A dull, miserable evening, gray clouds, drizzling rain, and a damp heat. The loud blast of the conch horn from the Jain temple echoed in the heavy air. The sound made the window panes in the study of the manse rattle, and roused Halsa from her book. John had gone that day some miles away to attend a meeting of pastors, and was not to be home until late. His wife dined alone, and sat up in the study waiting for him. As the prolonged notes of the horn reached her, Halsa put down her book and held her hands to her ears. When the sound died away she felt that, for the present, further reading was impossible, and glanced at the clock which ticked in a dreary manner from the wall. It was nearly nine. She rose from her seat, and, after pacing the room for a few moments, stood before the window listening to the soft patter of the rain. The sudden crunching of the gravel outside under a firm tread roused her from the half-dreamy state into which she had fallen. The footsteps were strangely familiar--yet not Galbraith's--still, it could be no one else. In a moment she was in the passage and at the front door. She opened this with a little cry of welcome. "I am so glad you have come," and then she started back with a faint shriek, for the man who stepped into the passage and removed his dripping hat, diffusing a stale odour of damp clothes and liquor as he came in, was not John Galbraith, but Stephen Lamport. There was no mistaking him as he stood there, leaning somewhat unsteadily on a stout cane, the light from a wall lamp shining full on his face, the face she knew so well, and whose memory brought up days of horror before her. There he was, his small beadlike eyes shining brightly, and his red hair glistening. "Well," he said shortly, "so you're glad to see me--sure there is no mistake?" Halsa made no reply. She leaned against the wall, one hand held tightly over her heart; her face was white as death, and her lips moved tremulously as if trying to frame a sentence. "Well, Mrs. Lamport," continued her husband, "I happened to find out that he"--he jerked his thumb over his shoulder, and Halsa shuddered--"is on the preach, and I thought I should come and look you up for old sake's sake, more especially as I have some business with you, and I should like to settle this at once." He stretched out his hand and touched her lightly on the shoulder. The touch seemed to rouse her to fury. She sprang forward and seized the collar of his coat with both hands. "Yes," she said, "you have business with me. Well, then, come here--quick!" She pushed rather than led him into the study, and, closing the door, stood before him with clenched hands. "Now," she said in a breath, "what do you want? I suppose that story of your death was one of your trumped-up _lies?_"