The Story Continued by Marian Halcombe

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.