the torment of first child-birth, fan themselves. Wu was fanning himself in triumph. And he spoke to her quickly, his voice ringing with triumph. "There are several ways into this room, Mrs. Gregory, but only one way out." The fan shut with an ominous click—a rattle of ivory, a hiss and a rustle of silk. "It lies by that door"—he pointed it with his fan—"which leads to my own inner chamber."
The woman smothered a scream, but she could not smother a groan.
Wu laughed. He took a step towards her. "Have you no desire to hear my news of your son?" he asked softly. "Good news? I promised that you should—I am here to keep my promise." The terrible significance of his words could not have been clearer, but he emphasized it hideously by gliding still a little nearer to the stricken, appalled woman.
"Oh! don't torture me," she implored, moving away.
"He is well—comparatively. His hands have received a trifling injury—quite trifling. But he is quite well"—nearing the woman again—"and he is here."
"Here?" she sobbed, "here?"
"Almost within sound of your voice"—still nearer.
"O my God! where?" she cried, looking about her frantically. The third door caught her attention, and she ran to it weakly and beat against it, crying, "Basil! Basil!"
"Do not be so impetuous, dear lady," Wu said with insolent gentleness; "I did not say he was there. And it is not good that he should hear your voice, for the sound would only distress him."
She looked at Wu questioningly, and he gave her the cruel explanation. "You see, he is not at liberty to come until the right signal is given. It lies with you
