experience of summoning the vision,
each of his heart's desire, and to meet, each his doom, with her name
upon his lips.

An extraordinary thing occurred in the present instance, for, by means
of some fragmentary remarks let fall at the time, and afterward recalled
such as Tappingham Marsh's gasping: "At least it will be on her father's
roof!" and from other things later overheard, an inevitable deduction
has been reached that four of the five gentlemen in the perilous case
herein described were occupied with the vision of the same person, to
wit: Miss Elizabeth Carewe, "the last--the prettiest--to come to town!"

Crailey Gray, alone, spoke not at all; but why did he strain and strain
his eyes toward that empty' pedestal with the grotesque carvings? Did he
seek Fanchon there, or was Miss Carewe the last sweet apparition in the
fancies of all five of the unhappy young men?

The coincidence of the actual appearance of the lady among them,
therefore seemed the more miraculous, when, wan and hopeless, staggering
desperately backward to the gable-ridge, they heard a clear contralto
voice behind them:

"Hadn't you better all come down now?" it said.--"The stairway will be
on fire before long."

Only one thing could have been more shockingly unexpected to the five
than that there should be a sixth person on the roof, and this was that
the sixth person should be Miss Betty Carewe.

They turned, aghast, agape, chopfallen with astonishment, stunned, and
incredulous.

She stood just behind the gable-ridge, smiling amiably, a most
incongruous little pink fan in her hand, the smoke-wreaths partly
obscuring her and curling between the five and her white dress, like
mists floating across the new moon.

Was it but a kindly phantasm of the brain? Was it the incarnation of
the last vision of the lost Volunteers? Was it a Valkyrie assuming that
lovely likeness to perch upon this eyrie, waiting to bear their heroic
souls to Valhalla, or--was it Miss Betty Carewe?

To the chief she spoke--all of them agreed to that afterward--but it was
Crailey who answered, while Tom could only stare, and stand wagging his
head at the lovely phantom, like a Mandarin on a shelf.

"My mother in heaven!" gasped Crailey. "How did you come up here?"

"There's a trap in the roof on the other side of the ridge," she said,
and she began to fan herself with the pink fan. "A stairway runs all the
way down--old Nelson showed me through these buildings ye