ral--perhaps she hadn't enough."

"Well, Sir Owen, she must have been doubtful if she had enough
chloral to kill herself, for this is what I found." And the maid
took out of her pocket several pairs of garters tied together.

"You think she tied these together so that she might hang herself?"

"There is no place she could hang herself except over the banisters.
I thought that perhaps she feared the garters were not strong enough
and she might fall and break her legs."

"Poor woman! Poor woman!" So if the garters had proved stronger, she
would have strangled there minute by minute. Nothing but religious
mania--that is what drove her to it."

"I am inclined to think, Sir Owen, it must have been something of
that kind, for of course there were no money difficulties."

"The agony of mind she must have suffered! The agony of the suicide!
And her agony, the worst of all, for she is a religious woman." Owen
talked of how strange and mysterious are the motives which determine
the lives of human beings. "You see, all her life was in disorder--
leaving the stage and giving me up. Merat, there is no use in
disguising it from you. You know all about it. Do you remember when
we met for the first time?"

"Yes, Sir Owen; indeed I do." And the two stood looking at each
other, thinking of the changes that time had made in themselves. Sir
Owen's figure was thinner, if anything, than before; his face seemed
shrunken, but there were only a few grey hairs, and the maid thought
him still a very distinguished-looking man--old, of course; but
still, nobody would think of him as an old man. Merat's shoulders
seemed to be higher than they were when he last saw her; she had
developed a bust, and her black dress showed off her hips. Her hair
seemed a little thinner, so she was still typically French; France
looked out of her eyes. "Isn't it strange? The day we first met we
little thought that we would come to know each other so well; and
you have known her always, travelled all over Europe with her. How I
have loved that woman, Merat! And here you are together, come from
Park Lane to this poor little flat in Bayswater. It is wonderful,
Merat, after all these years, to be sitting here, talking together
about her whom we both love, you have been very good to her, and have
looked after her well; I shall never forget it to you."

"I have done my best, Sir Owen; and you know mademoiselle is one of
those whom one cannot help liking."

"But li