She gathered her dressing-gown closely round her and crept noiselessly from stair to stair, quivering all over as they creaked under her bare feet, but never pausing until she stood at the half-open door of the morning-room and looked in. What she saw froze her into immovability. A film swam before her eyes. It was Jim! The prodigal had returned, but why in this way? What could it mean? She rubbed her eyes incredulously. There was another man standing near the window, but it was upon Jim her glance was fixed with reluctant, fascinated horror. [Illustration: "THE LIGHT FELL FULL UPON HER."] Jim leaned against the mantelpiece, his face was white and drawn, and in his eyes was reproduced some of the incredulity of Honor's. "I can't, I tell you," he spoke in a low voice, that yet came clearly to the listener. "I promised, as it was to be the last time, but I break my word--I must get out of this, I tell you. That clock! My God! what I'd give not to feel such a scoundrel!" "_Clock?_ What are you raving about?" said the other. "What's wrong with the clock? They must strike, I suppose! Come on, let's get out of this. What's given you such a scare? You might have seen a ghost." "So I have, the place is full of them. I must go; the very air stifles me." He stood upright and moved towards the door. "Not a foot until you've done your share," replied the other, advancing, and Honor could see his evil, dissipated face; "don't desert an old chum." "I wish to Heaven I had years ago, Hammersley. You've been my curse ever since I've known you. Let's clear out." Honor started at the name, that of an old school-fellow. She pushed the door open farther, and the light fell full upon her, disclosing her white face with its glittering aureole of hair, and the blue eyes wide with pain. Hammersley dropped the trinket he held with a little sharp tinkle, and drew back into the shade shamefacedly. But Honor never noticed him, all her glance was for Jim, who stood rigidly upright, staring at her as if she were a visitant from the grave. "Honor!" the words came with difficulty from his parched throat. "_You!_ What does it mean?" Honor advanced a step nearer. "_Mean?_" She spoke in a clear, relentless voice, half mad with the disgrace of it all. "Mean? It means that you have sunk so low as to rob your mother and sister of a few valuables. It means that you have broken into your mother's house like a common thief. No, no----" Her voice vibrated with a sharp throb of pain--"even the lowest, the most degraded, would think twice before robbing his own." The light showed clearly all the misery of Jim's handsome, haggard young face. "I swear to you----" he began, but Honor went on speaking, her voice low with concentrated scorn, and he drew back under the lash of her glance. "Why did you not die years ago? Only to-night we were talking of you, praying that you might return, and _this_ is how God answers our prayers!"