Rachel's poor neighbors grew accustomed to see the tall, handsome, waiting figure which always returned and returned, but which at last, after one dreadful day, was seen no more in Museum Buildings.

Rachel had laid the ghost at last.

But the conflict remained graven in her face.
* * * * * On a certain cold winter morning Hester darted across the wet pavement from the brougham to the untidy entrance of Museum Buildings where Rachel still lived.

It was a miserable day.

The streets and bare trees looked as if they had been drawn in in ink, and the whole carelessly blotted before it was dry.