ears rising in her heart, crossed
the room, and opened the door. Her visitor was Doctor Danton.

"I thought I should find you here," he said, entering.

"How are you to-day, Miss Darling? Not very well, as your face plainly
testifies; give me your hand--cold as ice! My dear child, what is the
trouble now?"

At the kindness of his tone she broke down suddenly. She had been alone
so long brooding in solitude over her troubles, that she had grown
hysterical. It wanted but that kindly voice and look to open the closed
flood-gates of her heart. She covered her face with her hands, and broke
out into a passionate fit of crying.

Doctor Frank led her gently to a seat, and stood leaning against the
chimney, looking into the dying fire, and not speaking. The hysterics
would pass, he knew, if she were let alone; and when the sobbing grew
less violent, he spoke.

"You sit alone too much," he said quietly; "it is not good for you. You
must give it up, or you will break down altogether."

"Forgive me," said Agnes, trying to choke back the sobs. "I am weak and
miserable, and cannot help it. I did not mean to cry now."

"You are alone too much," repeated the Doctor; "it won't do. You think
too much of the past, and despond too much in the present. That won't do
either. You must give it up."

His calm, authoritative tone soothed her somehow. The tears fell less
hotly, and she lifted her poor, pale face.

"I am very foolish, but it is my birthday, and I could not help--"

She broke down again.

"It all comes of being so much alone," repeated Doctor Frank. "It won't
do. Agnes, how often must I tell you so? Do you know what they say of
you in the house?"

"No," looking up in quick alarm.

"They accuse you of having something on your mind. The servants look at
you with suspicion, and it all comes of your love of solitude, your
silence and sadness. Give it up, Agnes, give it up."

"Doctor Danton," she cried, piteously, "what can I do? I am the most
unhappy woman in all the world. What can I do?"

"There is no need of you being the most unhappy woman in the world;
there is no need of your being unhappy at all."

She looked up at him in white, voiceless appeal, her lips and hands
trembling.

"Don't excite yourself--don't be agitated. I have no news for you but I
think I may bid you hope with safety. I don't think it was a ghost you
saw that night."

She gave a little cry, and then sat white and still, waiting.

"I don