previously blocked it, bowed her slight body and proceeded to
withdraw; but the judge, staying her by a gesture, she waited
patiently near one of the book-racks against which she had
stumbled, to hear what he had to say.

"I must have had an attack of some kind," he calmly remarked.
"Will you be good enough to explain exactly what occurred here
that I may more fully comprehend my own misfortune and the death
of this faithful friend?"

Then she saw that his faculties were now fully restored, and came
a step forward. But before she could begin her story, he added
this searching question:

"Was it he who let you in--you and others--I think you said
others? Was it he who unlocked my gates?"

Miss Weeks sighed and betrayed fluster. It was not easy to relate
her story; besides it was wofully incomplete. She knew nothing of
what had happened down town, she could only tell what had passed
before her eyes. But there was one thing she could make clear, to
him, and that was how the seemingly impassable gates had been made
ready for the woman's entrance and afterwards taken such advantage
of by herself and others. A pebble had done it all,--a pebble
placed in the gateway by Bela's hands.

As she described this, and insisted upon the fact in face of the
judge's almost frenzied disclaimer, she thought she saw the hair
move on his forehead. Bela a traitor, and in the interests of the
woman who had fronted him from the other end of the room at the