e soul, telepathy or
of its kin, that roused and sent her to keep her rendezvous with destiny?

A riddle never to be read: Sofia only knew that, finding herself awake, she
got up, donned negligee and slippers, and set her feet upon the way
appointed without its occurring to her that the way was strange, without
stopping to question why or whether.

If independent volition, sensible or subliminal, were absent, it could
hardly have been apparent. Sofia herself was not aware of its suspense or
supersession. She knew quite well what she was doing, her every action was
direct and decided, the goal alone remained obscure. She only knew that
somewhere, somehow, something was going wrong without her, and her presence
was required to set it right.

Letting herself out into the corridor, she drew the door to behind her, but
left it unlatched; with what object, she did not know. But the lateness of
the hour, the stillness of the sleeping household, made it seem quite in
order that she should pause to look cautiously this way and that and make
sure that nobody else was astir to spy upon her or challenge the purpose of
this as yet aimless nocturnal flitting.

There was nobody that she could see.

Down the corridor, then, never asking why that way, like a ghost in haste
she sped, but as she drew near to a certain door found her pace faltering.
Sofia knew that door; through it Lady Randolph West herself had introduced
the girl to her boudoir, not two hours since, when chance, or Fate, or the
smooth working out of malicious mortal machinations had moved the two women
simultaneously to seek their quarters for the night. And in the boudoir
Sofia had spent the quarter of an hour before going on to her own room and
bed, civilly attending to vapid chatter and admiring as in duty bound the
admirable jewels of the family.

Now she saw the door a few inches ajar with, beyond it, a dim glow. The
circumstance seemed singular, because--now that she remembered--when Sofia
had expressed perfunctory curiosity concerning what precautions were taken
to safeguard the jewels, Lady Randolph West had airily informed her that
she considered insurance to their appraised value plus a stout lock on the
boudoir door better than any strong-box as yet devised by the ingenuity of
man.

"There's the safe they're kept in, of course," the lady had
declared--"but, my dear, a cardboard box will do as well when any burglar
who knows his business makes up his min