THE woman with the red, expressionless face put her head into Kitty’s prison and said—“I’ve to tell ye that he’ll be coming to see you in five minutes from now.” Without waiting for a response she closed the door and shot the bolt. Kitty was seated on the couch with a book in her hand. She had actually managed to read a little, though it is highly probable that she could not have told very clearly what the pages had been about. Yet the fact that she had been able to fix her attention on a mere story for the space of a couple of hours proved that she had regained a fair command over her wits, and recovered at least something of her courage. At all events, of the panic of twenty-four hours ago little trace remained. She was pale, but it was the pallor of anxiety, not terror; and now, at the woman’s announcement, the apprehension in her fine eyes was counterbalanced by a determined firming of her pretty, sensitive mouth. “He can do nothing, after all,” she assured herself, “and it won’t be very long till they find out where I am. I must show him I’m not afraid of him.” It was past midnight, but she felt no weariness, for she had slept through the afternoon. She was, in fact, feeling as well as ever she had felt. Just after the first horrid realization of her situation she had made up her mind to starve rather than accept of his hospitality; but soon she had perceived the absurdity of such a course. “For goodness’ sake, be as sensible as you can,” she commanded herself. “You’ve got to keep fit and healthy, for you don’t know what you may have to do with your strength. And the food is of the best, perfectly cooked and beautifully served. So don’t try to pose as a persecuted heroine on the stage. You’ve been fearfully lucky, and this is only going to be a nasty little episode, which you’ll laugh at before long!” All the same, she had a breakdown or two in spite of her brave words, and the time had passed very, very slowly. Now as she heard his step at the door, she moved herself to play a part. Symington entered, closing the door behind him. He was in evening dress and cut a handsome figure in his way. His countenance was somewhat flushed; his eyes glistened rather unpleasantly. For various reasons he had delayed visiting his prisoner until now. “I am sorry I could not come to see you sooner, Kitty,” he said, halting by the flower-decorated table, and resting his hand on the back of a chair. “This room,” he went on, “is not what I would have chosen for your reception, but it was the best I could do in the time. I have a fine house upstairs being prepared for—us. Still, I hope you have been fairly comfortable. You have only to ask for anything you want.” He paused, watching her. Her eyes had never left the book; she appeared oblivious of his presence. “Kitty,” he said, “will you kindly tell me if there is anything I can do.” “You can go away,” she answered quietly, without moving.