, and again
late in the evening. Life in Vissarion was primitive, and early hours
prevailed--though not so late as on that night.

As I looked I thought I caught a glimpse of something white far away. It
was only a ray of moonlight coming through the rugged edge of a cloud.
But all the same it set me in a strange state of perturbation. Somehow I
seemed to lose sight of my own identity. It was as though I was
hypnotized by the situation or by memory, or perhaps by some occult
force. Without thinking of what I was doing, or being conscious of any
reason for it, I crossed the room and set light to the fire. Then I blew
out the candle and came to the window again. I never thought it might be
a foolish thing to do--to stand at a window with a light behind me in
this country, where every man carries a gun with him always. I was in my
evening clothes, too, with my breast well marked by a white shirt. I
opened the window and stepped out on the terrace. There I stood for many
minutes, thinking. All the time my eyes kept ranging over the garden.
Once I thought I saw a white figure moving, but it was not followed up,
so, becoming conscious that it was again beginning to rain, I stepped
back into the room, shut the window, and drew the curtain. Then I
realized the comforting appearance of the fire, and went over and stood
before it.

Hark! Once more there was a gentle tapping at the window. I rushed over
to it and drew the curtain.

There, out on the rain-beaten terrace, stood the white shrouded figure,
more desolate-appearing than ever. Ghastly pale she looked, as before,
but her eyes had an eager look which was new. I took it that she was
attracted by the fire, which was by now well ablaze, and was throwing up
jets of flame as the dry logs crackled. The leaping flames threw fitful
light across the room, and every gleam threw the white-clad figure into
prominence, showing the gleam of the black eyes, and fixing the stars
that lay in them.

Without a word I threw open the window, and, taking the white hand
extended to me, drew into the room the Lady of the Shroud.

As she entered and felt the warmth of the blazing fire, a glad look
spread over her face. She made a movement as if to run to it. But she
drew back an instant after, looking round with instinctive caution. She
closed the window and bolted it, touched the lever which spread the
grille across the opening, and pulled close the curtain behind it. Th