The memorial of the Excelsior gamblers' generosity was a modern
building, large and pretentious, for even Mr. Wynn's popularity, and
had been good-humoredly known, in the characteristic language of the
generous donors, as one of the "biggest religious bluffs" on record. Its
groined rafters, which were so new and spicy that they still suggested
their native forest aisles, seldom covered more than a hundred devotees,
and in the rambling choir, with its bare space for the future organ,
the few choristers, gathered round a small harmonium, were lost in the
deepening shadow of that summer evening. The muleteer remained hidden
in the obscurity of the vestibule. After a few moments' desultory
conversation, in which it appeared that the unexpected absence of
Miss Nellie Wynn, their leader, would prevent their practicing, the
choristers withdrew. The stranger, who had listened eagerly, drew back
in the darkness as they passed out, and remained for a few moments a
vague and motionless figure in the silent church. Then coming cautiously
to the window, the flapping broad-brimmed hat was put aside, and the
faint light of the dying day shone in the black eyes of Teresa! Despite
her face, darkened with dye and disfigured with dust, the matted hair
piled and twisted around her head, the strange dress and boyish figure,
one swift glance from under her raised lashes betrayed her identity.

She turned aside mechanically into the first pew, picked up and opened a
hymn-book. Her eyes became riveted on a name written on the title-page,
"Nellie Wynn." HER name, and HER book. The instinct that had guided her
here was right; the slight gossip of her fellow-passengers was right;
this was the clergyman's daughter, whose praise filled all mouths. This
was the unknown girl the stranger was seeking, but who in turn perhaps
had been seeking Low--the girl who absorbed his fancy--the secret of
his absences, his preoccupation, his coldness! This was the girl whom to
see, perhaps in his arms, she was now periling her liberty and her life