He felt himself immeshed in a world of cobwebs, of weakness more potent than all his boasted strength.
Then he suddenly felt that the madness which he had begun to fear had really come.

It was the thing for which he longed yet dreaded most--the faint click, the soft withdrawal of the panel, actually pushed back by a pair of white hands.

Rosamund herself was there.

Her eyes shone at him, mystically, wonderfully.

Her lips were parted in a delightful smile, a smile in which there was a spice of girlish mischief.