But fleet as were her own steps, those in pursuit seemed fleeter.

She heard her tormentor coming after her, calling her by name and entreating for a hearing.
She knew that he was gaining upon her and must soon catch her up.
She was in a lonely street where not a single passerby seemed to be stirring.

She looked wildly round for some way of escape, and just at that moment saw a man come round a corner and fit a key into the door of one of the houses.
Without pausing to think, Dorcas made a rush towards him, and so soon as the door was opened she dashed within the house, and fled up the staircase--fled she knew not whither--uttering breathless, frightened cries, whilst all the time she knew that her pursuer was close behind, and heard his voice mingled with angry cries of remonstrance from the man they had left below.
Suddenly a door close to Dorcas opened, and a new terror was revealed to her horror-stricken gaze.

A gaunt, tall figure, wrapped in a long white garment that looked like grave clothes, sprang out into the stairway with a shriek that was like nothing human.

Dorcas sank, almost fainting with terror, to the ground; but the spectre--for such it seemed to her--paid no heed to her, but sprang upon her pursuer, who had at that moment come up, and the next moment had his arms wound about him in a bearlike embrace, whilst all the time he was laughing an awful laugh.