CHAPTER XXIX.
THE APPARITION.
The voice of her lost Marquis, which even in her dreams she could attribute to none but him, roused Dorothy at once.

She sprang from her bed, flew to the window, and flung it wide.

That same moment, from the shadows about the hall-door, came forth a man on horseback, and rode along the tiled path to the fountain, where never had hoof of horse before trod.

Stranger still, the tramp sounded far away, and woke no echo in the echo-haunted place.

A phantom surely--horse and man! As they drew nearer where she stared with wide eyes, the head of the rider rose out of the shadow into the moonlight, and she recognised the face of Richard--very white and still, though not, as she supposed, with the whiteness and stillness of a spectre, but with the concentration of eagerness and watchful resolution.