"That was cleverly done, Mr. Lester," she said. "Fortunately it's no longer a question of my consent or refusal." "Miss Lawrence isn't here?" "No; Miss Lawrence left here late last night." "And went----" "Ah, that I shall not tell." I looked at her again and saw that by arguing I should be simply wasting my time. I saw something else, too--this woman also knew the reason for Marcia Lawrence's flight. But she was looking at me with a sudden white intensity. "It was you," she said hoarsely, "who knocked at the door in the middle of the night." "Yes," I admitted, fascinated by her burning gaze, "it was I." "Why did you do that?" "I don't exactly know," I answered lamely, not daring to tell the truth. "I was passing the house and saw a light----" "Where?" she demanded, her face contracting in a quick spasm. "In the window yonder," and I heard her deep breath of relief. "I thought perhaps it was Miss Lawrence." "It was I," she said, and I saw she was visibly forcing herself to go on. "I had been putting away some fruit in the cellar. Your knock at that hour startled me." "Quite naturally," I assented. "I wonder at myself now for knocking." "How did you happen to be passing the house at that time?" she asked suddenly. "I'd been awakened by a bad dream and found I couldn't go to sleep again, so decided to walk a little. I walked in this direction, I suppose, because I was thinking about Miss Lawrence." She was looking at me keenly, but saw that I spoke the truth and again gave a quick sigh of relief. "Miss Lawrence was not here then?" I questioned, deciding to become the inquisitor in my turn. "Oh, no; she had left several hours earlier. I was alone in the house--which rendered your knock all the more disquieting. My sister remained with Mrs. Lawrence last night," and she rose to indicate that my audience was at an end. I rose somewhat reluctantly. I felt that she could tell me so much more, if she would. It was provoking to be so near success, and yet not to succeed. "I'm sorry," I said, "that you refuse to tell me where Miss Lawrence has gone. I don't believe you're acting wisely--nor is she in running away. She should be brave enough to stay and face Mr. Curtiss. He has a right----" "There are others who have rights," she cried, her self-control suddenly deserting her. "There are others who have waived their rights, and torn their hearts, and withered in silence----" She stopped abruptly, and I saw the tremor which swept through her as she controlled herself. "That is all," she said more calmly, but with working face. "Your parrot-like talk of Mr. Curtiss's rights provoked me," and she moved toward the door. I paused for a last glance at the portrait, and again I was struck by its likeness to some one I knew. "That is a most remarkable picture," I said. "The person who painted it seems to have been clumsy enough, and yet there is something vital and bewitching about it."