artin, the landlord, knocked at the door.

"Come in," I cried.

He entered, and:

"A lady has called to see you, sir," he announced.

The manner in which he made the statement evidenced a curious mixture
of disapproval and respect. For my own part it is perhaps unnecessary
for me to say that my first thought, as always, was Isobel! In the
very moment, however, that this idea visited me (the wish being father
of the thought) I recognized its folly.

"A lady," I repeated; "but I know no one here. Are you certain that it
was for me she asked?"

"Quite, sir," replied the landlord, who was evidently flurried out of
his usual calm by what I gathered to be an episode unprecedented in
his memories of the Abbey Inn. "Mr. Addison, she asked for. She is
waiting in the coffee-room, sir."

Wholly at a loss to understand who my visitor could be, I made my way
to the little apartment at the side of the bar-parlor which Mr. Martin
had dignified with the title of coffee-room. I observed upon the bench
before the door a shabby-looking fellow whom I might have taken to be
some local tradesman except that he appeared to be a chance visitor
and was evidently unacquainted with Martin. He was reading a newspaper
and I saw a cup of coffee set upon the bench beside him.

This was a hazy morning, which I thought betokened another hot day,
and as I entered the "coffee-room" I found it to be pervaded by a
curious half-light, not unlike that of summer twilight. The glow of
the sun peering redly through the mist added warmth to this soft
illumination, but since the room boasted only one small window it was
badly lighted even at noon.

From a little horse-hair-covered sofa set before this window my
visitor rose to greet me, and with my hand upon the knob of the door I
paused. For certainly this was a stranger who stood before me!

She was tall and very slender, attired with great elegance, and in her
whole appearance there was something markedly foreign--or perhaps I
should say exotic. She wore a small hat which I judged to be Parisian
and expensive, and from its brim depended a figured veil which
effectually disguised her features, without being able or perhaps
without being intended to disguise her brilliant, almond-shaped eyes.
For one moment, a dreadful idea presented itself to me; but the most
appalling memory which I retained of those other witch-eyes around
which so much mystery clustered was their brilliant greenness. The
eyes of