beat.

"Mrs. Cheniston--you want me? Is your husband worse?"

For a moment she did not reply. Then:

"He is dead, Dr. Anstice," she said quietly. "He died ten minutes
ago--just after I heard those two shots----"

"Dead?" Although he had half expected the news, Anstice found it hard to
believe. "Mrs. Cheniston, are you _sure_? May I come and see? You
might--possibly--be mistaken."

"I am not mistaken," she said, and for a second a pitiful little smile
touched her white lips. "Bruce is dead--but come and see for yourself.
I ... I am glad you are safely back, Dr. Anstice."

"Thank you," he said quietly; and then without more ado they moved side
by side towards the room in which Bruce Cheniston had yielded up his
life.

Mrs. Wood rose from her seat as they entered, and glided softly away,
beckoning to her husband, who stood by the window, to join her; and when
they were alone Anstice and the girl so lately widowed moved forward
until they stood beside the bed on which Bruce Cheniston lay in all the
white majesty of Death.

A very brief examination satisfied Anstice that Iris had not been
mistaken. Cheniston was dead; and as he stood looking down on the quiet
face, which, by virtue of Death's magic alchemy, had regained in the
last hour something of its former youth, Anstice knew a sincere and
unfeigned pity for the young life so ruthlessly cut short by a cruel
disease.

"Yes, Mrs. Cheniston." He covered the dead white face gently. "I am
sorry to say you are right. Were you with him when he died?"

"Yes. We were alone," she said, and again that oddly stricken look made
his heart yearn pitifully over her.

"He was conscious before the end?"

"I--I think so--at least, partly." Her tone was indefinable, desolation
and a strange, half-hurt wonder sounding in its low note. "He did not
speak much--only a few words--at the end I don't think he knew me...."

"I am sorry you were left alone," he said, and he ventured to lay his
hand for a second gently on her arm. "I wish I could have been back
earlier. I am afraid it has been a shock to you."

"Death is always a shock," she said quietly, and again a wintry little
smile touched her lips. "But--don't think me unkind, Dr. Anstice--I am
glad I was alone with him--at the end."

In spite of himself a great amazement shook him at her words. Although
her meaning was a mystery to him, there was no doubt she had spoken in
perfect sincerity; and in the midst of his inward tu