t the Chancel door;
there is a shuffling noise of the departing worshipers and I am alone.

Far away, before the golden Altar hangs a taper which throws a red glow
into all the darkness, it is the Sacred Heart of Jesus, ever burning
amid the gloom of sin. As my eyes become accustomed to the dim light, I
can discern a female figure robed in gray, standing before the shrine of
the Virgin, I cannot see the face though I often try, but whenever she
becomes aware of my presence, she leaves the cathedral by the little
door to the right which opens into the small court. This occurs every
night, and though I have often tried to meet her by going out by the
other door and around the front, I have as yet, not succeeded.

But enough of that now; today as I returned from my walk, I saw as I was
crossing the bridge one of the first Californian women I have seen for
a long time; I know that she was Californian or Mexican for there was
more life in the eye than we see in the quiet, expressionless beauties
of the rest of the world. I do not know why I must ever have this face
in my mind since I met the fair one on the bridge; she looked at me
directly in the eyes, and I feel sure that I have met her sometime
before. I know the face; there is a strange drooping about the eyelids,
which to me adds a charm to the whole appearance. I do wish I could
think where in the world I have seen her. I am going to search the hotel
books to-morrow for I will not rest until I find out her name. It was
almost dark, however, when we met, and she was going toward the opposite
side of the Maine where there are no foreign hotels.

I surmise, and suppose, and guess, but all to no purpose, while that one
look seems to be planted indelibly upon my mind. I would give anything
to see her again; I can think of nothing now, for the strange,
inexpressible fascination of those eyelids has me entirely captive.
Where have we met? Try and think, my dear boy, of some one of our
acquaintance who tallies with my description; about my height, black
hair, a white, unusually white face, finely marked eyebrows and the
drooping lids, which when raised, disclose large, brilliant, yet
languid, blue eyes,--I cannot give the picture to suit me, but you note
the strange paleness and the eyes, and you must remember if you have
ever met her.

I often go to the little opera house, where the music is of the best,
yet I cannot enjoy myself, for, as ever I am alone; all I can do is j