I was disappearing behind the curtain I saw her with the
tail of my eye lifting the shroud, now dry, from the hearth.

She was out through the window in an incredibly short time, now clothed
once more in that dreadful wrapping. As she sped past me barefooted on
the wet, chilly marble which made her shudder, she whispered:

"Thank you again. You _are_ good to me. You can understand."

Once again I stood on the terrace, saw her melt like a shadow down the
steps, and disappear behind the nearest shrub. Thence she flitted away
from point to point with exceeding haste. The moonlight had now
disappeared behind heavy banks of cloud, so there was little light to see
by. I could just distinguish a pale gleam here and there as she wended
her secret way.

For a long time I stood there alone thinking, as I watched the course she
had taken, and wondering where might be her ultimate destination. As she
had spoken of her "abode," I knew there was some definitive objective of
her flight.

It was no use wondering. I was so entirely ignorant of her surroundings
that I had not even a starting-place for speculation. So I went in,
leaving the window open. It seemed that this being so made one barrier
the less between us. I gathered the cushions and rugs from before the
fire, which was no longer leaping, but burning with a steady glow, and
put them back in their places. Aunt Janet might come in the morning, as
she had done before, and I did not wish to set her thinking. She is much
too clever a person to have treading on the heels of a
mystery--especially one in which my own affections are engaged. I wonder
what she would have said had she seen me kiss the cushion on which my
beautiful guest's head had rested?

When I was in bed, and in the dark save for the fading glow of the fire,
my thoughts became fixed that whether she came from Earth or Heaven or
Hell, my lovely visitor was already more to me than aught else in the
world. This time she had, on going, said no word of returning. I had
been so much taken up with her presence, and so upset by her abrupt
departure, that I had omitted to ask her. And so I am driven, as before,
to accept the chance of her returning--a chance which I fear I am or may
be unable to control.

Surely enough Aunt Janet did come in the morning, early. I was still
asleep when she knocked at my door. With that purely physical
subconsciousness which comes with habit I must have realized the c