"The papers said that I was dead! I--I laughed when I read them--was it true?" "My child!" Dr. Crossett put his hand gently on her arm. "You must control yourself." "Was it true, father? Was it true?' "Yes. Help her, Paul. Help her!" Dr. Crossett caught her in his strong arms and, looking into her eyes, spoke soothingly. "What of it? It is over. You are well now. You are not marked, not hurt. You are as other women." She threw him off as easily as though he had been a child. "Am I! Am I! So, I am not hurt; I am as other women?" Then she laughed. He had heard laughter of many sorts, this man whose work had for years taken him to asylums, to prisons, to locked rooms in stately palaces, rooms where the windows were barred with iron bars; but he had never heard a laugh like this; it had in it all of mystery of which he had ever known, and something else, some nameless thing that rang in his ears for many years, and that seemed for a moment to stop the beating of his heart. Her laughter stopped, and she turned wearily to leave the room, and as she did so they heard the outside door open, then close with a crash, and John Dorris stood in the doorway, facing her. "You--you lied to me!" Dr. Barnhelm stepped forward angrily. "John!" John did not turn his head but kept his eyes on her. "You told me that you spent the afternoon with Dr. Rupert's wife." "I did." "I met Rupert in the car. I told him what you said, and he laughed at me. His wife is on her way to Europe." "No!" Dr. Crossett cried out in denial. "Why should Rupert tell me so, if it were not true? That is not all. You did not see his wife, Lola, but he saw you. You were at Churchill's restaurant for two hours, with Dick Fenway!" "No, John!" Dr. Barnhelm caught him by the arm. "What are you saying?" "The truth! I made him swear to it. He sat only a few feet away from her. He described her dress; he spoke of telling his friends who she was, when they remarked upon the splendid jewels she wore about her neck." "There! He did lie, or he was mistaken. My daughter wears no jewels--you know that, both of you. Just a few little trinkets that were her mother's. No jewels; not one!" "Thank God!" exclaimed Dr. Crossett. "Thank God!" "I will kill that man! You"--the old man glared at John contemptuously--"you, who say you love her--you should have killed him. She has no jewels--see!" He put his hand in the safe and drew out Lola's little black jewel box. "Here is all she has, all that she ever had. The key, Lola, give me the key." "Why?" "I want them to see your poor little trinkets. By God, no man shall doubt my daughter. Give me the key!" She looked around for a moment, from one to the other, from John to her father, to Dr. Crossett, to Maria, who had entered the room, and stood looking at her. She was trapped. She knew that there was just one chance, hardly worth the trying. "I--the key is lost, father."