w opening into the old part.

"No, but I shall recognise the room."

"Wait!" It was Hammersmith who called her back as she was starting
forward. "I should like you to repeat just how much furniture this room
contained and where it stood."

She stopped, startled, and then said:

"It was awfully bare; a bed was on the left----"

"On the left?"

"She said the left," quoth the landlord, "though I don't see that it
matters; it's all fancy with her."

"Go on," kindly urged Hammersmith.

"There was a window. I saw the dismal panes and my mother standing
between them and me. I can't describe the little things."

"Possibly because there were none to describe," whispered Hammersmith in
his superior's ear.

Meanwhile the landlord and his wife awaited their advance with studied
patience. As Miss Demarest joined him, he handed her a bunch of keys,
with the remark:

"None of these rooms are occupied to-day, so you can open them without
hesitation."

She stared at him and ran quickly forward. Mr. Hammersmith followed
speedily after. Suddenly both paused. She had lost the thread of her
intention before opening a single door.

"I thought I could go straight to it," she declared. "I shall have to
open all the doors, as we did in the other hall."

"Let me help you," proffered Mr. Hammersmith. She accepted his aid, and
the search recommenced with the same results as before. Hope sank to
disappointment as each door was passed. The vigour of her step was gone,
and as she paused heartsick before the last and only remaining door, it
was with an ashy face she watched Mr. Hammersmith stoop to insert the
key.

He, on his part, as the door fell back, watched her for some token of
awakened interest. But he watched in vain. The smallness of the room,
its bareness, its one window, the absence of all furniture save the
solitary cot drawn up on the right (not on the left, as she had said),
seemed to make little or no impression on her.

"The last! the last! and I have not found it. Oh, sir," she moaned,
catching at Mr. Hammersmith's arm, "am I then mad? Was it a dream? Or is
this a dream? I feel that I no longer know." Then, as the landlady
officiously stepped up, she clung with increased frenzy to Mr.
Hammersmith, crying, with positive wildness, "_This_ is the dream! The
room I remember is a real one and my story is real. Prove it, or my
reason will leave me. I feel it going--going----"

"Hush!" It was Hammersmith who sought thu