He knocked at the door, and she herself opened it and led him into the parlor. She was pale as death, her eyes distended with misery, every feature quivering, every nerve trembling with fright and violent emotion. She began madly walking up and down the little room wringing her hands, shivering, gasping for breath.
"In heaven's name, what has happened?"
"Oh! I cannot tell you! I cannot tell you! It is too fearful! Oh, Mr. Ray! Mr. Ray!"
"But you must tell me, Mrs. Truscott. Try and control yourself. Is anything wrong with Jack?"
"Oh, no—no!"
"Good God! Has there been an accident? Has anything happened to Miss Sanford?"
"No—no—no! It's only me!" she answered, hysterically inaccurate in her wild wretchedness. "I'll tell you.—It is that awful man, Mr. Gleason. He has been here and——"
Ray's face set like stone. The words came through clinched teeth now. He seized her hand—released it as suddenly.
"Tell me instantly. There's no time to lose. He goes at three."
And then at last, half sobbing, half raging with indignation, she managed to tell her story.