Frank spoke in a voice scarcely audible: "I consent to your proposition." She rose, and although it was rapidly getting quite dark, she unlocked a secret drawer of her desk, and drew from thence two packages. "This way, sir," she spoke in a low voice, and the stranger rose and approached her. "Here you will find the names of all my guests, and especially of those who will come here to-night. You will find such other information as may be useful to you and aid your purposes." She placed the package in his hand. "I will place Walker and the other servants under your command." She paused, and resumed after an instant, in a firmer voice: "If I have yielded to your request, it has not been altogether from fear,--" "Fear! Who spoke of fear?" "Don't mock me. I have yielded from fear, but not altogether from fear. I have nursed a hope that you can aid me to quit this thrice accursed life which I now lead. For though your polite manner only thinly vails insinuations the most deadly, yet I believe you have a heart. I feel that when you know all of my past life, _all_, you will think, I do not say better of me, but differently, from what you do now. Here, take this package,--it contains my history written by my own hand, and only intended to be read after my death--but you may read it now or at your leisure." The man in the cloak took the package; his voice trembled when he spoke-- "Girl, you shall not regret this confidence. I will aid you to quit this accursed life." "Leave me for a few moments. I wish to sit alone and think for a little while. After that we will arrange matters in regard to the festival to-night." The stranger in the cloak left the room, bearing with him the two packages, one of which embraced the mysteries of the house of Frank, and the other contained the story of her life. And in the darkness, Frank walked up and down the room, pressing one clenched hand against her heaving bosom, and the other against her burning brow. Soon afterward, Frank and the stranger in the old-fashioned cloak, were closeted for half an hour in earnest conversation. We will not record the details of the conversation, but its results will perchance be seen in the future pages of our history. Here, at this point of our story, let us break the seals of the _second_ package which Frank gave to the stranger, and linger for a little while upon the pages of her history, written by her own hand. A strange history in every line! It is called The History of THE MIDNIGHT QUEEN! CHAPTER III. THE CHILDHOOD OF THE MIDNIGHT QUEEN.