"I really can't tell, dear," I replied, noticing how haggard and serious was her face as she gazed fixedly into the fire. "Have--have they discovered anything?" she inquired hesitatingly. "Yes," I answered. "They found the marks of a woman's shoes upon the lawn." She started visibly and held her breath. "Ah!" she gasped; "I--I thought they would. I knew it--I knew--" Then, sighing, she drew her hand quickly across her brow, and, rising, left me abruptly. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ About two months afterwards, Mabel and I went down to Alversthorpe on a visit, and as we sat at dinner on the evening of our arrival, Fraulein Steinbock, the new German governess, entered to speak with her mistress. For a moment she stood behind the widow's chair, glancing furtively at me. It was very remarkable. Although her features bore not the slightest resemblance to any I had ever seen before, they seemed somehow familiar. It was not the expression of tenderness and purity of soul that entranced me, but there was something strange about the forehead. The dark hair in front had accidentally been parted, disclosing what appeared to be _a portion of a dark ugly scar_! Chancing to glance at Mabel, I was amazed to notice that she had dropped her knife and fork, and was sitting pale and haggard, with her eyes fixed upon the wall opposite. Her lips were moving slightly, but no sound came from them. When, on the following morning, I was chatting with the widow alone, I carelessly inquired about the new governess. "She was called away suddenly last night. Her brother is dying," she said. "Called away!" I echoed. "Where has she gone?" "To London. I do hope she won't be long away, for I really can't do without her. She is so kind and attentive to the children." "Do you know her brother's address?" She shook her head. Then I asked for some particulars about her, but discovered that nothing was known of her past. She was an excellent governess--that was all. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Twelve months later. One evening I had been busy writing in my own little den, and had left Mabel in the drawing-room reading a novel. It was almost ten o'clock when I rose from my table, and, having turned out my lamp, I went along the passage to join my wife. Pushing open the door, I saw she had fallen asleep in her little wicker chair. But she was not alone. The tall, statuesque form of a woman in a light dress stood over her. The profile of the mysterious visitor was turned towards me. The face wore the same demoniacal expression, it had the same dark, flashing eyes, the same white teeth, that I had seen on that terrible day before Plevna! As she bent over my sleeping wife, one hand rested on the chair, while the other grasped a gleaming knife, which she held uplifted, ready to strike.