A terrible sight met his eyes. It was the beautiful and radiant creature who had kissed Bertie Lockman; her face was now flushed with drink and distorted with rage--her hair disheveled and her aspect wild; and she was screaming in the voice which had first startled Samuel. Bertie had grappled with her and was trying to push her out of the room, while she fought frantically, and screamed: “Let me go! Let me go!” “Get out of here, I say!” cried Bertie, “I mean it now.” “I won't! Let me be!” exclaimed the girl. “Hurrah!” shouted the others, crowding behind them. Young Holliday was dancing about, waving a bottle and yelling like a maniac, “Go it, Bertie! Give it to him, Belle!” “This is the end of it!” cried Bertie. “I'm through with you. And you get out of here!” “I won't! I won't!” screamed the girl again and again. “Help!” And she flung one arm about his neck and caught at the doorway. But he tore her loose and dragged her bodily across the entrance hall. “Out with you!” he exclaimed. “And don't ever let me see your face again!” “Bertie! Bertie!” she protested. “I mean it!” he said. “Here Jack! Open the door for me.” “Bertie! No!” shrieked the girl; but then with a sudden effort he half threw her out into the darkness. There was a brief altercation outside, and then he sprang back, and flung to the heavy door, and bolted it fast. “Now, by God!” he said, “you'll stay out.” The girl beat and kicked frantically upon the door. But Bertie turned his back and staggered away, reeling slightly. “That'll settle it, I guess,” he said, with a wild laugh. And amidst a din of laughter and cheers from the others, he went back to the dining room. One of the other women flung her arms about him hilariously, and Jack Holliday raised a bottle of wine on high, and shouted: “Off with the old love--on with the new!” And so Bertie shut the door again, and the scene was hid from Samuel's eyes. CHAPTER XII For a long while, Samuel stood motionless, hearing the swish of the rain and the crashing of the thunder as an echo of the storm in his own soul. It was as if a chasm had yawned beneath his feet, and all the castles of his dreams had come down in ruins. He stood there, stunned and horrified, staring at the wreckage of everything he had believed. Then suddenly he crossed the drawing-room and opened one of the French windows which led to the piazza. The rain was driving underneath the shelter of the roof; but he faced it, and ran toward the door. The girl was lying in front of it, and above the noise of the wind and rain he heard her sobbing wildly. He stood for a minute, hesitating; then he bent down and touched her. “Lady,” he said. She started. “Who are you?” she cried. “I'm just one of the servants, ma'am.” She caught her breath. “Did he send you?” she demanded. “No,” said he, “I came to help you.” “I don't need any help. Let me be.” “But you can't stay here in the rain,” he protested. “You'll catch your death.”