away; the movement among the leaves had been no doubt produced by
the creeping or the flying of some creature of the night. Looking
up, at the moment when he was disturbed by this trifling
incident, he noticed a bright patch of moonlight ahead as he
advanced to a new turn in the path.

The instant afterward he was startled by the appearance of a
figure, emerging into the moonlight from the further end of the
shrubbery, and rapidly approaching him. He was near enough to see
that it was the figure of a woman. Was it one of the female
servants, hurrying back to the house after an interview with a
sweetheart? In his black evening dress, he was, in all
probability, completely hidden by the deep shadow in which he
stood. Would he be less likely to frighten the woman if he called
to her than if he allowed her to come close up to him in the
dark? He decided on calling to her.

"Who is out so late?" he asked.

A cry of alarm answered him. The figure stood still for a moment,
and then turned back as if to escape him by flight.

"Don't be frightened," he said. "Surely you know my voice?"

The figure stood still again. He showed himself in the moonlight,
and discovered--Sydney Westerfield.

"You!" he exclaimed.

She trembled; the words in which she answered him were words in