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heard her moving around on the inside. A few minutes later he could barely make out a suppressed sobbing.

As Abner listened, his heart went down and down in the most melancholy fashion. He felt as if he had committed a crime.

He went into his room and was too depressed even to strike a light; but got off his shoes and trousers and coat in the darkness and tumbled sickly into his unmade bed. A great weight lay on his diaphragm. Certainly the congregation was right—the devil was at large on this ill-starred night.

He lifted his head from his pillow and listened intently for a long time, but was not certain whether he could hear Nessie still sobbing or not. It seemed to him all possible joy had gone out of life.

The woes of eighteen are absolute; untempered by philosophy, unsoftened by comparison. They are the worst that can ever befall any human being.

Abner did not know how long he lay in the darkness with his head full of dismal fancies, but presently he became aware of a rumour of distant voices. How long he had heard it he did not know, but when he noticed it, he knew it had been going on for perhaps a minute. It had arisen by the faintest crescendo out of complete silence.

But now that he had heard it, it held a certain overtone that brought him up instantly, sitting on this side of his bed, holding his breath and listening. Presently the confusion resolved into voices and a clatter of hoofs. Somewhere down the street he heard a window raised and somebody called, "What's the matter?" He heard a reply, but could not catch the words. The sounds of hoofs grew louder, the voices came closer. Someone directed, "Go for a doctor!"

Abner jumped up from his bed, ran to his window, lifted the sash and looked out, letting the sash rest on his back.

Immediately the hoofbeats drew up at the hotel; out of the confusion a voice called desperately,