anything. I’m too weak to get up.” “All right,” was the sulky reply, “but you might have taken it when it was there for you.” At the re-bolting of the door Kitty got up. Presently she was leaning against the wall just behind the door. She trembled all over; her heart thumped; she feared she was going to faint. Would the woman never return? At last she came, threw open the door, and still drowsy and grumbling, proceeded with an untidy tray in the direction of the bed. She was at the curtain when Kitty darted from her corner and out into the passage. Bang went the door, home went the trusty bolt! A single light glowed in the passage. Without pause Kitty ran next door, shot the bolt, to the next again, and treated it likewise. From within a man’s voice called sleepily: “What’s up?” Then she had to take the support of the wall, her hand to her heart—but not for long. The trapped woman began a noisy protest. Kitty went back and said as firmly as she could— “If you make another sound, I swear you’ll get no mercy later. The man’s bolted in too.” “You can’t get out of the basement,” bawled the prisoner. “The stair-door’s locked, and he took the key with him.” “Very well. Our friends will be here in the morning”, Kitty retorted brazenly, “and I don’t think you’ll ever see your master again, unless in the police court.” The woman began to whine. “Hold your tongue,” said Kitty, and left her. She ran to the place where she had seen Colin. Through the bars she beheld him huddled on the sofa. A large earthenware jug lay smashed in a pool on the floor.