light streaming through the stained-glass windows of the nave.

Some minutes, which to John seemed an age, passed, when the sound of a plaintive bell was borne to him in muffled tones on the damp, foggy air. It was the vesper bell. Immediately through the drifting veil of slanting rain he perceived figures flitting across the vaulted opening in the castle wing. He was conscious of some one moving in the shadow on his right, and before he realized it, a heavily cloaked figure came into view followed by a similarly clothed but smaller form, a bare rod behind.

Morton at once pushed the gate open and waited breathlessly.

“It is I—Morton,” he whispered, as the first figure neared him.

“I am Helène and—” she seized her companion’s hand, too excited for words.