If only—Anna, tell me,” she broke off suddenly, “how did you get to know Mr. Stanley, “I am anxious. She went on her way now no longer dreaming and appreciative, but disturbed and unwillingly observant behind her mask of serene contentment. “At a boarding-house?” he gasped. Such names shone brightly in the darkness, with black spaces of unilluminated emptiness about them, as stars shine in the night; but now—now it was different; now it was dawn—the real dawn. It was a queer little bed-sitting-room almost in the roof, with a partition right across it. “Please hurry. “Anna, you are the dearest, bravest sister in the world,” she cried. ” Her eyes glinted, macabre.
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