Then she moved slowly towards the fireplace and seated herself by the side of it, bent forwards towards its glow, her elbows upon her knees, her hands propping her chin.

Drake gave a sigh of relief, and Clarice glanced at him in surprise, and turned again to the fire.

'Tell me your story,' she said, and left his question unanswered.
Drake began; but now that his wish was accomplished, of a sudden all the reality seemed to fade out of the tragic events he was to recount.

His consciousness became in some queer way centred upon the girl who was listening, to the exclusion of the subject she was listening to.

He was intensely conscious of her face, of its changing expressions, of the ebb and flow of the blood from time to time flushing her cheeks and temples, and of the vivid play of lights and shadows upon them as the flames danced and sank on the hearth.