Some one was pounding on the outer door. She had a dim, vague impression that this pounding had been going on for some time. A sort of paralysis benumbed her sensibilities. Her eyes were now wide open, staring. Had her wish come true? Was some, one come to tell her that her horrible wish had come true? Suddenly the fetters fell away. She rushed frantically to the door and turned the knob. The driving wind flung it open with a force that almost swept her off her feet. Thane stood on the threshold, hatless, panting. The light from the hall, falling upon his face, revealed a long red stain that ran from temple to chin. As she drew back, alarmed, he staggered into the hall, limping painfully, and pushed the door shut behind him. "Oh!" she gasped. He shot a swift, searching glance down the hall and into the living-room. Then he held out his arms to her. She was gazing spell-bound into his eager, shining eyes. He waited. She came to him as if drawn by some overpowering magnet. His arms closed about her....She was crushed against his body, she seemed a part of him. His arms were like smothering coils that pressed the life out of her; his hungry lips were fastened upon hers, hot and lustful. Presently she began to struggle. Shame,--a vast, sickening shame,--possessed her. She was conscious of the wild, increasing lust that mastered him. She tried to tear herself from contact with his body, as from something base, unclean, revolting. His kisses held her. She was powerless to resist the passion that swept over her. Once more she surrendered,--and then came the shame, the overwhelming shame. She was debased, defiled! She put her hand to his face and pushed frantically to release herself from those consuming, unholy lips. Suddenly he freed her, and sprang back, panting but triumphant. She heard him whisper, hoarsely, rapturously: "God!" Some one was coming. He had caught the sound of footsteps,--somewhere. Alix sank breathless, rigid, almost fainting, upon the hall-seat. "Darling!" he whispered passionately. She half arose, caught once more by the irresistible spell that had first swept her into his embrace. He shook his head. Then she heard him speak. He was looking past her. "I'm all right, Mrs. Strong. Don't mind me. Telephone for help." "I have telephoned," cried Mrs. Strong, coming toward them quickly. "Help is coming. Good heavens! You are bleeding! Were you hit?" III