ought refuge in the hall, but
contempt at her own cowardice kept her rooted to the spot.

"She was an utter goose to be so startled! It was--yes, of course it
was Mrs. Cheyne. She could see her more plainly now. She would step
through the window and meet her."

Phillis's feelings of uneasiness had not quite vanished. The obscurity
was confusing, and invested everything with an unnatural effect. Even
Mrs. Cheyne's figure, coming out from the dark background, seemed
strange and unfamiliar. Phillis had always before seen her in black;
but now she wore a white gown, fashioned loosely, like a wrapper, and
her hair, which at other times had been most carefully arranged, was
now strained tightly and unbecomingly from her face, which looked
pallid and drawn. She started violently when she saw Phillis coming
towards her, and seemed inclined to draw back and retrace her steps.
It evidently cost her a strong effort to recover herself. She seemed
to conquer her reluctance with difficulty.

"So you have come at last, Miss Challoner," she said, fixing her eyes,
which looked unnaturally bright, on Phillis. Her voice was cold,
almost harsh, and her countenance expressed no pleasure. The hand she
held out was so limp and cold that Phillis relinquished it hastily.

"You said that I should be welcome," she faltered, and trying not to
appear alarmed. She was too young and healthy to understand the
meaning of the word hysteria, or to guess at the existence of nervous
maladies that make some people's lives a long torment to them.
Nevertheless, Mrs. Cheyne's singular aspect filled her with vague
fear. It did not enter into her mind to connect the coming storm with
Mrs. Cheyne's condition, until she hinted at it herself.

"Oh, yes, you are welcome," she responded, wearily. "I have looked for
you evening after evening, but you chose to come with the storm. It is
a pity, perhaps; but then you did not know!"

"What would you have me know?" asked Phillis, timidly.

Mrs. Cheyne shrugged her shoulders a little flightily.

"Oh, you are young!" she returned; "you do not understand what nerves
mean; you sleep sweetly of a night, and have no bad dreams: it does
not matter to you happy people if the air is full of sunshine or
surcharged with electricity. For me, when the sun ceases to shine I am
in despair. Fogs find me brooding. An impending storm suffocates me,
and yet tears me to pieces with restlessness: it drives me hither and
thither like