She was soon in bed with her light out; and presently she heard him arrive and saw a streak of illumination beneath the intervening door. She listened and heard him take off his boots and put them outside his door. But at last he flicked off his light and pulled up the Venetian blind. She remembered that he had told her he always slept with his blind up. Her heart beat hard now and her ears strained for the next sound. It was not, however, the door-handle that creaked, but Kellock’s bed. There was a squeak and jolt followed by silence. The unwonted noise of the streets kept Medora awake and she became the prey of thoughts that grew more and more unpleasant. A brief peace sank over London, but bells beating the hour would not let her sleep. During the small hours and with vitality at low ebb, her mind sank into a region of nervous gloom. For the moment her triumph became divested of all its brilliance and there was thrust upon her very forcibly the other aspect of such action as she had taken. She considered her mother and Ned. For some reason, and not a little to her annoyance, thought took the bit in its teeth respecting Ned and absolutely refused to dwell on the black side of him. As a matter of fact Medora proved too weary to pretend any longer. She was now disarmed; the sleight of her own creation, which had risen as a sort of shield between her and reality, for the present fell; and she found that her reflections obstinately refused to follow the line she had of late persisted in. The mind that she had drilled to think as she wished, for once in a way threw off allegiance and refused to be loyal to Medora’s impersonation. Instead it stumbled painfully but with determination along the way of truth and reduced her to despair by persistently bringing before her vision pictures of good days with Ned and memories from the past wherein he figured to advantage. She tossed and turned, grew very sorry for herself and finally centred her thoughts on Kellock. She considered his chaste attitude to the present situation rather absurd. Then she fell to wondering whether this delicate matter did not more properly belong to her. He was so high-minded where she was concerned—a miracle of tender refinement. For a long time she resisted an inclination to go to him, but presently persuaded herself that it would be the truest kindness to do so. Her own nature prompted her strongly to seek comfort from him, for she was exceedingly miserable now and awake with a hateful alertness. She thought it was more than probable that he lay on the other side of the wall similarly enduring. Surely if she went to him, an everlasting bond would be established between them and their union sealed gloriously by her initiative. He was just that subtle man to appreciate such an evidence of her perfect trust. Still some voice in her argued contrariwise and not until a clock chimed three did Medora decide. Then she made a dash for him.