They had borne it already for days, the heart-stirring moans, the faint, despairing cries of the prisoner, and she could bear it no longer.

She had a tender little heart, and from the first it had been moved by the appearance of the pitiful old man, leaning so heavily upon her father's arm, as they had come up the garden walk together.

She made up her mind to satisfy herself at least that his isolation was of his own choice.

So she went boldly up the stairs and thrust the key into the lock.

A moment's hesitation, then she threw it open.
Her first impulse, when she had looked into the face of the man who stumbled up in fear at her entrance, was to then and there abandon her enterprise--for Monty just then was not a pleasant sight to look upon.
The room was foul with the odour of spirits and tobacco smoke.