a new stone they were lifting.

'Why does he stand like that?' the young lady thought at length--up
to that moment as listless and careless as one of the ancient
Tarentines, who, on such an afternoon as this, watched from the
Theatre the entry into their Harbour of a power that overturned the
State.

She moved herself uneasily. 'I wish he would come down,' she
whispered, still gazing at the skybacked picture. 'It is so
dangerous to be absent-minded up there.'

When she had done murmuring the words her father indecisively laid
hold of one of the scaffold-poles, as if to test its strength, then
let it go and stepped back. In stepping, his foot slipped. An
instant of doubling forward and sideways, and he reeled off into the
air, immediately disappearing downwards.

His agonized daughter rose to her feet by a convulsive movement.
Her lips parted, and she gasped for breath. She could utter no
sound. One by one the people about her, unconscious of what had
happened, turned their heads, and inquiry and alarm became visible
upon their faces at the sight of the poor child. A moment longer,
and she fell to the floor.

The next impression of which Cytherea had any consciousness was of
being carried from a strange vehicle across the pavement to the
steps of her own house by her brother and an older man. Recollection
of what had passed evolved itself an instant later, and just as they
entered the door--through which another and sadder burden had been