mile that affected me most disagreeably--perhaps any kind of smile
would have done so--and led her silently out of the room.

There was an inquest--and the customary verdict: the deceased, it
appeared, came to her death through "heart disease." It was before the
invention of heart _failure_, though the heart of poor Pauline had
indubitably failed. The body was embalmed and taken to San Francisco by
some one summoned thence for the purpose, neither Eva nor Benning
accompanying it. Some of the hotel gossips ventured to think that very
strange, and a few hardy spirits went so far as to think it very strange
indeed; but the good landlady generously threw herself into the breach,
saying it was owing to the precarious nature of the girl's health. It is
not of record that either of the two persons most affected and
apparently least concerned made any explanation.

One evening about a week after the death I went out upon the veranda of
the hotel to get a book that I had left there. Under some vines shutting
out the moonlight from a part of the space I saw Richard Benning, for
whose apparition I was prepared by having previously heard the low,
sweet voice of Eva Maynard, whom also I now discerned, standing before
him with one hand raised to his shoulder and her eyes, as nearly as I
could judge, gazing upward into his. He held her disengaged hand and his
head was bent with a singular dignity and grace. Their attitude was that
of lovers, and as I stood in deep shadow to observe I felt even guiltier
than on that memorable night in the wood. I was about to retire, when
the girl spoke, and the contrast between her words and her attitude was
so surprising that I remained, because I had merely forgotten to go
away.

"You will take my life," she said, "as you did Pauline's. I know your
intention as well as I know your power, and I ask nothing, only that you
finish your work without needless delay and let me be at peace."

He made no reply--merely let go the hand that he was holding, removed
the other from his shoulder, and turning away descended the steps
leading to the garden and disappeared in the shrubbery. But a moment
later I heard, seemingly from a great distance, his fine clear voice in
a barbaric chant, which as I listened brought before some inner
spiritual sense a consciousness of some far, strange land peopled with
beings having forbidden powers. The song held me in a kind of spell, but
when it had died away I recovered an