last she had herself let in, stood pitilessly revealed, a loathsome thing, hateful as
malevolence itself.
"What," shouted Lockwood, "you think--think that I--that I could--oh-h, it's monstrous--
you----" He could find no words to voice his loathing. Swiftly he turned away from her,
the last spark of an evil love dying down forever in his breast.
It was a transformation, a thing as sudden as a miracle, as conclusive as a miracle, and
with all a miracle's sense of uplift and power. In a second of time the scales seemed to
fall from the man's eyes, fetters from his limbs; he saw, and he was free.
At the door Lockwood met the doctor:
"He's all right; only a superficial wound. He'll recover. But you--how about you? All
right? Well, that is a good hearing. You've had a lucky escape, my boy."
"I have had a lucky escape," shouted Lockwood. "You don't know just how lucky it was."
