ed her ears.

With a stern joy he unfolded his arms, took some papers from his
breast-pocket, and, selecting one of them, handed it to her. It was the
telegram sent by his steward.

She read it. With a stern joy he watched her reading it.

Wild-eyed, she looked up from it to him, tried to speak, and swerved
down senseless.

He had not foreseen this. "Help!" he vaguely cried--was she not a
fellow-creature?--and rushed blindly out to his bedroom, whence he
returned, a moment later, with the water-jug. He dipped his hand, and
sprinkled the upturned face (Dew-drops on a white rose? But some
other, sharper analogy hovered to him). He dipped and sprinkled. The
water-beads broke, mingled--rivulets now. He dipped and flung, then
caught the horrible analogy and rebounded.

It was at this moment that Zuleika opened her eyes. "Where am I?" She
weakly raised herself on one elbow; and the suspension of the Duke's
hatred would have been repealed simultaneously with that of her
consciousness, had it not already been repealed by the analogy. She put
a hand to her face, then looked at the wet palm wonderingly, looked at
the Duke, saw the water-jug beside him. She, too, it seemed, had caught
the analogy; for with a wan smile she said "We are quits now, John,
aren't we?"

Her poor little jest drew to the Duke's face no answering smile, did
but make hotter the blush there. The wave of her returning memory swept
on--swept up to her with a roar the instant past. "Oh," she cried,
staggering to her feet, "the owls, the owls!"

Vengeance was his, and "Yes, there," he said, "is the ineluctable hard
fact you wake to. The owls have hooted. The gods have spoken. This day
your wish is to be fulfilled."

"The owls have hooted. The gods have spoken. This day--oh, it must not
be, John! Heaven have mercy on me!"

"The unerring owls have hooted. The dispiteous and humorous gods have
spoken. Miss Dobson, it has to be. And let me remind you," he added,
with a glance at his watch, "that you ought not to keep The MacQuern
waiting for luncheon."

"That is unworthy of you," she said. There was in her eyes a look that
made the words sound as if they had been spoken by a dumb animal.

"You have sent him an excuse?"

"No, I have forgotten him."

"That is unworthy of you. After all, he is going to die for you, like
the rest of us. I am but one of a number, you know. Use your sense of
proportion."

"If I do that," she said after a pause, "you may