voice! Well, Margie, you are a fortunate girl."

And Miss Lee sighed, and shook out the heavy folds of her violet silk,
with the air of one who has been injured, but is determined to show a
proper spirit of resignation.

Mr. Paul Linmere hurried along through an unfrequented street to his
suite of rooms at the St. Nicholas. He was very angry with everybody; he
felt like an ill-treated individual. He had expected Margie to fall at
his feet at once. A man of his attractions to be snubbed as he had
been, by a mere chit of a girl, too!

"I will find means to tame her, when once she is mine," he muttered. "By
heaven! but it will be rare sport to break that fiery spirit! It will
make me young again!"

Something white and shadowy bound his path. A spectral hand was laid on
his arm, chilling like ice, even through his clothing. The ghastly face
of a woman--a face framed in jet black hair, and lit up by great black
eyes bright as stars, gleamed through the mirk of the night.

The man gazed into the weird face, and shook like a leaf in the blast.
His arm sank nerveless to his side, palsied by that frozen touch; his
voice was so unnatural that he started at the sound.

"My God! Arabel Vere! Do the dead come back?"

The great unnaturally brilliant eyes seemed to burn into his brain. The
cold hand tightened on his arm. A breath like wind freighted with snow
crossed his face.