She tiptoed to the stand and gathered up the manuscripts which she carried to a chair by the window. She was afraid people would follow her, she was afraid of the dark, open doorways she passed, and afraid of the blazes of light; she was afraid to be alone, and she knew not what it was she feared. Why? If she had put the query to herself, she could not have answered it. She had never experienced anything so disagreeable in her life as the sense of being held helplessly off her feet. We may meet—who can tell? But I will not be fettered, even though you would make the chains of roses. " "Fooled or not," returned Mrs.
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