saw her last: now she was almost a woman, but not more
beautiful than when I bade her good-by in the moonlight at
her father's gate--long, long ago, it seemed to me now. Was
the scene I had witnessed a passage in her own life since I
had left Liverpool? At the close of the act an usher carried
my card to her. Presently I was summoned to one of the
corridors where a lady was waiting for me.

"Is this Kendric Lane?" she asked, extending her hand.

"It is," I responded.

"I have heard of you often. Miss Bronson is an old
acquaintance of yours, whom you knew as Hester Chaffin.
Would you like to see her?"

"I wish to see her to-night, if possible," said I.

"May I ask you, then, to go to this address and wait for us
until the performance is over? Hand this card to the night
clerk of the hotel and he will show you to our rooms."

Scribbling a few words upon the card, she gave it to me, and
hurried behind the scenes.

Rayel and I immediately left the theatre and walked to our
apartments. The play would soon be over and we had no time
to lose. On the way home I noticed that he frequently turned
about and peered through the darkness as if expecting some
one to join us. He said nothing, however, and as I was so