t by a window of her bedroom, her hat still on
her head, looking down. The street lamps were lit. It grew darker and
darker. Down there below feet passed and repassed in multitudes, like
drops of the eternal cataract of life.

Winifred's eyes rested often on the spot where Rex Carshaw had spoken to
her and had knocked down Fowle, her tormentor. In hours of trouble, when
the mind is stunned, it will often go off into musings on trivial
things. So this young girl, sitting at the window of the dark and empty
house, let her thoughts wander to her rescuer. He was well built, and
poised like an athlete. He had a quick step, a quick way of talking, was
used to command; his brow was square, and could threaten; he had the
deepest blue eyes, and glossy brown hair; he was a tower of strength to
protect a girl; and his wife, if he had one, must have a feeling of
safety. Thoughts, or half-thoughts, like these passed through her mind.
She had never before met any young man of Carshaw's type.

It became ten o'clock. She was tired after the day's work and trouble of
mind. The blow of her dismissal, the fright of her interview with the
police, the arrest of her aunt--all this sudden influx of mystery and
care formed a burden from which there was no escape for exhausted nature
but in sleep. Her eyes grew weary at last, and, getting up, she
discarded her hat and some of her clothes; then threw herself on the
bed, still half-dressed, and was soon asleep.

The hours of darkness rolled on. That tramp of feet in the street grew
thin and scattered, as if the army of life had undergone a repulse. Then
there was a rally, when the theaters and picture-houses poured out their
crowds; but it was short, the powers of night were in the ascendant, and
soon the last stragglers retreated under cover. Of all this Winifred
heard nothing--she slept soundly.

But was it in a dream, that voice which she heard? Something somewhere
seemed to whisper, "She must be taken out of New York--she is the image
of her mother."

It was a hushed, grim voice.

The room, the whole house, had been in darkness when she had thrown
herself on the bed. But, somewhere, had she not been conscious of a
light at some moment? Had she dreamed this, or had she seen it? She sat
up in bed, staring and startled. The room was in darkness. In her ears
were the words: "She is the image of her mother."

She had heard them in some world, she did not know in which. She
listened with th