it the woman who had been a part of his vision last night? She wore a
long, shining yellow dress, and her arms and neck were bare. Surely it
was the other woman! She turned her head a little, and he saw her face
in profile; there was the same stamp of suffering, the same pallor.
Weir had never looked like that; before he had known her she had had,
sometimes, a little expression of sadness and abstraction which had
made her look very picturesque, but which had borne no relationship
to suffering or experience. And the scene! the room filled with dying
light, the glimpse of water beyond, the very attitude of the woman at
the casement--all were strangely and deeply familiar to him, although
not the details of the vision of last night. The only things that were
wanting were the Eastern hangings to cover the dark wainscotted old
walls, and the skins on the black, time-stained floor.

With a sudden effort of will he threw off the sense of mystery which
had again taken possession of him, and walked forward quickly. As Weir
heard him, she turned her head and met his eyes, and although a closer
look at her face startled him afresh, his brain was his own again,
and he was determined that it should remain so. He might yield to
supernatural impressions when unprepared, but not when both brain and
will were defiantly on the alert. That she was not only unaccountably
altered, but that she shrank from him, was evident; and he was
determined to hear her version of last night's adventure without
delay. He believed that she would unconsciously say something which
would throw a flood of light on the whole matter.

"Where did you get that dress?" he said, abruptly.

She started sharply, and the color flew to the roots of her hair,
then, receding, left her paler than before. "Why do you ask me that?"