She recovered herself as soon as she could and made another effort to get his attention, this time calling out to him that he mustn’t go on that way—he’d kill himself! But it seemed impossible to make him hear. For more than an hour she listened to his tramping about, sometimes on the floor above, sometimes in the large entrance hall or other rooms on the ground floor, but never in the basement. Suddenly, when it was getting on toward four o’clock, there was a dull, muffled noise apparently coming from one of the rooms above, as of something falling heavily on the floor, and with it the sound of tramping ceased. Though she felt her legs weakening under her, she toiled up the main stairway. Looking down the upper hall, she could see from the light striking through it into the corridor that the door of the room Mrs. Findlay had occupied was open—something unusual, for he’d always kept it closed and locked. She hurried, limping, down the hall and went to the door. Haworth was lying face down on the floor, his head resting on his arms. Mrs. Temple hastened to him, possessed only of the terrifying thought that he was dead, and sank down on the floor at his side.... No! He was breathing! Gently shaking him by the shoulder, she called his name. At first there was no response, but after a little he spoke in a voice that was half a whisper, and without raising his head asked her please to go away—he didn’t want to be disturbed. Would she please go? The old woman struggled to her feet and brought a pillow from another room, feeling he wouldn’t like her to disturb the pillows in this one. Kneeling on the floor beside him, she gently raised his head and put the pillow under it. Then, with all the haste she was able to make, she set out for a drug store, half a mile away on Center Street. On reaching the place she had to wait a moment before she could recover breath enough to ask the clerk if he could tell her where she could find a good doctor for Mr. Haworth.... Yes, over at the Cripps mansion.... Yes indeed, it was very serious and some one ought to see him. The clerk had, that very morning, been reading a full-page write-up in one of the Sunday supplements, in which the house on Torrington Road and its singular occupant had been fully described and illustrated. For this reason he was instantly interested, and volunteered himself to telephone to Doctor Crimmin’s office. If the doctor wasn’t in he’d leave word for him to go out there as soon as he came. Mrs. Temple thanked him and hurried away. When she got to her lodgings she carefully closed the door, pulled out the old trunk, reached down under the clothing in it, and brought up the cigar box, from which she took three silver quarters, muttering to herself as she seized them: “Rainy day! I should think so! It’s one o’ them cloudbursts!”