tern sky; the sea lay glassy and breathless;
the wind came in fitful gusts until the sun went down, and then died
out in dead and ominous calm; night fell an hour before its time.

My lady sat by her chamber window, looking out at black sea and blacker
sky. Exquisite pictures, wonderful bric-a-brac treasures, inlaid
tables and cabinets, richest carpets and curtains, and chairs that were
like ivory touched up with gold, made the room a miracle of beauty.

But my lady herself, sitting alone amid the rose-colored curtains,
looking blankly out at the menacing sky, wore a face as dark as that
sky itself. She had wasted to a shadow; dark circles under her hollow
eyes told of sleepless nights and wretched days; her cheeks were
haggard, her lips bloodless.

The white morning-dress she still wore clung loosely around her wasted
figure; all the bright hair was pushed impatiently off her face and
confined in a net.

No one who had seen Harrie Hunsden, radiant as Hebe, blooming as Venus,
daring as Diana, at the memorable fox-hunt of a little more than a year
ago, would ever have recognized this haggard, pallid, wretched-looking
Lady Kingsland as the same.

She sat still and alone, gazing out at the dreary desolation of earth
and heaven. The great house was still as a tomb; the bustle of the
servants' regions was far removed, the gnawing of a mouse behind the
black paneling, the soft ticking of the toy clock sounded unnaturally
loud.

"Darkening," Harriet thought, looking at the leaden
twilight--"darkening, like my life. Not two months a wife, and his
love and trust gone forever. May Heaven pity me, for there is none on
earth!"

There was a tap at the door. Lady Kingsland had learned to know that
soft, light tap.

"Come in," she said; and Sybilla entered.

She did not pause at the closed door as usual; she glided noiselessly
across the room and stood beside her. So like a ghost she came, her
dead-black garments making no rustle, her footfall making no sound, her
white face awfully corpse-like in the spectral light, her black eyes
glowing like a cat's in the dark; my lady shrunk in absolute affright.

"Don't come any nearer!" she cried, putting out her hands. "What do
you want?"

"I have seen Mr. Parmalee, my lady."

Her tones were the same as usual--respectful. But the gentle voice did
not reassure Lady Kingsland.

"Well?" she said, coldly.

"He will be there, my lady. At half past eleven to-night you wi