three afternoons a week,
and followed her at a short distance behind. For two months past,
evening after evening, that figure had been there, making her heart
palpitate as she thought of what a weak, helpless little creature she
was, and how unprotected in this busy world.

It was hard work to keep steadily on without looking round, without
starting off at a run. Her breast seemed filled with that wild scream
which she longed to utter, but dared not, telling herself that to seem
afraid or to notice the figure was to invite assault.

"Oh, if Mark would only get well," she thought, "or if Rich could come
and meet me!"

Then she called herself a coward, and stepped daintily on along the
muddy street, wondering whether it would be possible to go by some other
way, and so avoid this shadow which dogged her steps.

There was one way to get over it--to mention if to Rich, and ask her to
bid Hendon wait for her and see her home. But that, she said, she would
sooner die than do; so she had tried four different ways of reaching
home, and always with the figure following her to the door of the house
where she lodged, and where Mark sat waiting for her to come.

It was always the same: the muffled-up figure followed her closely, and
kept on the same side of the way till he reached her door, when it
crossed over, and waited till she went in, breathless and trembling.

Over and over again the little frightened girl tried to devise some
plan, but all in vain; till this night of the foggy winter she was
crossing the street, rejoicing that he was so near home, when there was
a shout, a horse's hot breath was upon her cheek, and she was sent
staggering sideways, and would have fallen had not the muffled-up figure
been at hand, caught her in his arms, and borne her to the pavement,
while the cab disappeared in the yellow mist.

"My own darling! Are you hurt?" he cried passionately.

"Hendon! You!" she panted.

"Yes, I," he said. "You are hurt!"

"No, no," she cried; "only frightened. The horse struck my shoulder.
But--but was it you who followed every night all the way home?"

"Yes," he said, coldly now, "you knew it was."

"I did not," she retorted angrily; and then in half hysterical terms,
"how dare you go on frightening me night after night like this? It has
been horrible. You have made me ill."

"Made you ill?" he said. "How could I let you go about all alone these
dark evenings? I was forbidden to talk to