broad-brimmed hat,
came out.

Agnes's heart gave a bound in her bosom. Yes; this was what she had
somehow thought would happen. In the half-light she took the old man to
be an eccentric acquaintance of her father's.

"Mr. Willis?" she whispered hoarsely.

He looked at her, surprised, resentful.

"My name's not Willis," he said gruffly, as he passed her on his way
down, and her heart became stilled. How could she have been so foolish
as to take that disagreeable old man for kindly-natured Mr. Willis?

She was now very near the top. Only a storey and a half more, and she
would be there. Her steps were flagging, but a strange kind of peace had
fallen on her. In a few moments she would be safe, for ever, in
Ferrier's arms. How strange and unreal the notion seemed!

And then--and then, as if fashioned by some potent incantation from the
vaporous fog outside, a tall, grey figure rose out of nothingness, and
stood, barring the way, on the steel floor of the landing above her.

Agnes clutched the iron railing, too oppressed rather than too
frightened to speak. Out in the fog-laden street she had involuntarily
called out the other's name. "Teresa?" she had cried, "Teresa!" But this
time no word broke from her lips, for she feared that if she spoke the
other would answer.

Teresa Maldo's love, the sisterly love of which Agnes had been so little
worthy, had broken down the gateless barrier which stretches its dense
length between the living and the dead. What she, the living woman, had
not known how to do for Teresa, the dead woman had come back to do for
her--for now Agnes seemed suddenly able to measure the depth of the gulf
into which she had been about to throw herself....

She stared with fearful, fascinated eyes at the immobile figure swathed
in grey, cere-like garments, and her gaze travelled stealthfully up to
the white, passionless face, drained of all expression save that of
watchful concern and understanding tenderness....

With a swift movement Agnes turned round. Clinging to the iron rail, she
stumbled down the stairway to the deserted hall, and with swift
terror-hastened steps rushed out into the street.

Through the fog she plunged, not even sparing a moment to look back and
up to the dimly lighted window behind which poor Ferrier stood,--as a
softer, a truer-natured woman might have done. Violently she put all
thought of her lover from her, and as she hurried along with tightening
breath, the instinct