"You must be insane!" she cried tremulously. "Don't play innocent, madam. I _know_." In abject terror she shrank away from him. "But I have kissed you! If I live a thousand years I shall not forget its sweetness." He waved his hands frantically above her, grabbed up his suit-case and traps, and, with one last look at the petrified woman shrinking against the wall under the blasts of his vituperation, he dashed for the stairway. And so he left her, a forlorn, crushed figure. Blindly he tore downstairs and to the counter. He hardly knew what he was doing as he drew forth his pocket-book to pay his account. "Going away, Mr. Rollins?" inquired the clerk, glancing at the clock. It was eleven-twenty and the last stage-coach left for Fossingford at eleven-thirty, in time to catch the seven o'clock down train. "Certainly," was the excited answer. "A telegram came a few moments ago for you, sir, but I thought you were in bed," and the other tossed a little envelope out to him. Mechanically Rossiter tore it open. He was thinking of the cowering woman in the hallway and he was cursing himself for his brutality. He read the despatch with dizzy eyes and drooping jaw, once, twice, thrice. Then he leaned heavily against the counter and a coldness assailed his heart, so bitter that he felt his blood freezing. It read: What have you been doing? The people you were sent to watch sailed for Europe ten days ago. GROVER & DICKHUT. The paper fell from his trembling fingers, but he regained it, natural instinct inspiring a fear that the clerk would read it. "Good Lord!" he gasped. "Bad news, Mr. Rollins?" asked the clerk sympathetically, but the stricken, bewildered man did not answer. What did it mean? A vast faintness attacked him as the truth began to penetrate. Out of the whirling mystery came the astounding, ponderous realization that he had blundered, that he had wronged her, that he had accused her of--Oh, that dear, stricken figure in the hallway above! He leaped to the staircase. Three steps at a time he flew back to the scene of the miserable tragedy. What he thought, what he felt as he rushed into the hallway can only be imagined. She was gone--heartbroken, killed! And she had kissed him and said she loved him! A light shone through the transoms over the doors that led into her apartments. Quaking with fear, he ran down the hall and beat a violent tattoo upon her parlor door. Again he rapped, crazed by remorse, fear, love, pity, shame, and a hundred other emotions. "Who is it?" came in stifled tones from within. "It is I--Rossiter--I mean Rollins! I must see you--now! For pity's sake, let me in!" "How dare you--" she began shrilly; but he was not to be denied. "If you don't open this door I'll kick it in!" he shouted. "I must see you!" After a moment the door flew open and he stood facing her. She was like a queen. Her figure was as straight as an arrow, her eyes blazing. But there had been tears in them a moment before.