Lay your hand upon my heart, dear Ella, and you will feel
its weight of pain."
But why that sudden lifting of the head, as if a spirit hand had
indeed touched him with its icy fingers? Howard Hastings was not
afraid of the dead, and it was not this which made him start so
nervously to his feet. His ear had caught the sound of a light
footstep in the hall below, and coming at that hour of a stormy
night, it startled him, for he remembered that the outer door had
been left unlocked. Nearer and nearer it came, up the winding
stairs, and on through the silent hall, tin til it readied the
threshold of his chamber, where it ceased, while a low voice spoke
his name.
In an instant he was at the door, standing face to face with Dora
Deane, whose head was uncovered, and whose hair was drenched with
the rain.
"Dora," he exclaimed, "how came you here and wherefore have you
come?"
"Your child!" was her only answer, and in another moment he, too,
was cut in the storm with Dora Deane, whose hand he involuntarily
took in his, as if to shield her from the darkness.
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