garments he returned the light to Lady Constantine's bedroom, and
again prepared to depart as before.

Scarcely, however, had he regained the corridor a second time, when he
heard a light footstep--seemingly Viviette's--again on the front landing.
Wondering what she wanted with him further he waited, taking the
precaution to step into the closet till sure it was she.

The figure came onward, bent to the keyhole of the bedroom door, and
whispered (supposing him still inside), 'Swithin, on second thoughts I
think you may stay with safety.'

Having no further doubt of her personality he came out with thoughtless
abruptness from the closet behind her, and looking round suddenly she
beheld his shadowy fur-clad outline. At once she raised her hands in
horror, as if to protect herself from him; she uttered a shriek, and
turned shudderingly to the wall, covering her face.

Swithin would have picked her up in a moment, but by this time he could
hear footsteps rushing upstairs, in response to her cry. In
consternation, and with a view of not compromising her, he effected his
retreat as fast as possible, reaching the bend of the corridor just as
her brother Louis appeared with a light at the other extremity.

'What's the matter, for heaven's sake, Viviette?' said Louis.

'My husband!' she involuntarily exclaimed.

'What nonsense!'

'O yes, it is nonsense,' she added, with an effort. 'It was nothing.'

'But what was the cause of your cry?'

She had by this time recovered her reason and judgment. 'O, it was a
trick of the imagination,' she said, with a faint laugh. 'I live so much
alone that I get superstitious--and--I thought for the moment I saw an
apparition.'

'Of your late husband?'

'Yes. But it was nothing; it was the outline of the--tall clock and the
chair behind. Would you mind going down, and leaving me to go into my
room for a moment?'

She entered the bedroom, and her brother went downstairs. Swithin
thought it best to leave well alone, and going noiselessly out of the
house plodded through the rain homeward. It was plain that agitations of
one sort and another had so weakened Viviette's nerves as to lay her open
to every impression. That the clothes he had borrowed were some cast-off
garments of the late Sir Blount had occurred to St. Cleeve in taking
them; but in the moment of returning to her side he had forgotten this,
and the shape they gave to his figure had obviously been a reminder of
t