ong as she
dared, drinking two cups of the hideous coffee; stayed while many came
and went, until she felt the proprietor noticing her. That revived her
consciousness of the possible dangers still between her and the end she
held in view. She had heard of people being arrested for suspicious
conduct. She didn't feel sure in what this might consist, but surely
such an appearance could be avoided by walking fast and seeming to know
exactly where one was going.

It was ten o'clock in the morning, three hours since she had left her
house and a most reasonable time of daylight, when Flora turned out of
the flatness of "south of Market Street" and began to mount a
slow-rising hill. It was a wooden sidewalk she followed flanking a
wood-paved street, and these, with the wooden fences and dusty cypress
hedges and the houses peering over them upon her looked worn, battered
and belonging all to the past. None the less it bore traces of having
been a dignified past, and farther up on the crown of the hill among
deep-bosomed trees, two or three large mansions wore the gravely
triumphant aspect of having been brought successfully from a past empire
into a present with all their traditions and mahogany complete. Upward
toward these Flora was looking. Her breath was short from fast
climbing. Her cheeks under her thin veil were hot and bright.

As she neared the hilltop she glanced at a card from her chatelaine,
consulting the address upon it. Then anxiously she scanned the
house-fronts. It was not this one, nor this; but the square white
mansion she came to now stood so far retired at the end of its lawn that
she could not make out the number. As she peered a young girl came down
the steps between the dark wings of the cypress hedge, a slim, fair,
even-gaited creature dressed for the street and drawing on her gloves.
As she passed Flora made sure she had seen her before. There was
something familiar in the carriage of the girl's head and hands;
something also like a pale reflection of another presence. Pale as it
was, it was enough to reassure her that this was the house she wanted.

She ascended the steps beneath the arch of cypress and immediately found
herself entering an atmosphere quieter even than that of the little
street below. It was quiet with the quiet of protectedness, as if some
one brooding, vigilant care encircled it, defending it against all
inroads of violent action and thought. It had been long since any young
girl