Celia heard it turn in the lock, and the door bang.
Wethermill had gone upstairs.
Celia leaned back, her heart fainting within her.

Arrange! It was her turn now.

She was to be "arranged." She had no doubt what sinister meaning that innocent word concealed.

The dry, choking sound, the horrid scuffling of feet upon the floor, were in her ears.

And it had taken so long--so terribly long! She heard the door open again and shut again.