‘Her own,’ Gerald replied. Not a star could be discerned, but, in their stead, streaks of lurid radiance, whence proceeding it was impossible to determine, shot ever and anon athwart the dusky vault, and added to the ominous and threatening appearance of the night. Rich folks, once. “There was a man called Montague Hill,” she said hoarsely, “but he is dead. I—well, I borrowed Anna’s name. ” The suitcase loomed in her memory, making its presence felt once again. All the initial confidence in herself was gone; her courage was merely a shell to hide the lack. "Who knows but this key may open a golden lock one of these days?" And, picking it up, he thrust it into his pocket. The air was sharp and bracing, and the leaves which had taken their autumnal tints were falling from the trees. Diane did not hear the footsteps on her brick patio or the audible click of the back door lock being compromised.
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