organ, she began to sing:

"Free of my pain, free of my burden of sorrow,
At last I shall see thee--"


The song floated in a zone of silence that lay above the deep-murmuring
city. The voice was no more than the half-voice of a flute, sweet,
gentle, beguiling. It told, as so many songs tell, of little earthly
Love in the grasp of mighty Fate. Still she sang on, softly, as if
loving the entrancing melody.

Suddenly the song ceased, and the reminiscent smile gave place to an
expression of surprise, as the singer became conscious of a deeper
shadow falling directly in front of her. She glanced up quickly, and
found herself looking into the face of a man whose gimlet-like gaze was
directed upon herself.

Quickly as she rose, she could not turn into the path before the
gentleman, hat in hand, with a deep bow and clearly enunciated words,
arrested her impulse to flight.

"Pardon, Mademoiselle, I am a stranger in the city. I was directed
this way to Van Cortlandt Hall, but I find I am in error, intrigued--in
confusion. Would mademoiselle be so good as to direct me?"

The tones had a foreign accent. There was something, also, in their
bland impertinence which put Miss Redmond on her guard. He was a
good-sized, blond person, carefully dressed, and at least appeared like
a gentleman.