, sending down word that she had a
raging toothache. It was her first lie in many years, but it was better
than to dance with despair and agony written on her relaxed face behind
the windows of the garden in which Trennahan had asked her to marry him.

To-night she was seriously considering the proposition of going to her
aunt in Santa Barbara, with or without her father's consent. Her sense
of duty had not tumbled into the ruins of her will, but she argued that
in this most crucial period of her life, her duty was to herself. Helena
had not even asked her to be bridesmaid; she took her acquiescence for
granted. Magdalena laughed aloud at the thought; but she could not leave
Helena in the lurch at the last moment. When she got to Santa Barbara,
she could plead her aunt's ill health as excuse for not returning in
time for the ceremony. She was in a mood to tell twenty lies if
necessary, but she would not stand at the altar with Trennahan and
Helena. Her passionate desire for change of associations was rising
rapidly to the dignity of a fixed idea. To-morrow there must be a change
of some sort, or her brain would be babbling its secrets. Already her
memory would not connect at times. She felt sure that the prolonged
strain had produced a certain congestion in her brain. And she was
beginning to wonder if she hated Helena. The fires in Magdalena burned
slowly, but they burned exceeding hot.

She paused and thrust her head forward. For some seconds past her
sub-consciousness had grasped the sound of galloping hoofs. They were on
the estate, by the deer park; a horse was galloping furiously toward the
house.

She ran to the window and looked out. She could see nothing. Could it be
a runaway horse? Was somebody ill? The flying feet turned abruptly and
made for the rear of the house, then paused suddenly. There was a
furious knocking.

Magdalena's knees shook with a swift presentiment. Something had
happened--was going to happen--to her. She stood holding her breath.
Someone ran softly but swiftly up the stair, and down the hall, to her
room. She knew then who it was, and ran forward and opened the door.

"Helena!" she exclaimed. "What is the matter? Something has--Mr.
Trennahan--"

Helena flung herself upon Magdalena and burst into a passion of weeping.
Magdalena stood rigid, ice in her veins. "Is he dead?" she managed to
ask.

"No! He isn't. I wish he were--No, I don't mean that--I'll tell you in a
minute--Let me ge