hed reading, had come to take
leave of the Duchess.

'Alas!' said her Highness sadly, 'I am not permitted to bear my sorrow
alone; my friends must suffer also.'

'Ah! Madame,' said the little moth-coloured woman tenderly, 'we would all
suffer joyfully, could we ease your Highness; but think, Madame! you, at
least, have one great happiness: to all women it is not given to bear a
son, and the Erbprinz grows stronger each day.'

Poor little Madame de Stafforth! The tragedy of her life lay in her
words. She was childless; and Stafforth reproached her--nay, taunted her
daily with this, for he desired an heir to carry on his new nobility.

'Forgive me, dear friend; indeed I am blessed. And my son grows stronger,
you really think?'

Johanna Elizabeth's face lit with a mother's tenderness, and the two
ladies plunged into a detailed discourse on the Erbprinz's health. At
length Madame de Stafforth took her leave.

'Shall I send any one to your Highness?' she asked as she reached the
door.

The Duchess's terrors had been allayed by the familiar discussion of the
Erbprinz's ailments, but a thrill of nameless fear passed through her
when she remembered she would be alone again in her sombre apartment. But
this was weakness! What had she read in the Swiss sermon? 'In the hands
of God are all things. It is blasphemy to fear darkness, solitude, or the
evil machinations of men. All is in the Great Grasp, and each happening
is made and directed by God.' The solemn words came back to her now.

'Dear Madame de Stafforth, I can ring when I wish for any one. Good
night, and God bless you!' she said, and laid her hand upon the small
silver hand-bell which was on the bureau near her.

When the sound of Madame de Stafforth's footsteps ceased, her Highness
turned to the books on the table and sought the volume of Swiss sermons;
but it was not there; evidently Madame de Stafforth had forgotten to
bring it from the salon. The Duchess decided to fetch it, but she
lingered a moment, for it was unaccountably disagreeable to her to pass
through the half-light of her sleeping apartment.

'In the hands of God are all things!' she murmured, and with firm step
she moved towards the sombre chamber. Once more she thought she saw the
bed-curtains sway; she fancied she heard a movement behind her. 'It is
blasphemy to fear,' she said, but she felt her brow moisten with the
sweat of terror.

She found the book, and resolutely re-entered the sleepi