As she now half-slid from the window, she grasped wildly at the screen of ivy, and as fate would have it caught one of its greater branches. It held fast, and she swung free from the sill, which now she could never again regain. She clung desperately, blindly, swung out; then felt the roots of the ivy above her rip free, one after another, far up, almost to the cornice. Its whole thin ladder broke free from the wall. She was flung into space. Almost at that instant, her foot touched the light lattice of the lower story. The ivy had crawled up the wall face and followed the cornice up and over somewhere, over the edge of the eaves, finding some sort of holding ground. It served to support her weight at least until she felt the ladder underfoot. At this in turn she clutched as she dropped lower, but frail and rotten as it was, it supported her but slightly. The next instant she felt, herself falling. [Illustration: She grasped wildly at the screen of ivy.] She dropped out and down, struck heavily, and had but consciousness enough left to half-rise. Before her eyes shone scores of little pointed lights. Then her senses passed away, and all went sweetly, smoothly and soothingly black about her....After ages, there came faint sounds of running feet. There was a sort of struggle of some sort, it seemed, in her first returning consciousness. Her first distinct feeling was one of wonder that Dunwody himself should be the first to bend over her, and that on his face there should seem surprise, regret, grief. How could he feign such things? She pushed at his face, panting, silent. Jeanne now was there--Jeanne, tearful, excited, wringing her hands, offering aid; but in spite of Jeanne, Dunwody raised Josephine in his arms. As he did so he felt her wince. Her arm dropped loosely. "Good God! It is broken!" he cried. "Oh, why did you do this? Why did you? You poor girl, you poor girl! And it was all my fault--my fault!" Then suddenly, "Sally!--Eleazar!" he cried. They came running now from all sides. Between them they carried Josephine back to her room and placed her once more upon her couch. "Saddle up, Eleazar," commanded Dunwody. "Get a doctor--Jamieson--from St. Genevieve as fast as you can. The lady's arm is broken." "Pardon, Monsieur," he began, "but it is far for St. Genevieve. Me, I have set h'arm before now. Suppose I set heem now, then go for the doc'?" "Could you do that?" demanded Dunwody.