"She is here," said Maria, still keeping her eye upon the shadow
bending over the balustrade. "What name shall I give her?"

"No name. I wish to surprise her," and passing on into the parlor,
thestranger laid aside her hat and shawl with the air of one perfectly
at
home; then seating herself upon a sofa, she examined the room as
curiously as she had examined the grounds of Riverside.

"It seems a pity to mar all this," she said, "and were it not that I
hate him so much, I would go away forever, though that would be a
greater injury to her than my coming to life will be. Of course he's
told her all, and spite of her professed liking for me, she is glad
that I am dead. I long, yet dread, to see her amazement; but hist--she
comes."

There was the sound of little, high-heeled slippers on the stairs, the
flutter of a pink morning gown, and then Rosamond Leyton stood face to
face with--Marie Porter! The grave had given up its dead, and without
any visible marks of the world prepared for such as she, save, indeed,
the increased _fire_ which burned in her black eyes, the risen woman
sat there much as living people sit--her head bent forward--her lips
apart--and a look of expectation upon her face. But she was doomed to
disappointment. Rosamond knew nothing of the past, and with a cry of
pleasurable surprise she started forward, exclaiming, "Oh, Miss
Porter, I felt so cross when told a visitor was here, but now I know
who 'tis, I am so glad, for I am very lonely to-day."

The hard woman swept her hand a moment before her eyes, and with that