An old man looked out of a den by the door, and told her to go straight up the stairs to the third floor, and then turn to the right.  The old man chuckled as he glanced after her, and listened to the wooden shoes pattering wearily up the broad stone steps.

Bebee climbed them—­ten, twenty, thirty, forty.  “He must be very poor!” she thought, “to live so high”; and yet the place was wide and handsome, and had a look of riches.  Her heart beat so fast, she felt suffocated; her limbs shook, her eyes had a red blood-like mist floating before them; but she thanked God each step she climbed; a moment, and she would look upon the only face she loved.

“He will be glad; oh, I am sure he will be glad!” she said to herself, as a fear that had never before come near her touched her for a moment—­if he should not care?

But even then, what did it matter?  Since he was ill she should be there to watch him night and day; and when he was well again, if he should wish her to go away—­one could always die.

“But he will be glad—­oh, I know he will be glad!” she said to the rosebuds that she carried to him.  “And if God will only let me save his life, what else do I want more?”

His name was written on a door before her.  The handle of a bell hung down; she pulled it timidly.  The door unclosed; she saw no one, and went through.  There were low lights burning.  There were heavy scents that were strange to her.  There was a fantastic gloom from old armor, and old weapons, and old pictures in the dull rich chambers.  The sound of her wooden shoes was lost in the softness and thickness of the carpets.

It was not the home of a poor man.  A great terror froze her heart,—­if she were not wanted here?

She went quickly through three rooms, seeing no one and at the end of the third there were folding doors.

“It is I—­Bebee.” she said softly, as she pushed them gently apart; and she held out the two moss-rosebuds.

Then the words died on her lips, and a great horror froze her, still and silent, there.

She saw the dusky room as in a dream.  She saw him stretched on the bed, leaning on his elbow, laughing, and playing cards upon the lace coverlet.  She saw women with loose shining hair and bare limbs, and rubies and diamonds glimmering red and white.  She saw men lying about upon the couch, throwing dice and drinking and laughing one with another.

Beyond all she saw against the pillows of his bed a beautiful brown wicked looking thing like some velvet snake, who leaned over him as he threw down the painted cards upon the lace, and who had cast about his throat her curved bare arm with the great coils of dead gold all a-glitter on it.

And above it all there were odors of wines and flowers, clouds of smoke, shouts of laughter, music of shrill gay voices.

She stood like a frozen creature and saw—­the rosebuds’ in her hand.  Then with a great piercing cry she let the little roses fall, and turned and fled.  At the sound he looked up and saw her, and shook his beautiful brown harlot off him with an oath.