“Yes, I must see her to-night,” he said, almost aloud. “I can't wait longer. It has been more than a month now, and not a line from her. I am winning the fight of my life, and I want to see her glorious face light up as I tell her about it. She is the sweetest, dearest girl in the world. Her great dreamy eyes haunt me night and day. I love her, God knows I do. But it mustn't get out yet--not yet; not, at least, till my road is built. We have a right to our secret, the sweetest that ever a love-mad pair held between them. She trusts me, and for the present no one need dream of our intimacy. The last time I saw her the little darling had all sorts of fears in her dear little head, but such fancies are only natural. I'll kiss them away, once she is nestling in my arms. The dear little thing is jealous--actually jealous--of my success. She said once that she believed I would desert her if it would serve my ambition to do so. She doesn't know me. She has a wonderful brain, but she reads me wrongly.” The hours went by. The old grandfather clock in the hall below struck nine and then ten, and he rose and slipped down the stairs into the grounds below. Stafford was a town which went early to bed as a rule, and Galt found a vast stillness all about him out under the mystically shimmering stars. Softly treading the grass and furtively looking about, he went down to a gate near his stables, passed through and closed it without sound. Again looking up the little street cautiously, he went on till he reached the rear gate of Mrs. Barry's cottage. Going in, he walked through the widow's vegetable garden till he stood behind the little coal-and-wood house not ten feet from the open window of Dora's room. Here he paused, holding his breath in suspense. There was a light in the room as from a low-burning gas-jet at the bureau in the corner, and against the white window-curtain he saw the shadow of some one bowed over a table. The outlines of the silhouette were familiar, and they, set his heart to beating rapidly. Picking up some small particles of coal, he shot them at the window from his closed hand with the nail of his thumb. Sometimes they would fall short of the mark, but now and then one would strike the glass and produce a faint clicking sound. The trick was successful, as it had been before. The crouching shadow straightened up, the distinct profile of Dora's face appeared for an instant, and then lost its exquisite outlines in a blur of black which elongated itself upward as the girl rose to her feet. The curtain was drawn, and Dora, fully dressed, peered out. Stepping into open view, Galt signalled with his hand for her to come out. He saw her shake her head excitedly and stand motionless.