and reach the street was her desire, and throwing on her wrappings she went noiselessly into the hall, and carefully turning the lock closed the door behind her, finding herself alone in the street in the dusk of a November night.  But Katy was not afraid, and drawing her hood closely over her face she sped on until her own house was reached, alarming Esther with her frightened face, but explaining that she had been taken suddenly ill and returned before dinner.

“Mr. Cameron will be here soon,” she said.  “I do not need anything to-night, so you can leave me alone and go where you like—­to the theatre, if you choose.  I heard you say you wished to go.  Here is the money for you and Phillips,” and handing a bill to the slightly puzzled Esther, she dismissed her from the room.

Meanwhile, at the elder Cameron’s, no one had a suspicion of Katy’s recent presence, for the girl who had admitted her had gone to visit a sick sister, with whom she was to spend the night.  Thus Katy’s secret was safe, and Wilford, when at last he bade his mother good-by and started for home, was not prepared for the livid face, the bloodshot eyes, and the strange, unnatural look which met him at the threshold.

Katy was waiting for him, and answered his ring herself, her hands grasping his almost fiercely and dragging him up the stairs to her own room, where, more like a maniac than Katy Cameron, she confronted him with the startling question: 

“Who is Genevra Lambert?  It is time I knew before committing greater sin.  Tell me, Wilford, who is she?”

She was standing before him, her slight figure seeming to expand into a greater height, the features glowing with strong excitement, and her hot breath coming hurriedly through her dilated nostrils, but never opening the pale lips set so firmly together.  There was something terrible in her look and attitude, and it startled Wilford, who recoiled a moment from her, scarcely able to recognize the Katy hitherto so gentle and quiet.  She had learned his secret, but the facts must have been distorted, he knew, or she had never been so agitated.  From beneath his hair the great sweat drops came pouring, as he tried to approach her and take the uplifted hands, motioning him aside with the words:  “Not touch me; no, not touch me till you have told me who is Genevra Lambert.”

She repeated the question twice, and rallying all his strength Wilford answered her at last:  “Genevra Lambert was my wife!”

“I thought so,” and the next moment Katy lay in Wilford’s arms, dead, as he feared, for there was no motion about the eyelids, no motion that he could perceive about the pulse or heart, as he laid the rigid form upon the bed and then bent every energy to restore her, even though he feared that it was hopeless.

“I must do what I can,” he said, thinking once to send for a physician and laying his hand upon the bell rope for the purpose of ringing up a servant; but a faint, gasping sound met his ear, assuring him there yet was life and that Katy was not dead.