Long hours after the woman left the room, Ida May sat by the window looking out into the darkness, and trying to fathom what seemed to her the greatest kind of a mystery.

Why should Frank Garrick take interest enough in[100] her to have her brought here and to pay money for having her retained here? What interest could he have in her?

He had vowed a terrible vengeance upon her when she repulsed his offer of love. But why should his vengeance have taken this form? What benefit could it be to him to shut her in from the world?

As Ida sat there in the waning light, her eyes fell upon a piece of newspaper in the open fire-place.

"I will wrap up my few belongings in that," she muttered, "and then set about making my way out of this place."

As she smoothed out the half sheet, a few lines midway down one of the columns held her spell-bound as they caught her eye.

For a moment she stared at the words. They seemed to fairly turn the heart in her bosom to stone, for they read as follows:

    "The engagement is announced of Miss Florence St. John, of No. —, Fifth Avenue, daughter of Mrs. J. St. John, to Mr. Royal Ainsley, of New York. The wedding will take place at Peekskill, on the Hudson, a month from date."

As she read it, the room seemed to whirl around her. With a cry so piteous that it seemed it must reach God's ear, the poor girl sunk on her knees.

Her husband about to marry another!

No matter what the world might say, she had married him in good faith. He was hers; he belonged to her before Heaven and all the world.

She wrung her hands wildly.

"The marriage must not take place! I must save the man I love from himself and the anger of the watching angels!" she cried.

She prayed wildly that she might not be too late.

Her hat and cloak were hanging on a peg near the door. She took them down, and her hands trembled so that she could hardly put them on. Her knees trembled, and she felt faint. But she summoned all her[101] strength, and reached the door and turned the knob. But it was locked on the outside.

Her weak hands were powerless to force the door. She crept back to the window and threw open the sash. All that she could behold was a dense mass of trees.

A sturdy oak grew close to the window, its great branches spread out invitingly before her. It was a desperate chance to take in order to reach the ground, which was fully thirty feet below.

Would her strength give way? Dare she take the terrible risk?

"I must! I must!" she cried. "Heaven will protect me!"

Without stopping to debate the matter further, lest she should lose courage, the poor girl climbed with difficulty out on the broad sill and grasped one of the boughs.

Would it bear her weight?

The great bough creaked with its unaccustomed weight, slight as it was, then shot downward.

In the old days at home Ida May had been accustomed to climb trees and to swing about in their branches. She realized that when the bough bent its entire length earthward she must let go her hold, or it would carry her quickly up again. She let go her hold when she felt that the bough of the tree had bent to its utmost. Quickly she fell downward, and Ida May, stunned and ............