She had got through the red riot of her confession and was writing: "I
don't know what he would think of it, but do you know I thought I saw his
face on Wednesday night. It was in the dark, and I was in a cab driving
away from the stage door. But so changed! oh, so changed! It must have
been a dream, and it was the same as if his ghost had passed me."

Then she became aware of voices in dispute downstairs. First a man's
voice, then the voices of two men--one of them Koenig's, the other with a
haunting ring in it. She got up from the table and went to the door of
her room, going on tip-toe, yet hardly knowing why. Koenig was saying:
"No, sair, de lady does not lif here." Then a deep, strong chest-voice
answered, "Mr. Koenig, surely you remember me?" and Glory's heart seemed
to beat like a watch. "No-o, sair. Are you--Oh, yes; what am I thinking
of?--But de lady----"

"Mr. Koenig," Glory called, cried, gasped over the stair-rail, "ask the
gentleman to come up, please."

She hardly knew what happened next, only that Koenig seemed to be
muttering confused explanations below, and that she was back in her
sitting-room giving a glance into the looking-glass and doing something
with her hair. Then there was a step on the stairs, on the landing, at
the threshold, and she fell back a few paces from the door, that she
might see him as he came in. He knocked. Her heart was beating so
violently that she had to keep her hand over it. "Who's there?"

"It is I."

"Who's I?"

Then she saw him coming down on her, and the very sunlight seemed to wave
like the shadows on a ship. He was paler and thinner, his great eyes
looked weary though they smiled, his hand felt bony though firm, and his
head was closely cropped.

She looked at him for a moment without speaking and with a sensation of
fulness at her heart that was almost choking her.

"Is it you? I didn't know it was you--I was just thinking----" She was
talking at random, and was out of breath as if she had been running.

"Glory, I have frightened you!"

"Frightened? Oh, no! Why should you think so? Perhaps I am crying, but
then I'm always doing that nowadays. And, besides, you are so----"

"Yes, I am altered," he said in the pause that followed.

"And I?"

"You are altered too." He was looking at her with an earnest and
passionate gaze. It was she--herself--Glory--not merely a vision or a
dream. Again he recognised the glorious eyes with their brilliant lashes
and the