to it also, my dear, that I am not disturbed at such an unearthly
hour again as I was this morning. Tesla, the great electrician, has put
himself on record as intimating that the want of sleep is a potent
factor in the deplorably heavy death rate of the present day. He thinks
sleep and longevity are synonymous, therefore it becomes us to bend
every effort to attain that desirable consummation."

Involuntarily Evadne looked at Mrs. Everidge. Her face was slightly
turned towards the open window and there was a half smile upon her lips,
as if, like Joan of Arc, she was listening to voices of sweeter tone
than those of earth. She came back to the present again on the instant
and met her niece's eyes with a smile, but in the subtle realm of
intuition we learn by lightning flashes, and Evadne needed no further
telling to know that the saddest loneliness which can fall to the lot of
a woman was the fate of her aunt.

Immediately after supper Mrs. Everidge persuaded Evadne to go to her
room. The long journey had been a great strain upon her strength and she
was very tired.

"I wish you a good night, Uncle Horace," she said as she passed him in
the doorway.

"And you a pleasant one," he rejoined with a gallant bow. "'We are such
stuff as dreams are made of--and our little life is rounded with a
sleep.'"

She lay for a long time wakeful, revelling in the strange sense of peace
which seemed to enfold her, while the evening breeze blew through the
room and the twilight threw weird shadows among the dainty draperies.
At length there came a low knock and Mrs. Everidge opened the door.

Evadne stretched out her hands impulsively. "Oh, this beautiful
stillness!" she exclaimed. "In Marlborough there is the clang of the car
gongs and the rumble of cabs and the tramp of feet upon the pavement
until it seems as if the weary world were never to be at rest, but this
house is so quiet I could almost hear a pin drop."

Mrs. Everidge smiled. "You have quick ears, little one. But we are
quieter than usual to-night; Joanna is sitting up with a sick neighbor,
your uncle went to his room early, and I have been reading in mine."

She drew a low chair up beside the bed. "Now we must begin to get
acquainted," she said.

"Dear Aunt Marthe!" cried Evadne, "I feel as if I had known you all my
life."

She gave her a swift caress. "You dear child! Then tell me about your
father."

Evadne looked at her gratefully. No one had ever cared to kno