That young lady's tragic fate was the one event which marked the fifteen years Dorothy had spent in the convent. Now, as she leaned out of the open upper half of the window, peering down at the impenetrable darkness which masked whatever might be below, the story came back to her with a vividness which was most unwelcome. Dorothy's plight was worse than hers. She had made elaborate preparations for what she well knew was in front of her; yet she had come to utter dire grief. How much more likely, Dorothy felt, was disaster to overtake her, if she plunged, practically blindfold, through unknown depths into unknown perils? She turned giddy at the thought of trying to climb on to the top of that open sash. Almost involuntarily she drew her head back into the room. Better, almost, anything rather than that she should risk being dashed to pieces by flinging herself blindly into space. She would give up her mad attempt. Moved by this new impulse to observe discretion, she had begun to lower herself on to the floor of the room, when, again, there came that sound--louder, more insistent, as if someone were bursting his lungs in the violence of his gasps for breath. Then there was a crash, which shook the room, as someone, something, fell from the table on to the floor. All was still. In that ominous silence, the girl, seized with a sudden frenzy of panic, was on to the top of the sash probably before she clearly realised what it was that she was doing; over on the other side; standing on the sill; from which she began to lower herself with a swiftness and an agility of which she would scarcely have been capable had the conditions been normal. For some seconds she clung with her small hands to the rough edge of the sill. She was conscious that she had brought her leg into unpleasant contact with the wall, and inflicted on herself various contusions. Even in that eleventh hour, as she hung between earth and heaven, conviction came to her of the madness of what she was doing. Had it been possible she would have drawn herself back into the room even then, but it was not possible. From where she was there was no way back. Her slender arms were incapable of raising even her slight body. Such muscles as she had became relaxed; she seemed to be dragging her arms out of their sockets; her hands were slipping. Though she gripped the sill till she felt the rough stone cutting her fingers she could get no hold. The question as to whether she would risk death by dropping into space was no longer one for her decision; with all the unwillingness in the world to let herself go, she could not keep from falling. She made an effort to stay where she was for yet another breathing space; so that, at least, she might collect her thoughts before she went, perhaps, into eternity. The effort had the contrary effect to that which she intended. Instead of delaying it, it hastened the end. Her hands could grip the sill no longer. Her finger-tips were on the very edge. In