Ringing a bell, she sent her own maid to Commonwealth Avenue, to bring home her tardy step-daughter. Ellen returned with the news that Kathleen had left Mrs. Fox's several hours ago. "And with Susette, too," said the elderly maid, sourly; for she cherished a secret grudge against Kathleen's maid, who was younger than herself, better looking, and had insnared the affections of James, the butler. Susette was recalled. On being questioned, she readily admitted that Kathleen had started home with her, but sent her on ahead, promising to follow. While the angry step-mother stormed and raved over Kathleen's willfulness, awaiting her return in impotent anger, the young girl was flying fast from her tyranny, and nearer to the fate that loomed darkly in the near future. * * * * * The flying train sped on through the night with Ralph Chainey. He had thrown himself down dressed upon his berth, for the porter had told him that he would have to change cars at midnight. He was restless and troubled. No sleep visited his eyes. In spite of himself, his thought turned back to Boston--to Kathleen Carew. She haunted him with her musical voice and luring eyes. At last a deep groan forced itself through his lips. "I would to Heaven we had never met!" he exclaimed, in a tone of deep despair. Pushing back the light curtain, he looked out into the night. It had grown cold and bleak. A light patter of mingled rain and snow was beating against the window. "How dreary!" the young man murmured, with a shudder; and added, in a sort of awe: "Dying! can that be true?" The porter, who was very attentive--the result of a liberal tip--came and put his head between the curtains. "We change cars at the next station, Mr. Chainey, and that's but a few miles away. You'd better be getting ready." Ralph came into the little reception-room, and the man assisted him into his overcoat. A few minutes more, and the train was slowing up at the lonely station. "You're the only person getting off, sir. Good-night, sir; a pleasant journey!" The porter handed out Ralph's valise, and he stepped down into the darkness, while the train went its way. "But where the dickens is the other one?" soliloquized the young man, standing still a moment, the light snow pelting his face, while he peered into the darkness for the locomotive's head-light. "It must be behind that little depot. Here goes for a tour of investigation!" and with his valise in hand, he strode forward in the darkness, hardly knowing where he went, and wondering at the scarcity of railway officials and light. "The train can't be here. It is probably late," he thought, and then his foot tripped, and he fell headlong over a body lying in his path. A shudder of nameless horror shook the young man as he scrambled to an erect position, muttering: