in the city of diurnal sleep.

'Madam,' he said, 'I protest you have no cause to fear intrusion;

and if I have appeared to follow you, the fault is in this street,

which has deceived us both.' An unmistakable relief appeared upon

the lady's face. 'I might have guessed it!' she exclaimed. 'Thank

you a thousand times! But at this hour, in this appalling silence,

and among all these staring windows, I am lost in terrors--oh, lost

in them!' she cried, her face blanching at the words. 'I beg you

to lend me your arm,' she added with the loveliest, suppliant

inflection. 'I dare not go alone; my nerve is gone--I had a shock,

oh, what a shock! I beg of you to be my escort.'

'My dear madam,' responded Challoner heavily, 'my arm is at your

service.'

'She took it and clung to it for a moment, struggling with her

sobs; and the next, with feverish hurry, began to lead him in the

direction of the city. One thing was plain, among so much that was

obscure: it was plain her fears were genuine. Still, as she went,

she spied around as if for dangers; and now she would shiver like a

person in a chill, and now clutch his arm in hers. To Challoner

her terror was at once repugnant and infectious; it gained and

mastered, while it still offended him; and he wailed in spirit and

longed for release.

'Madam,' he said at last, 'I am, of course, charmed to be of use to

any lady; but I confess I was bound in a direction opposite to that

you follow, and a word of explanation--'

'Hush!' she sobbed, 'not here--not here!'

The blood of Challoner ran cold. He might have thought the lady

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