down the steps dressed in as deep mourning as Hilda herself.
She was old, she was slender, her veil was thrown back, and the white
face was plainly visible to Hilda as she passed. Hilda stood rooted
to the spot, though the other woman did not notice her emotion, nor
could she have seen her face through the veil. She stood paralyzed,
and looking after the retreating figure as it moved away.

"The dead and the lost," she murmured, as she stood there with
clasped hands--"the dead and the lost all come to me! Mrs. Hart!
About her face there can be no mistake. What is she doing here--in
the same town with Lord Chetwynde? Am I ruined yet or not? I'm afraid
I have not much time left me to run my course."

In deep despondency she retraced her steps, and went back to her
room.

CHAPTER LXX.

NEW PROJECTS.

The unexpected appearance of Mrs. Hart was in many respects, and for
many reasons, an awful shock to Hilda. It was a new danger, less
terrible than that which had arisen from the phantom which had twice
appeared, yet perhaps in reality more perilous. It filled her with
apprehensions of the worst. All that night she lay awake thinking
over it. How had Mrs. Hart come to Florence, and why, and what was
she doing here? Such were her thoughts. Was she also in connection
with Lord Chetwynde and with this Obed Chute? It seemed probable. If
so, then it seemed equally probable that there was some design on
foot against her. At first the thought of this inspired in her a
great fear, and a desire to fly from the impending danger. For a
moment she almost decided to give up her present purpose forever,
collect as much money as she could, and fly to some distant place,
where she might get rid of all her danger and forget all her
troubles. But this thought was only momentary, for higher than her
desire for comfort or peace of mind rose her thirst for vengeance. It
would not satisfy her that she alone should suffer. Lord Chetwynde
also should have his own share, and she would begin by unmasking him
and revealing his intrigue to her supposed husband.

On the following day Gualtier called, and in a few words she told him
what had taken place.

"Are you really confident that it was Mrs. Hart?" he asked, with some
anxiety.

"As confident as I am of my own existence. Indeed, no mistake was
possible."

Gualtier looked deeply troubled.

"It looks bad," said he; "but, after all, there are ways of
accounting for it. She may h