nd with a little scream. Her eyes, frightened and
dilated, were fixed upon the door. On the threshold a little boy was
standing in his night-shirt, looking at her with dark, inquiring eyes.

"I want Mr. Matravers, if you please," he said deliberately. "Will you
tell him? He don't know that I'm here yet! He will be so surprised!
Charlie Dunlop--that's where I live--has the fever, and dad sent me
here with a letter, but Mr. Matravers was out when we came, and nurse
put me to bed. Now she's gone away, and I'm so lonely. Is he asleep?
Please wake him, and tell him."

She turned up the lamp without moving her eyes from the little
white-clad figure. A great trembling was upon her! It was like a voice
from the shadows of another world. And Matravers, why did he not
speak?

Slowly the lamp burned up. She leaned forward. He was sitting with his
head resting upon his hand, and the old, faint smile parting his
lips. But he did not look up! He did not speak to her! He was sitting
like a carved image!

"For God's sake speak to me!" she cried.

Then a certain rigidity in his posture struck her for the first time,
and she threw herself on the ground beside him with a cry of fear.
She pressed her lips to his, chafed his cold hand, and whispered
frantically in his ear! But there was no answer--there never could be
any answer. Matravers was dead, and the wine-glass at his side was
untasted.

[Illustration: But there was no answer--there never could be any
answer]

* * * * *

Berenice did not faint! She did not even lose consciousness for a
moment. Moaning softly to herself, but dry-eyed, she leaned over his
shoulder and read the words which he had written to her, of which,
indeed, the ink was scarcely dry. When she had finished, she took
up the wine-glass in her own fingers, holding it so steadily that not
a drop was spilt.

Here was the panacea she craved! The problem of her troubled life was
so easily to be solved. Rest with the man she loved!

Her arms would fold around him as she sank to the ground. Perhaps he
was already waiting for her somewhere--in one of those mystic worlds
where the soul might shake itself free from this weary burden of human
passions and sorrows. Her lips parted in a wonderful smile. She raised
the glass!

There was a soft patter across the carpet, and a gentle tug at her
dress.

"I am very cold," Freddy cried piteously, holding out a little blue
foot from undern