"So he has come at last," thought Graham, laying down his book
with a sense of relief, not sorry to have his self-imposed
vigil brought to an end. He still sat listening, however; his
door was ajar, and he thought he should hear the father and
child come up together. There was a moment's silence as the
sound of the footsteps died away, and then succeeded a quick
opening and shutting of doors, the tread of hasty feet, a
confusion of many voices speaking at once, a sudden clamour
and stir breaking in on the stillness, and then suddenly
subdued and hushed, as if to suit the prevailing quiet of the
sleeping house.

"Something must have happened," thought Graham. "That poor
child!--perhaps her father has, after all, met with some
accident!" He left his room and ran quickly downstairs. The
confused murmur of voices grew louder as he approached the
hall, and on turning the last angle of the staircase, he at
once perceived the cause of the disturbance.

A little group was collected in the middle of the hall, the
night porter, one or two of the servants of the hotel, and
some men in blouses, all gathered round a tall prostrate man,
half lying on a bench placed under the centre lamp, half
supported by two men, who had apparently just carried him in.
He was quite insensible, his head had fallen forward on his
breast, and was bound with a handkerchief that had been tied
round to staunch the blood from a wound in his forehead; his
neckcloth was unfastened and his coat thrown back to give him
more air. The little crowd was increasing every moment, as the