indoors, found some port wine left in Miss Mitty's bottles,
poured out a glass, and carried it to her.

"Drink this, darling," I said.

As I held it to her lips, she swallowed it obediently, and then, looking
up, she thanked me with her unfailing smile.

"Oh, we'll drink outer de healin' fountain, by en bye, lil'
chillun,"

crooned Aunt Euphronasia softly, and the tune has rung ever afterwards
somewhere in my brain. To escape from it at the time, I went out upon
the front steps, closed the door, and walked, restless as a caged tiger,
up and down the deserted pavement. A homeless dog or two, panting from
thirst, lay in the gutter; otherwise there was not a sound, not a living
thing, from end to end of the long dusty street.

For two hours I walked up and down there, entering the house from time
to time to see if Sally needed me, or if she had moved. Then, as the
light broke feebly, the doctor came, and we went in together. Sally was
still sitting there, as she had sat all night, rigid in the dim glow of
the lamp, and over her Aunt Euphronasia still waved the palm-leaf fan
with its black, flitting shadow. Then, as we crossed the threshold,
there was a sudden sharp cry, and when I sprang forward and caught them
both in my arms, I found that Sally had fainted and the child was dead
on her knees.

* * * * *

We buried the child in the old Bland section at Hollywood, where a
single twisted yew-tree grew between the graves, obliterated by ivy, of
Edmond Bland and his wife, Caroline Matilda, born Fairfax. On the way
home Sally sat rigid and tearless, with her hand in mine, and her eyes
fixed on the drawn blinds of the carriage, as though she were staring
intently through the closed window at something that fascinated and held
her gaze in the dusty street.

"Does your head ache, darling?" I asked once, and she made a quick,
half-impatient gesture of denial, with that strained, rapt look, as if
she were seeing a vision, still in her face. Only when we reached home,
and Aunt Euphronasia met her with outstretched arms on the threshold,
did this agonised composure break down in passionate weeping on the old
negress's shoulder.

The strength which had upheld her so long seemed suddenly to have
departed, and all night she wept on my breast, while I fanned her in the
hot air, which had grown humid and close. Not until the dawn had broken
did my arm drop powerless with sleep, and the fa