The end of the quiet, sad (but not unpleasantly sad) twelve months found Marcus, on a bright morning in the month of August, sitting at his window, with a favorite book on his knees, looking--where he should not have looked so much--at that window in the old house where the only tragedy of his life had been wrought. As he gazed, like one fascinated by a spell, his features lengthened, and the habitually melancholy expression of his face became deepened and confirmed. So wrapt was he in these unhappy self-communings, that he did not hear a vigorous "rat-tat-tat" on the door of the little back parlor. A repetition of the performance aroused him, and to his call, "Come in," Mash, the cook, presented herself. "A woman at the door wishes to speak to you, sir, on important business, she says. Shall I show her in, sir?" Mash laid stress on the word "woman," in retaliation for the somewhat peremptory way in which the person in question had accosted her at the door. The "Buttery and the Boudoir--a Tale of Real Life," afforded her a precedent on this point. "Show in the lady," said Marcus, wondering who she could be. A tall, shapely person, dressed in deep black, and wearing a thick veil, was ushered into the room. She bowed slightly, and took a seat which Marcus offered her, near the window, and then looked significantly at Mash, who lingered in an uncertain way about the door. "You may shut the door, Mash," said Marcus; and Mash did so with a little slam, intended to pierce the heart of the mysterious woman in black, for whom that domestic had, in one minute, conceived a mortal dislike. The strange woman drew back her veil, and revealed a thin, pale face, which might have been handsome twenty years back. "Do you remember having seen me before?" Marcus looked into the thin face with polite scrutiny. "Yes, madam," said he, at length. "I think I saw you on a railway train in New Jersey, over a year ago; and also in the town of--, in that State, on the evening of a certain unfortunate exhibition. But you are changed, in some respects, since then." "You would say that I am paler and thinner; and I am here to tell you why I am, and also to make all the atonement in my power for a crime that I have committed." Marcus Wilkeson's first thought was of the unfathomed murder. His startled face expressed what was passing through his mind. The strange woman read his thoughts. "The crime to which I refer is not the murder of Mr. Minford; of which, I may here say, I believed, from the first, that you were entirely innocent. Crimes--of that character, at least--have never been known in your family."