e been?"

But she scarcely followed his words; she did not think, she could not;
she seemed to stand in a hateful dream! Looking at him--the torn evening
clothes!--his face, pale, different! Listening to him!--to what--?

"A convict!" said the man. "Yes; that's what I was. Had been in jails,
jails! And was sent out of the country, years ago, transported. But time
went by and the convict thought he might safely come back--boldly--with
impunity. The years and--circumstances had altered him--wrought great
changes. He felt compelled to return--why, is of no moment!--believed
himself secure in so doing--and was--until chance led him out of his
accustomed way--to new walks--new faces--where lay the danger--the
ambush, into which he, who thought himself strong, like a weak fool,
walked--or was led--blindly." He caught himself up with a laugh. "But
what is this to you? Enough, the convict found himself recognized, his
identity thoroughly established."

He waited; still she was silent; the little hands clasped tightly the
heavy drapery that moved as if she were putting part of her weight on
it. Her expression showed still that she had not yet had time to
comprehend; that for her what he said remained, even now, but words,
confused, inexplicable. A strange sequel to a strange night, a night
that had begun with such gaiety and blitheness; that had been
interrupted, after he had left her, by the shouting and rough voices
from the garden! She seemed to hear them anew, and afterward, the
explanation of that odd little person, the police agent, his apologies
for breaking in upon the cotillion. But he had said--?

The blue eyes bent like stars now on this man in her room, standing
before her with bold, mocking face, as if his dark eyes read, understood
every thought that passed through her brain.

"You!--then it was you--John Steele--that they--"

"The convict they tried to arrest? Yes."

"You? I don't--" Her voice was almost childlike.

"I will help you to--understand!" An ashen shade came over his face, but
it passed quickly; his voice sounded brusk. "For months, since a fatal
evening all light, brilliancy, beauty!--the convict has been trying to
hold back the inevitable; but the net whose first meshes were then
woven, has since been drawing closer--closer. In the world two forces
are ever at work, the pursuers and the pursued. In this instance the
former," harshly, "were unusually clever. He struggled hard to keep up
the de