all had been too real. She had answered to it too many times to be
mistaken now. In those days of utter silence, when dumb signs only had
passed between her and her father, Roland's pleasant voice had sounded
too gladly in her ears ever to be forgotten or confounded with another.
But how could she hear it now? The voice of the dead! how could it reach
her? A strange pang of mingled joy and terror paralyzed her. She sat
motionless and bewildered, with a thrill of passionate expectation
quivering through her. Let Roland speak again; she could not answer his
first call!

"Phebe!" She heard the cry again; but this time the voice was low, and
lamentable, and despairing. For in the few seconds he had been standing,
arrested on the threshold, the whole past had flitted through his brain
in dismal procession. She lifted herself up slowly and mechanically from
her low seat, and turned her face reluctantly towards the spot from
which the startling call had come. In the dusky, red light stood the
form of the one friend to whom she had been faithful with the utter
faithfulness of her nature. Whence he came she knew not--she was afraid
of knowing. But he was there, himself, and not another like him. There
was a change, she could see that dimly; but not such a change as could
disguise him from her. Of late, whilst she had been painting his
portrait from memory, every recollection of him had been revived with
keener vividness. Yet the terror of beholding him again on this side of
death struck her dumb. She stretched out her hands towards him, but she
could not speak.

"I must speak to Phebe Marlowe alone," said Jean Merle to Canon Pascal,
and speaking in a tone of irresistible earnestness. "I have that to say
to her which no one else can hear. She is God's messenger to me."

"Shall I leave you with this stranger, Phebe?" asked Canon Pascal.

She made a gesture simply; her lips were too parched to open.

"My dear girl, I will stay, if you please," he said again.

"No," she breathed, in a voice scarcely audible.

"There is a bell close at your hand," he went on, "and I shall be within
hearing of it. I will come myself if you ring it however faintly. You
know this man?"

"Yes," she answered.

She saw him look across at her with an encouraging smile; and then the
door was shut, and she was alone with her mysterious visitor.

CHAPTER XVII.

NO PLACE FOR REPENTANCE.

They stood silent for a few moments;--moments which