profit by your advice, what hope can I have that he will take
mine?"

Mr. MacGlue pointed this artful compliment by a bow of the
deepest respect, and threw open the door for my mother to pass
out.

When we were left together over our wine, I asked the doctor how
soon I might safely start on my journey to Edinburgh.

"Take two days to do the journey, and you may start, if you're
bent on it, at the beginning of the week. But mind this," added
the prudent doctor, "though I own I'm anxious to hear what comes
of your expedition--understand at the same time, so far as the
lady is concerned, that I wash my hands of the consequences." --
* The doctor's narrative is not imaginary. It will be found
related in full detail, and authenticated by names and dates, in
Robert Dale Owen's very interesting work called "Footfalls on the
Boundary of Another World." The author gladly takes this
opportunity of acknowledging his obligations to Mr. Owen's
remarkable book.


CHAPTER X.

SAINT ANTHONY'S WELL.

I STOOD on the rocky eminence in front of the ruins of Saint
Anthony's Chapel, and looked on the magnificent view of Edinburgh
and of the old Palace of Holyrood, bathed in the light of the
full moon.

The Well, as the doctor's instructions had informed me, was
behind the chapel. I waited for some minutes in front of the
ruin, partly to recover my breath after ascending the hill;
partly, I own, to master the nervous agitation which the sense of
my position at that moment had aroused in me. The woman, or the
apparition of the woman--it might be either--was perhaps within a
few yards of the place that I occupied. Not a living creature
appeared in front of the chapel. Not a sound caught my ear from
any part of the solitary hill. I tried to fix my whole attention
on the beauties of the moonlit view. It was not to be done. My
mind was far away from the objects on which my eyes rested. My
mind was with the woman whom I had seen in the summer-house
writing in my book.

I turned to skirt the side of the chapel. A few steps more over
the broken ground brought me within view of the Well, and of the
high boulder or rock from the foot of which the waters gushed
brightly in the light of the moon.

She was there.

I recognized her figure as she stood leaning against the rock,
with her hands crossed in front of her, lost in thought. I
recognized her face as she looked up quickly, startled by the
sound of my footsteps in the deep stillness of the night.

Was it the woman, or the apparition of the woman? I waited,
looking at her in silence.

She spoke. The sound of her voice was not the mysterious sound
that I had heard in the summer-house. It was the sound I had
heard on the bridge when we first met in the dim evening light.

"Who are you? What do you want?"

As those words passed her lips, she recognized me. "_You_ here!"
she went on, advancing a step, in uncontrollable surprise . "What
does this mean?"

"I am here," I answered, "to meet you, by your own appointment."

She stepped back again, leaning against the rock. The moonlight
shone full upon her face. There was terror as well as
astonishment in her eyes while they now looked at me.

"I don't understand you," she said. "I have not seen you since
you spoke to me on the bridge."

"Pardon me," I replied. "I have seen you--or the appearance of
you--since that time. I heard you speak. I saw you write."

She looked at me with the strangest expression of mingled
resentment and curiosity. "What did I say?" she asked. "What did
I write?"

"You said, 'Remember me. Come to me.' You wrote, 'When the full
moon shines on Saint Anthony's Well.' "

"Where?" she cried. "Where did I do that?"

"In a summer-house which stands by a waterfall," I answered. "Do
you know the place?"

Her head sunk back against the rock. A low cry of terror burst
from her. Her arm, resting on the rock, dropped at her side. I
hurriedly approached her, in the fear that she might fall on the
stony ground.



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