Moments passed as hours. In the darkening day I stood watching for her, but saw no sign, until I began to fear she would disappoint me. Indeed, the clock on the mantel-shelf, the little timepiece which I had carried on all my travels, had already struck five, whereas the hour she had appointed was half-past four. Suddenly, however, the door opening caused me to turn, and my pretty companion of that night was ushered in by Simes. "I'm late," she said apologetically. "I trust you will forgive me." "It is a lady's privilege to be late," I responded, taking her hand, and welcoming her gladly. She took the chair at my invitation, and I saw that she was dressed extremely plainly, wearing no ornaments. The dress was not the same she had worn when we had met, but another of more funereal aspect. Yet she was dainty and chic from her large black hat, which well suited her pale, innocent type of beauty, down to her tiny, patent-leather shoe. As she placed her foot out upon the footstool I did not fail to notice how neat was the ankle encased in its black silk stocking, or how small was the little pointed shoe. "Why did you ask me to come here?" she asked, with a slightly nervous laugh when, at my suggestion, she had drawn off her gloves. "Because I did not intend that we should drift apart altogether," I answered. "If you had refused, I should have come to you." "At Ellerdale Road?" she exclaimed in alarm. "Yes; why not? Is your aunt such a terrible person?" "No," she exclaimed in all seriousness. "Promise me you will not seek me--never." "I can scarcely promise that," I laughed. "But why were you so reluctant to come here again?" I inquired. "Because I had no desire to cause you any unnecessary worry," she replied. "Unnecessary worry? What do you mean?" I asked, puzzled. But she only laughed, without giving me any satisfactory answer. "I'm extremely pleased to see you," I said, and in response to my summons Simes entered with the tea, which she poured out, gracefully handing me my cup. "I'm of course very pleased to come and see you like this," she said when my man had gone; "but if my aunt knew, she wouldn't like it." "I suppose she was concerned about you the other night, wasn't she?" "Oh yes," she replied with a smile. "We've often laughed over my absurd ignorance of London." "Do you intend to live always with your aunt?" "Ah, I do not know. Unfortunately there are some in whose footsteps evil always follows; some upon whom the shadow of sin for ever falls," and she sighed as she added, "I am one of those." I glanced across at her in surprise. She was holding her cup in her hand, and her face was pale and agitated, as though the confession had involuntarily escaped her. "I don't understand?" I said, puzzled. "Are you a fatalist?" "I'm not quite certain," she answered, in an undecided tone. "As I have already told you, I hesitated to visit you because of the evil which I bring upon those who are my friends."