and a wholesome dread of the
scientific hitting of this strong-fisted young aristocrat. When he did
venture, his coat-collar was so pulled up that recognition was next to
impossible.

Mr. Parmalee, smoking a cigar, made his way to the Beech Walk, and
leaning against a giant tree, stared at the moon, and waited. The
loud-voiced turret clock struck eight a moment after he had taken his
position.

"Time is up," thought the photographer. "My lady ought to be here now.
I'll give her another quarter. If she isn't with me in that time, then
good-bye to Lady Kingsland and my keeping her secret."

Ten minutes passed. As he replaced his watch a light step sounded on
the frozen snow, a shadow darkened the entrance, and Lady Kingsland's
pale, proud face looked fixedly at him in the moonlight. He took off
his hat and threw away his half-smoked cigar.

"My Lady Kingsland!"

She bowed haughtily, hovering aloof.

"You wished to see me, Mr. Parmalee--that is your name, I believe.
What is it you have to say to me?"

"I don't think you really need to ask that question, my lady. You know
as well as I do, or I'm mistaken."

"Who are you?" she demanded, impatiently, impetuously. "How do you
come to know my secret? How do you come to be possessed of that
picture?"

"I told you before. She gave it to me herself."

"For God's sake, tell me the truth! Don't deceive me! Do you really
mean it? Have you really seen my----"

She stopped, shuddering in some horrible inward repulsion from head to
foot.

"I really have," rejoined Mr. Parmalee. "I know the--the party in
question like a book. She told me her story, she gave me her picture
herself, of her own free will, and she told me where to find you. She
is in London now, all safe, and waiting--a little out of patience,
though, by this time, I dare say."

"Waiting!" Lady Kingsland gasped the word in white terror. "Waiting
for what?"

"To see you, my lady."

There was a blank pause. My lady covered her face with both hands, and
again that convulsive shudder shook her from head to foot.

"She is very penitent, my lady," Mr. Parmalee said, in a softer tone.
"She is very poor, and ill and heart-broken. Even you, my lady, might
pity and forgive her if you saw her now."

"For Heaven's sake, hush! I don't want to hear. Tell me how you met
her first. I never heard your name until that day in the library."

"No more you didn't," said the artist. "You see, my lad