nd having paid the
fare, he followed Teresa through the door which she had opened with her
key. The landlady and maid were gone upon their morning errands; the
house was empty and still; and as the rattling of the cab died away down
Gloucester Street, and Harry continued to ascend the stair with his
burthen, he heard close against his shoulders the same faint and muffled
ticking as before. The lady, still preceding him, opened the door of her
room, and helped him to lower the box tenderly in the corner by the
window.

"And now," said Harry, "what is wrong?"

"You will not go away?" she cried, with a sudden break in her voice and
beating her hands together in the very agony of impatience. "Oh, Harry,
Harry, go away! Oh, go, and leave me to the fate that I deserve!"

"The fate?" repeated Harry. "What is this?"

"No fate," she resumed. "I do not know what I am saying. But I wish to
be alone. You may come back this evening, Harry; come again when you
like; but leave me now, only leave me now!" And then suddenly, "I have
an errand," she exclaimed; "you cannot refuse me that!"

"No," replied Harry, "you have no errand. You are in grief or danger.
Lift your veil and tell me what it is."

"Then," she said, with a sudden composure, "you leave but one course
open to me." And raising the veil, she showed him a countenance from
which every trace of colour had fled, eyes marred with weeping, and a
brow on which resolve had conquered fear. "Harry," she began, "I am not
what I seem."

"You have told me that before," said Harry, "several times."

"Oh, Harry, Harry," she cried, "how you shame me! But this is the God's
truth. I am a dangerous and wicked girl. My name is Clara Luxmore. I was
never nearer Cuba than Penzance. From first to last I have cheated and
played with you. And what I am I dare not even name to you in words.
Indeed, until to-day, until the sleepless watches of last night, I never
grasped the depth and foulness of my guilt."

The young man looked upon her aghast. Then a generous current poured
along his veins. "That is all one," he said. "If you be all you say, you
have the greater need of me."

"Is it possible," she exclaimed, "that I have schemed in vain? And will
nothing drive you from this house of death?"

"Of death?" he echoed.

"Death!" she cried: "death! In that box which you have dragged about
London and carried on your defenceless shoulders, sleep, at the
trigger's mercy, the destroying energie