corridor.

She knew Hubert's custom of going to the library long after the rest of
the family had retired for the night. She would make her way there, and
confront him. As she reached the door she heard voices within. She
recognized them at once as Hubert's and his mother's.

She crouched behind the heavy velvet _portieres_ of the arched door-way,
until his mother should leave.

"Good-night again, Hubert," the mother said.

"Good-night mother," he answered.

He flung himself down in the soft-cushioned arm-chair beside the glowing
grate, drew a cigar from his pocket and lighted it, dreamily watching
the curling rings. Suddenly he became aware that there was another
presence within the room beside his own.

His eyes became riveted upon a dark object near the door-way. It
occurred to him how strangely like a woman the dark shadow looked.

And as he gazed, lo! it moved, and to his utmost amazement, advanced
slowly toward him. For an instant all his powers seemed to leave him.

"Gerelda, by all that's merciful," he cried.

"Yes, it is I, Gerelda!" she cried, hoarsely, confronting him. "I have
come back from the grave to claim you!"

She did not heed his wild cry of horror, but went on, mockingly: "You do
not seem pleased to see me, judging from your manner."

For an instant the world seemed closing around Hubert Varrick.

She cried, "I repeat that I am here to claim you!" flinging herself in
an arm-chair opposite him.

"Now that your wife is with you once again, you are saved the
trouble--just, in time, too--of wedding a new one;" adding: "You are not
giving me the welcome which I expected in my husband's home. Turn on
the lights and ring for every one to come hither!" she said. "If you
refuse to ring the bell, I shall."

Hubert Varrick cried out that he could not bear it; he pleaded with her
to leave the house with him; that since Heaven had brought her back to
him, he would make the best of it; all that he would ask would be that
she should come quietly away with him.

This did not suit Gerelda at all; she had set her heart upon abusing
Jessie Bain, and she would brook no refusal. She sprang hastily for the
bell-rope. Divining her object, he caught her arm.

If he had not been so intensely excited he would have realized, even in
that dim light, that there was something horribly wrong about her; that
once more reason, which had been until so lately clouded, wavered in the
balance.

"Unhand me, or I sha