He took her into her room and placed her in an armchair by the fireplace. He lit the gas and drew the curtains, and then knelt by the hearth to kindle the fire, saying nothing and apparently taking little notice of her. She sat dully watching him, her hands in her lap, the water running off her skirts along the carpet. When he had lit the fire he said: “Now, I’ll go, and you take off your things. I’ll bring you up your supper in half an hour. Be quick, you’re soaking. I’ll tell them downstairs you’re too tired to come down.” He went out, softly closing the door. She sat on in her wet clothes, feeling the growing warmth of the flames on her face and hands. She seemed to fall into a lethargy of exhaustion and sat thus motionless, the water running unheeded on the carpet, _frissons_ of cold occasionally shaking her, till a knock at the door roused her. Then she suddenly remembered Barron and his command to take off her wet clothes. She had them on still and he would be angry. “Put it down on the chair outside,” she called through the door; “I’m not ready.” “Won’t you open the door and take this whisky and drink it at once?” came his answer. She opened the door a crack and, putting her hand through the aperture, took the glass with the whisky. “Are you warm and dry?” he said; all she could see of him was his big hand clasped round the glass. “Yes, quite,” she answered, though she felt her skin quivering with cold against the damp garments that seemed glued to it. “Well, drink this now, right off. And listen--” as the door began to close--“if you get nervous or anything just come to your door and call me. I’ll leave mine open, and I’m a very light sleeper.” Then before she could answer she felt the door-handle pulled from the outside and the door was shut. She hastily took off her things and put on dry ones, and then shrugged herself into the thick wrapper of black and white that had been her mother’s. Even her hair was wet, she found out as she undressed, and she mechanically undid it and shook the damp locks loose on her shoulders. She felt penetrated with cold, and still overmastered by fear. Every gust that made the long limb of the pepper-tree grate against the balcony roof caused her heart to leap. When she opened the door to get her supper, the glow of light that fell from Barron’s room, across the hallway, came to her with a hail of friendship and life. She stood listening, and heard the creak of his rocking-chair, then smelt the whiff of a cigar. He was close to her. She shut the door, feeling her terrors allayed.