He felt strong as a lion, strong enough to lift that prostrate figure and to carry it through the winding passages into the midst of those above stairs, and to beg them in mercy to tell him how the man looked.

What would _she_ say?
He wondered what Olivia would say.

Dinner would be over and they would be in the drawing-room--Olivia and Amory and Antoinette Frothingham; already the white room and the lights and Antoinette's laughter seemed to him of another world, a world from which he had irrevocably passed.

Yet there they were above, the same roof covering them, and they did not know that down here in this place of the dead he, St.George, was beyond all question going mad.
With a cry he pulled off Amory's coat, flung it over the unconscious man, and rushed out into the blackness of the corridor.

He would not take the light--the man must not die alone there in the dark--and besides he had heard that the mad could see as well in the dark as in the light.