he gait of a weary man. That
slight occasional noise she had heard in the day, and attributed to
squirrels, it might have been his cough after all.

Thus conviction took root in her perturbed mind that Winterborne was
ill, or had been so, and that he had carefully concealed his condition
from her that she might have no scruples about accepting a hospitality
which by the nature of the case expelled her entertainer.

"My own, own, true l----, my dear kind friend!" she cried to herself.
"Oh, it shall not be--it shall not be!"

She hastily wrapped herself up, and obtained a light, with which she
entered the adjoining room, the cot possessing only one floor. Setting
down the candle on the table here, she went to the door with the key in
her hand, and placed it in the lock. Before turning it she paused, her
fingers still clutching it; and pressing her other hand to her
forehead, she fell into agitating thought.

A tattoo on the window, caused by the tree-droppings blowing against
it, brought her indecision to a close. She turned the key and opened
the door.

The darkness was intense, seeming to touch her pupils like a substance.
She only now became aware how heavy the rainfall had been and was; the
dripping of the eaves splashed like a fountain. She stood listening
with parted lips, and holding the door in one hand, till her eyes,
growing accustomed to the obscurity, discerned the wild brandishing of
their boughs by the adjoining trees. At last she cried loudly with an
effort, "Giles! you may come in!"

There was no immediate answer to her cry, and overpowered by her own
temerity, Grace retreated quickly, shut the door, and stood looking on
the floor. But it was not for long. She again lifted the latch, and
with far more determination than at first.

"Giles, Giles!" she cried, with the full strength of her voice, and
without any of the shamefacedness that had characterized her first cry.
"Oh, come in--come in! Where are you? I have been wicked. I have
thought too much of myself! Do you hear? I don't want to keep you out
any longer. I cannot bear that you should suffer so. Gi-i-iles!"

A reply! It was a reply! Through the darkness and wind a voice reached
her, floating upon the weather as though a part of it.

"Here I am--all right. Don't trouble about me."

"Don't you want to come in? Are you not ill? I don't mind what they
say, or what they think any more."

"I am all right," he repeated. "It is n