This roused her. Slowly her eyes lost their fixed stare and took on a more human light. A shudder shook her frame, and gazing down into the countenance of the young girl lying at her feet, she broke into moans of such fathomless despair as wrung the hearts of all about her. It was a scene to test the nerve of any man. To one of the Curator's sympathetic temperament it was well-nigh unendurable. Turning to those nearest, he begged for an explanation of what they saw before them: "Some one here must be able to tell me. Let that some one speak." At this the quietest and least conspicuous person present, a young man heavily spectacled and of student-like appearance, advanced a step and said: "I was the first person to come in here after this poor young lady fell. I was looking at coins just beyond the partition there, when I heard a gasping cry. I had not heard her fall--I fear I was very much preoccupied in my search for an especial coin I had been told I should find here--but I did hear the cry she gave, and startled by the sound, left the section where I was and entered this one, only to see just what you are seeing now." The Curator pointed at the two women. "This? The one woman kneeling over the other with her hand on the arrow?" "Yes, sir." A change took place in the Curator's expression. Involuntarily his eyes rose to the walls hung closely with Indian relics, among which was a quiver in which all could see arrows similar to the one now in the breast of the young girl lying dead before them. "This woman must be made to speak," he said in answer to the low murmur which followed this discovery. "If there is a doctor present----" Waiting, but receiving no response, he withdrew his hand from the woman's arm and laid it on the arrow. This roused her completely. Loosing her own grasp upon the shaft, she cried, with sudden realization of the people pressing about her: "I could not draw it. That causes death, they say. Wait! she may still be alive. She may have a word to speak." She was bending to listen. It was hardly a favorable moment for further questioning, but the Curator in his anxiety could not refrain from saying: "Who is she? What is her name and what is yours?" "Her name?" repeated the woman, rising to face him again. "How should I know? I was passing through this gallery and had just stopped to take a look into the court when this young girl bounded by me from behind and flinging up her arms, fell with a deep sigh to the floor. I saw an arrow in her breast, and----" Emotion choked her, and when some one asked if the girl was a stranger to her, she simply bowed her head; then, letting her gaze pass from face to face till it had completed the circle of those about her, she said in her former mechanical way: "My name is Ermentrude Taylor. I came to look at the bronzes. I should like to go now."