“Afterward my impressions grew somewhat confused,” Helen continued. “The whole thing—Starr’s acting and Miss Darrow’s strange conduct—seemed sort of unreal. It was as if an illusion had been shattered the moment Starr disappeared from the stage and the curtain went down. The officers argued that Mr. Shei could be nobody but The Gray Phantom. Their arguments made me very uneasy, and after my talk with Culligore the next day I felt I must see you. On the impulse of the moment I got on a train.” She shuddered a little, as if some horrifying recollection had come back to her. “It all seems like an ugly dream—and I am not sure even now that I am quite awake.”
For a time they sat silent, gazing dreamily into the soft sunlight.
“Helen,” said The Phantom at length, “I feel as if a great black cloud had lifted from my life.”
“I feel that way too.”
He found her hand and held it. For a moment his thoughts went back to the day when his fingers had first touched hers.
“Helen,” he murmured, “you and I have schemed together and dreamed together and shared all sorts of dangers together. I wonder if we couldn’t——”
Her misty-bright eyes met his. A smile, warm, radiant, and tender, came to her lips.
“Yes,” she whispered, “why couldn’t we?”
THE END