to the lane. As if it was the best of jests, he laughed
aloud, and picking up a stone, sent it hurtling after the cur. Then he
was suddenly afraid. The loneliness of the spot--the horrors lurking
in the dark--the dog's howl and his own meaningless laughter. He felt
a fear of night--of himself. He hurried on, but it was not until he
reached a lighted street of shops that his courage returned, and with
the courage his fever of desire, greater than before.

An extra burst of rain warned him to seek shelter, and hurrying down
the street, he paused under the canopy of a shabby theatre. There was
one other person there--a woman. She came over to speak to him; but
when she saw the mad gleam of his eyes she drew back, and, with a
frightened exclamation, pressed her hand against her breast.

He made an ironic bow, then, with a smile, looked up at her, and she
heard him utter an ejaculation of amazement.

For a moment he had fancied that it might be true. The likeness was
uncanny! The burnished-copper hair, the silk-fringed eyes, the poise
of her head, the tapering fingers--even in the scarlet of her rouged
cheeks, there was a similarity to the high colouring of the English
girl. What a jest of the Fates--that they should cast this poor
creature of New York's streets in the same mould with her who was the
very spirit of chastity!

'What a mockery!' he muttered aloud. 'What a hideous mockery!'

He was touched with sudden pity. Perhaps this woman had been born with
the same spirit of rebellion as Elise. Perhaps her poor mind had never
been developed, and so she had succumbed to the current of
circumstance. She might have been the plaything of environment. The
wound in his head was hurting again, and he covered the scar with his
moist hand. Horrible as it seemed, this creature had brought Elise to
him once more--Elise, and everything she meant. He wanted to cry out
her name. His hands were stretched forward as if they could bridge the
sea between them.

Like a man emerging from a trance, he looked dreamily about him--at the
street running with streams of water--at the silent theatre--at the
woman. A weakness came over him, and his pulses were fluttering and
unsteady.

A peddler of umbrellas passed, and Selwyn purchased one for a dollar.

'Won't you take this?' he asked, stepping over to the woman, who
cringed nervously. 'It is raining hard, and you will need it.'

She took the thing, and looked up at hi