n ugly premonition of impending peril, which came
and stalked like a hideous ghost about the bare and miserable garret,
and which woke her at night with its whispering voice--which was the
voice of intuition.

Rhoda Gray drew her shawl closer around her shoulders and shivered, as
now, from shuffling down the block in the guise of Gypsy Nan, she halted
before the street door of what fate, for the moment, had thrust upon her
as a home; and shivered again, as, with abhorrence, she pushed the door
open and stepped forward into the black, unlighted hallway. Soul, mind
and body were in revolt to-night. Even faith, the simple faith in God
that she had known since childhood, was wavering. There seemed nothing
but horror around her, a mental horror, a physical horror; and the sole
means of even momentary relief and surcease from it had been a pitiful
prowling around the streets, where even the fresh air seemed to be
denied to her, for it was tainted with the smells of squalor that ruled,
rampant, in that neighborhood.

And to-night, stronger than ever, intuition and premonition of
approaching danger lay heavy upon her, and oppressed her with a sense of
nearness. She was not a coward; but she was afraid. Danglar would leave
no stone unturned to get the White Moll. He had said so. She remembered
the threat he had made--it had lived in her woman's soul ever since that
night. Better anything than to fall into Danglar's hands! She caught her
breath a little, and shivered again as she groped her way up the dark
stairs. But, then, she never would fall into Danglar's power. There was
always an alternative. Yes, it was quite as bad as that--death at her
own hands was preferable. Balked, outwitted, the plans of the criminal
coterie, of which Danglar appeared to be the head, rendered again and
again abortive, and believing it all due to the White Moll, all of
Danglar's shrewd, unscrupulous cunning would be centered on the task
of running her down; and if, added to this, he discovered that she
was masquerading as Gypsy Nan, one of their own inner circle, it mean
that--She closed her lips in a hard, tight line. She did not want
to think of it. She had fought all day, and the days before, against
thinking about it, but premonition had crept upon her stronger and
stronger, until to-night, now, it seemed as though her mind could dwell
on nothing else.

On the landing, she paused suddenly and listened. The street door had
opened and closed, a