laying about her temple. Her thoughts are not so very far away. He
is standing in the shadow of a curtained niche in a room whose light
comes mainly from the flickering coal-fire in the grate, for the October
evening is chill. She stands where the light from the big lamps at the
corner is sufficient to plainly show her every look and gesture. Abbot
marks that twice or thrice, as footsteps are heard in the hall, she
glances quickly towards the doorway; then that a shade of disappointment
gathers on her brow as no one comes. Then, once or twice, timidly and
furtively, she casts shy, quick glances aloft and towards the front of
the building. It requires little calculation to tell Major Abbot that
those glances are towards the window of his room. Then can it be that
she is there, waiting him, impatient of his coming?

Whether or no, this is no place for him. He has no business here spying
upon her. He has had his look; has seen again the sweet face that so
fascinated him. Now, though he could gaze indefinitely, he feels that he
should either go forth and meet her openly or, perhaps better, retire
and avoid her entirely. Before he can summon courage to go he turns for
one last look, and his course is decided for him.

A footstep, somewhat slow, either from a disposition to saunter on the
part of the promenader or possible languor and weakness, is coming along
the hallway. She hears it, too, and he sees how her white hands clasp
the rail of the balcony, and how she turns her bonnie head to listen.
Nearer it comes; he cannot see who approaches, because that would
involve his stepping back and losing sight of her; and as it nears the
doorway he marks her eager, tremulous pose, and can almost see the
beating of her heart. She has not turned fully towards the hall--just
partially, as though a sidelong glance were all she dared give even in
her joyous eagerness. Then a form suddenly darkens the portal, and just
as suddenly a shadow of keen disappointment clouds her face. She turns
abruptly, and once more gazes wistfully down the street.

The next thing Abbot sees is that the man is at her side; that he has
accosted her; that she is startled and annoyed; and that although in
totally different garb, her caller is no less a person than the
secret-service official who visited him that morning. What on earth can
that mean?

Whatever the conversation, it is very brief. Obedient to some suggestion
or request, though not without one mo