“What has happened?” she said through trembling lips. “Your arm! Is it—is it——” “Blood? Yes. I got it in the shoulder. Don’t be frightened! I shall get over it. Can you open the door?” He spoke jerkily, but with more assurance. Frances opened the door with a sick wonder if the horrors of that night would ever pass. Rotherby staggered in, and she followed him closely, half expecting him to fall headlong. But he had mastered himself to a certain extent, and she heard him speak with some authority to the shock-headed landlord who came sleepily out of the bar-parlour to meet them. “This lady is my sister. Can you give her a comfortable room for the night?” “There’s the room you told me to prepare, sir,” said the man, with a loutish grin. “That’ll do. Take her to it! See that she has everything she wants! Good night, Frances! You follow him! I shall see you in the morning.” Rotherby spoke calmly, but it was through clenched teeth. Frances stood hesitating. The landlord waited at the foot of a steep, ill-lighted staircase. “That’s all,” said Rotherby. “I’m sorry I can’t do more to-night.” He was obviously putting strong restraint upon himself. Frances waited a moment longer, then spoke. “I can’t—possibly—leave you like this. You have been hurt. You must let me do what I can to help you.” Again for an instant she saw his smile, and she saw the clenched teeth behind it. “I shall be all right,” he said again. “I don’t think there is anything to be done. It isn’t serious. I’ll see a doctor in the morning if necessary.” But Frances was too practical to be thus reassured. “You must let me help you,” she said. “You must.” He yielded the point abruptly. “Very well—if you wish it. Get some hot water, Jarvis! I’ve had a bit of an accident.” He moved forward to the stairs, and Frances went with him, feeling herself once more the victim of an inexorable Fate. They went up together, Rotherby stumbling until she gave him her arm to steady him. Reaching a small landing on which a gas-jet burned low, he directed her into a room with an open door, and they entered, he leaning upon her. The moonlight flooded in through the uncovered window, and she saw that it was a bedroom with an old four-poster bed. She helped Rotherby to it, and he sank down upon the foot with a sigh of relief. “Have you got any matches?” she said. “In my pocket—on the right,” he said. “Can you get them?” She felt for and found them. As she stood up again he surprised her by catching her hand to his lips. She drew it quickly away, and he said nothing. She lighted the gas, that flared starkly in the shabby, old-fashioned room, and turned round to him again, forcing herself to a calm and matter-of-fact attitude. “Shall I help you off with your coat?” she said. He turned to her suddenly, and she was conscious of an unwilling admiration of the man’s courage when she saw the effort of his smile.