ng into my face. She recognizes me, for she seems confused and
proceeds with evident embarrassment.

I turned to Rayel--he, too, was deeply moved by this great surprise.

"Our woman has come to life," said he, in tremulous whispers. "I knew we
would see her sometime."

How she had changed! She was little more than a child when I saw her
last: now she was almost a woman, but not more beautiful than when I
bade her good-by in the moonlight at her father's gate--long, long ago,
it seemed to me now. Was the scene I had witnessed a passage in her
own life since I had left Liverpool? At the close of the act an usher
carried my card to her. Presently I was summoned to one of the corridors
where a lady was waiting for me.

"Is this Kendric Lane?" she asked, extending her hand.

"It is," I responded.

"I have heard of you often. Miss Bronson is an old acquaintance of
yours, whom you knew as Hester Chaffin. Would you like to see her?"

"I wish to see her to-night, if possible," said I.

"May I ask you, then, to go to this address and wait for us until the
performance is over? Hand this card to the night clerk of the hotel and
he will show you to our rooms."

Scribbling a few words upon the card, she gave it to me, and hurried
behind the scenes.

Rayel and I immediately left the theatre and walked to our apartments.
The play would soon be over and we had no time to lose. On the way
home I noticed that he frequently turned about and peered through the
darkness as if expecting some one to join us. He said nothing, however,
and as I was so preoccupied by my own thoughts, I did not ask for whom
he was looking.

"Shall I not go with you?" he asked, when we had reached home.

"You had better wait up for me; I shall not be gone long," I answered.

"I can walk back again when we get there, or perhaps I can wait for you
in the hotel?" said he.

He was not yet accustomed to life in a great city, and it did not seem
wise, either, to permit him to walk home alone, or to wait for me in the
hotel among strangers. He did not seem quite content to stay, however,
and there was a troubled expression on his face, which was new to it,
and which I could not put out of my mind after I had left the house. The
hotel to which I had been directed was on Union Square. It was not far
from our apartments, and I intended to walk there, but I had not
gone half a block before the street was lit up with a vivid flash of
lightning, followed by dea