I saw him for the last time.  He was kneeling by a tomb of white marble, and the shadow of a veiled woman rose out of the grave beneath and waited by his side.  The unearthly quiet of his face had changed to an unearthly sorrow.  But the terrible certainty of his words remained the same.  “Darker and darker,” he said; “farther and farther yet.  Death takes the good, the beautiful, and the young—­and spares me.  The Pestilence that wastes, the Arrow that strikes, the Sea that drowns, the Grave that closes over Love and Hope, are steps of my journey, and take me nearer and nearer to the End.”

My heart sank under a dread beyond words, under a grief beyond tears.  The darkness closed round the pilgrim at the marble tomb—­ closed round the veiled woman from the grave—­closed round the dreamer who looked on them.  I saw and heard no more.

I was aroused by a hand laid on my shoulder.  It was Laura’s.

She had dropped on her knees by the side of the sofa.  Her face was flushed and agitated, and her eyes met mine in a wild bewildered manner.  I started the instant I saw her.

“What has happened?” I asked.  “What has frightened you?”

She looked round at the half-open door, put her lips close to my ear, and answered in a whisper—­

“Marian!—­the figure at the lake—­the footsteps last night—­I’ve just seen her!  I’ve just spoken to her!”

“Who, for Heaven’s sake?”

“Anne Catherick.”

I was so startled by the disturbance in Laura’s face and manner, and so dismayed by the first waking impressions of my dream, that I was not fit to bear the revelation which burst upon me when that name passed her lips.  I could only stand rooted to the floor, looking at her in breathless silence.

She was too much absorbed by what had happened to notice the effect which her reply had produced on me.  “I have seen Anne Catherick!  I have spoken to Anne Catherick!” she repeated as if I had not heard her.  “Oh, Marian, I have such things to tell you!  Come away—­we may be interrupted here—­come at once into my room.”

With those eager words she caught me by the hand, and led me through the library, to the end room on the ground floor, which had been fitted up for her own especial use.  No third person, except her maid, could have any excuse for surprising us here.  She pushed me in before her, locked the door, and drew the chintz curtains that hung over the inside.

The strange, stunned feeling which had taken possession of me still remained.  But a growing conviction that the complications which had long threatened to gather about her, and to gather about me, had suddenly closed fast round us both, was now beginning to penetrate my mind.  I could not express it in words—­I could hardly even realise it dimly in my own thoughts.  “Anne Catherick!” I whispered to myself, with useless, helpless reiteration—­“Anne Catherick!”