She saw that she was quite alone, the attendant having gone to hasten the physician whose duty it was to attend to her case. The thought of Suicide Place came to her like an inspiration, and she sighed to herself that all its horrors were not equal to Otho Maury’s relentless pursuit. She staggered to her feet and found herself unhurt. The long swoon had been the result of the shock of fear. Pursued by fear and unrest, Floy fled wildly from the hospital, and as she had on her person the five dollars given her by Mrs. Banks, she made use of it to return to Mount Vernon. That night she rested in the haunted house, that, with its evil repute, seemed to offer her a refuge from despair. Here, during the two weeks while the search for her went on, Floy rested safe from pursuit. But her adventurous spirit drove her forth at last to inquire of the letter-carrier about the mail she had expected to receive from Beresford. Without acquainting him with her hiding-place, she pledged him to secrecy over her visit, and obtained from him the information that Miss Maury had intercepted her letters. She made several futile trips to the Maury residence before she succeeded in getting possession of the precious letters. Having purposely made herself look as phantom-like as possible, she was seen by several persons, and the report that her spirit walked became noised about. Having obtained the letters, she resolved not to venture forth again, lest she should be followed and her identity discovered. But, as we have seen, by Maybelle’s story, her discretion came too late, and she was fated to a severe ordeal--the result of last night’s adventure. Through the fragrant gloom of the summer night Otho Maury was gliding toward the house, wriggling his lean body through the shadows like a hungry panther about to spring upon its prey, and as his stealthy step pressed the threshold, he kept muttering, darkly, with horrible exultation: “She can not escape me now!” CHAPTER XXVI. “I WILL SELL MY LIFE AND HONOR DEARLY!” CRIED THE MADDENED GIRL. The room where Floy sat had been her mother’s bedchamber. It was a large, handsome apartment, with stenciled walls and deep mahogany wainscoting after the old style, and the dark, massive furniture was of the richest mahogany. The dark polished floor was covered with rich rugs from Persia, and a magnificent full-length mirror between the two windows had reflected many a beautiful face and form of Floy’s ancestors. They had been handsome people, the Nellests, but Floy’s beauty was of quite a different type. Her mother had been dark and stately, like all the Nellests, but Floy was fair as Venus fresh risen from the foam. She had inherited her blonde beauty from her English father, as also her sunny, happy nature. The Nellests had been cold, grave, severe people, given to moroseness on account of their loss of fortune sixty years ago.