Rising hastily, Frank strode to the window and raised the shade.
"Great Heaven! again!"
With face the color of death the young man leaped back from the window, the perspiration starting in great drops from his pallid brow.
"Look—look! Do you see her?" he breathed, hoarsely, pointing with one finger toward the window facing which both the lovers now stood.
"Why, Frank, it's your mother! What in the world can she be doing here?"
It was a woman who stood in the little courtyard without, her face pressed against the pane.
It was the strange woman who has already figured very prominently in this tale—the mother of Frank Mansfield, whom he believed as firmly as he believed in his own existence to be now lying in her grave.
The face, form, figure were all the same.
The apparition of Trinity church-yard stood before him now.
With one hand, she struck the window feebly as with the other she raised what appeared to be a piece of paper before the eyes of the astonished pair.