d have
so much as contemplated the step which she had in view seemed to
Sylvia unspeakable. Her threat, too, in regard to testifying against
her husband was in the circumstances but a flagrant avowal of love for
the other man. Yet, for that love, how had she been punished! Perhaps
now she repented of it. Perhaps now in her illness she needed someone
to whom she could unburden her heart. At the thought of that Sylvia
wrote at once to Mrs. Price asking might she not come to her. But to
this Mrs. Price replied that Fanny after an attack of nervous
prostration was now down with typhoid, though with every prospect and
assurance of recovery. When she was up again, then, if Sylvia would
come, it would, Mrs. Price added, be nice of her.

There is a saying trite yet true that we should hasten to cherish
those whom we love lest they leave us forever before we have loved
them enough. There is another saying less true and more trite that of
those that do leave only good should be said. To Sylvia presently
these sayings recurred. Two days after the receipt of the letter from
Mrs. Price she read in the papers that Fanny was dead.

The paper fell from her. For an hour, which passed as only such hours
do pass, incomprehensibly, without consciousness of time, she sat,
still and stricken.

Through raveled skeins of thought of which the tangled threads refused
to wholly straighten, she blamed herself for all that had occurred.
Not indeed for Loftus. The man, his life, his death, everything
concerning him was abhorrent to her. Of him, other than that pity
which can mingle with disgust, she had no concern whatever. But when
she should have stood most steadfastly by Annandale she had turned
from him. Had he not implored her forgiveness, and did she not know
that all that God requires is that forgiveness be asked? But no. She
had been too proud and that pride she had nursed until it was too
late, until Annandale had married, with this double tragedy for
climax.

It was all her fault, Sylvia told herself. All her own. Had she not
abandoned Annandale he would have had no cause to threaten, Fanny
would have lived, there would have been no shock to debilitate her and
leave her a prey to disease. Fanny's death was at her door.

Companioned by these thoughts for an hour she sat, still and stricken.
When she aroused herself it seemed as though before her two figures
stood. One said "I am Duty," the other, "I am Grief."

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