an old cape, I threw the latter over my shoulders, and, coming back
to the porch, went down its steps and across the street to where Mrs.
Mundy and Selwyn were bending over a young woman who stirred as they
came up.

"Put this on." I threw the coat to Mrs. Mundy. "Who is it?"

"I don't know." Mrs. Mundy knelt on the ground. "Are you hurt?" she
asked. "There--that's better." With skilful movement she helped the
girl, who seemed dazed, to steady herself. As the latter sat up she
put her hand to her face and brushed back her hair.

"Where am I? Has he gone?" Her face was dropped in her hands. "If
he just would kill me and end it--end it!"

"Who hurt you?" Selwyn's voice was the quiet one that was ever his
when something was to be done, and, leaning over her, he took the
girl by the arm and lifted her to her feet. "Can you tell what has
happened?" He looked at Mrs. Mundy. "It's too cold out here for her
to stand--she's pretty faint still."

"Bring her over to me." Mrs. Mundy put her coat around the shivering
girl, and, slipping her hand through one arm, motioned Selwyn to take
hold of the other. "Run ahead," she nodded to me, "and fix up a dose
of that aromatic spirits of ammonia what's on the second shelf of the
closet in my bedroom. And pull the couch up to the fire."

Dazedly, and dragging her feet as if they were powerless to move, the
girl entered the warm and cheerful room, but at her entrance
understanding seemed to give her strength. With a shuddering,