She followed him up the dark, rickety stairway, carrying the lamp, for it was after dark, and presently unlocked the door of the girl's prison.
"What is that?" he cried in horror.
Precious lay face downward on the floor, seemingly lifeless.
"I told you so. She's dead! You've killed her!" the woman muttered.
With a groan he flung himself on his knees and lifted the silent form. The white face with its closed eyes fell inertly across his arm. He bent his ear to her heart.
"No, no, she is not dead. Her heart beats faintly. Quick! some wine in a spoon. Here, put it between her lips. Let it trickle down her throat," and with wild anxiety he held the still, white face up to the light.
Meantime there were suspense and horror unutterable in the senator's splendid mansion.
Since that bold and daring letter that had told them Precious was in the power of a lover whose passion amounted to insanity, no further clew had been found.