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A wind had risen outside or Ned might have heard the footsteps sooner. As it was, when he stepped out from behind the draperies of the upper window those of the lower window were still waving, but the swift figure had almost reached the desk. The face was turned from him. Even in that moment of astonishment he noticed that she carried her left arm close to her body, with a curious awkwardness.

“Hello!” he challenged.

She cried out sharply, and covered the remaining distance with a rush. Her hand fell upon the box of pellets. She turned, clutching that little box of desperate hopes to her bosom.

“Good God! Virginia!” he exclaimed. “Miss Kingsley!”

“Mr. Worth! Was it you I heard? Why–how are you here?”

“This is my house.”

“I didn’t know.” Keeping her eyes fixed upon him like a watchful animal, she slowly backed to interpose the table between herself and a possible interference. Her arm, still stiffly pressed to her side, impeded her fumbling efforts to open the box. Presently, however, the cover yielded.

He measured the chances of intervention, and abandoned the hope. His brain hummed with a thousand conjectures, a thousand questions centering upon her obvious and preposterous purpose. Suddenly, as her fingers trembled among the tablets, his thoughts steadied and his stratagem was formed.

“What do you want with my tonic?” he asked coolly.

“Tonic? I–I thought–“

“You thought it was the poison. Well, you’ve got the wrong box. The poison box is in the drawer.”

“In the drawer,” she repeated. She spoke in the mechanical voice of one desperately intent upon holding the mind to some vital project. Her nerveless hands fumbled at the side of the desk.

He crossed quickly, caught up the box which she had just relinquished, and dropped it into his pocket.

“Oh!” she moaned, and stared at him with stricken and accusing eyes. “Then it was the poison!”

“Yes.”

“Give it back to me!” she implored, like a bereft child. “Oh, give it to me!”

“Why do you want to kill yourself?”

She looked at him in dumb despair.

“How did you get here?” he demanded.

“Your fire escape.”

“And to that from the garden wall, I suppose? So you were Ely Crouch’s companion,” he cried with a changed voice.

“Don’t,” she shuddered, throwing her right arm over her face.

“I beg your pardon,” he said gently. “Take a swallow of this water. What’s the matter with your arm? Are you hurt?”

“No.” Her eyes would not meet his. They were fixed obstinately upon the pocket into which he had dropped the poison.

“It’s incredible!” he burst out. “You with your youth and loveliness! With everything that makes life sweet for yourself and others. What madness–” He broke off and his voice softened into persuasion. “We were almost friends, once. Can’t I–won’t you let me help? Don’t you think you can trust me?”

She raised her eyes to his, and he read in them hopeless terror. “Yes, I could trust you. But there is only one help for me now. And you’ve taken it from me.”

“Who can tell? You’ve been badly frightened,” he said in as soothing a tone as he could command. “Try to believe that no harm can come to you here, and that I–I would give the blood of my heart to save you from harm or danger. You said you could trust me. What was your errand with Ely Crouch?”

“Money.”

“Money!” he repeated, drawing back.

“It was our own; my sister’s and mine. Mr. Crouch had it. He had managed our affairs since my father’s death. I could never get an accounting from him. To-day the doctor told me that Alice must go away at once for an operation. And to-day Mr. Crouch made this appointment for to-night.”

“Didn’t you know his reputation? Weren’t you afraid?”

“I didn’t think of fear. When I told him how matters stood, he offered me money, but–but–Oh, I can’t tell you!”

“No need,” he said quickly. “I know what he is. I was joking when I spoke of killing him, a little while ago. By God, I wish I had killed him! It isn’t too late now.”