"I am going to leave you now," she said. "I have to justify my
existence in my own eyes."

"Must you really go?"

"I must really."

"Then tell me something before you go."

She gathered up the bunches of roses and looked down at me with a
wistful expression.

"Yes, what is it?"

"Did you detect those mysterious footsteps again last night?"

The look of wistfulness changed to another which I hated to see in her
eyes, an expression of repressed fear.

"No," she replied in a very low voice, "but why do you ask the
question?"

Doubt of her had been far enough from my mind, but that something in
the tone of my voice had put her on her guard I could see.

"I am naturally curious," I replied, gravely.

"No," she repeated, "I have not heard the sound for some time now.
Perhaps, after all, my fears were imaginary."