as white as snow, and her eyes looked forth with an eager,
watchful, wistful expression--an expression of patient yet curious
vigilance, like that of one who is waiting for some friend, or some
enemy, who delays to appear. It was a memorable face--memorable, too,
from its sadness, and from the eager yet almost hopeless scrutiny
which it turned toward every one that passed. This was the figure
that attracted Obed. He gave it one look, and that one look was
enough for him.

The moment that he saw this woman an exclamation burst from him--an
exclamation which was so loud that the woman heard him. She started
and looked up. At that moment the brougham stopped, and Obed, tearing
open the door, sprang out and hurried up the steps of the Baptistery,
where the woman was sitting. She had seen him. A flush passed over
her pale, ghastly face; a wild light came to her eyes. Tremblingly
and with deep excitement she rose to her feet, steadying herself by
grasping the bronze gateway, and looked at him with an earnest,
wondering gaze.

Obed Chute came toward her quickly, yet with a certain reverential
wonder in his face. The triumph and the self-complacency had all died
out, and there was left nothing but a mournful surprise, with which
there was also mingled a deep and inexpressible pity and sympathy.

He came nearer and nearer; still with all this on his face, while she
stood awaiting him and watching him, clinging all the while to the
bronze gates of Ghiberti.

"Is this possible?" said Obed, as he came near her and regarded her
earnestly. "Is it possible?" he repeated, in a low, soft voice, with
a deep solemnity in the tones that was far different from his usual
manner. "Is this indeed _you_--and here too?"

He held out both his hands. His face softened; the hard lines seemed
to fade away into a certain unspeakable tenderness, and in his eyes
there was a look of infinite pity and compassion.

"Yes, it is I," said the woman, in a voice which sounded like a moan.
"I am still alive--still living on--while so many who are better are
dead and are at rest."

She placed one hand in his, while with the other she still clung to
the gateway. The hand which she gave was shriveled and emaciated and
cold also to Obed as he felt it while holding it in both of his.

"Years have passed," said he at length, after a long and solemn
silence, during which each regarded the other most earnestly--"years
have passed," he repeated--"years--since