The movement released Celia from her spell; a pang of pity smote her at the sight of the white, drawn face, the hopeless despair in the young fellow's eyes; her womanly compassion, that maternal instinct which the youngest of girl-children possesses, gave her courage.

She leant forward, loosened the stiff, cold fingers and took the revolver from them.

He submitted, as if he were still only half-conscious of her presence, and her action; and he glanced at his empty hand, at the revolver in hers, and then at her face.

Guided once more by impulse, Celia closed the door, then went back and seated herself in a chair on the other side of the table; and so, face to face, they regarded each other in silence.
The man broke it.
"How--how did you know ?" he asked.

He spoke almost in a whisper, as a man speaks who is recovering from an anaesthetic.
"I heard you--groan," said Celia, also almost in a whisper.
"You did ?" he said, more clearly, and with disgust.