The girl was young, and her face, in spite of an unnatural pallor
and an expression of deep melancholy, was one of extreme beauty.
She wore over a night-dress a long loose wrapper corded at the
waist, and, as though in readiness for the night, her black hair
had been drawn back into smooth, heavy braids. She made so sweet
and sad a picture that Ford forgot his errand, forgot his damp and
chilled body, arid for a moment in sheer delight knelt, with his
face pressed close to the bars, and gazed at her.

A movement on the part of the girl brought him to his senses. She
closed the book, and, leaning forward, rested her chin upon the
hollow of her hand and stared into the fire. Her look was one of
complete and hopeless misery. Ford did not hesitate. The girl was
alone, but that at any moment an attendant might join her was
probable, and the rare chance that now offered would be lost. He
did not dare to speak, or by any sound attract her attention, but
from his breast- pocket he took the glove thrown to him from the
window, and, with a jerk, tossed it through the narrow opening. It
fell directly at her feet. She had not seen the glove approach, but
the slight sound it made in falling caused her to start and turn
her eyes toward it. Through the window, breathless, and with every
nerve drawn taut, Ford watched her.

For a moment, partly in alarm, partly in bewilderment, she sat
motionless, regarding the glove with eyes fixed and staring. Then
she lifted them to the ceiling, in quick succession to each of the
closed doors, and then to the window. In his race across the roofs
Ford had lacked the protection of a hat, and his hair was plastered
across his forehead; his face was streaked with soot and snow, his