ere am I, who might have lived
another ten years, dying, because, when an officious keeper warned me,
I went the opposite way. I hear wheels, Halliday."

"It is the dogcart," Halliday announced. "Yes--I see Mrs. Leslie."

"Thank God!" said the sick man. "Bring her here as soon as she's
ready. Meantime, send in the doctor. I feel worse to-night."

The light was dying fast when Millicent Leslie came softly into the
great bare room, and, for Anthony Thurston had paid for overtaxing his
waning strength, her heart smote her as she looked upon him. She could
recognize the stamp of fast approaching death. There was an unusual
gentleness in his eyes, which brightened at her approach, and with the
exception of Geoffrey, whose sympathy filled her with shame, it was
long since anyone had looked upon her with genuine kindliness. So it
was with real sorrow she knelt beside the bed and kissed him.

"I was shocked to hear of your accident, but it was some time ago, and
you are recovering," she remarked, trying to speak hopefully, but with
a catch in her breath.

"I am dying," was the answer, and Millicent sobbed when the withered
fingers rested on her hair.

"I wanted to see you before I went. I was fond of you, Milly, and
you--you and Geoffrey angered me. It was not your fault," the somewhat
strained voice added wistfully. "He--I don't wish to hurt you, or hear
the stereotyped version he of course endorsed. He left you?"

Millicent Leslie was not wholly evil. She had a softer side, and, in
the moment of reconciliation, dreaded to inflict further pain upon one
to whom she owed much. If the truth was not in her, there was one
thing in her favor, so at least the afterwards tried to convince
herself. Prompted by a desire to soothe a dying man's last hours, she
voluntarily accepted a very unpleasant part. She was thankful her head
was bent as she said: "It was perhaps my fault. I would not--I could
not consent to humor him in what appeared a senseless project--and so
Geoffrey went to Canada."

She felt the old man's hand move caressingly across her hair. "Poor
Millicent," he sympathized. "And you chose another husband. Are you
happy with him out there? But stay, it is twilight and the old place
is gloomy. If you would like them, ask for candles.
Geoffrey--Geoffrey left you!"

Millicent did not desire candles, but gently drew herself away.
Anthony Thurston's tenderness had touched her, and, with sudden
comp