No lady closer."

Henry IV.

"No, 't is slander,
Whose edge is sharper than the sword whose tongue
Outvenoms all the worms of Nile."

Cymbeline.

THE door was opened by Molly. "You will find Miss Eleanore in the
drawing-room, sir," she said, ushering me in.

Fearing I knew not what, I hurried to the room thus indicated, feeling
as never before the sumptuous-ness of the magnificent hall with its
antique flooring, carved woods, and bronze ornamentations:--the mockery
of _things_ for the first time forcing itself upon me. Laying my hand
on the drawing-room door, I listened. All was silent. Slowly pulling it
open, I lifted the heavy satin curtains hanging before me to the floor,
and looked within. What a picture met my eyes!

Sitting in the light of a solitary gas jet, whose faint glimmering just
served to make visible the glancing satin and stainless marble of
the gorgeous apartment, I beheld Eleanore Leavenworth. Pale as the
sculptured image of the Psyche that towered above her from the mellow
dusk of the bow-window near which she sat, beautiful as it, and almost
as immobile, she crouched with rigid hands frozen in forgotten entreaty
before her, apparently insensible to sound, movement, or touch; a silent
figure of despair in presence of an implacable fate.

Impressed by the scene, I stood with my hand upon the curtain,
hesitating if to advance or retreat, when suddenly a sharp tremble shook
her impassive frame, the rigid hands unlocked, the stony eyes softened,
and, springing to her feet, she uttered a cry of satisfaction, and
advanced towards me.

"Miss Leavenworth!" I exclaimed, starting at the sound of my own voice.

She paused, and pressed her hands to her face, as if the world and all
she had forgotten had rushed back upon her at this simple utterance of
her name.

"What is it?" I asked.

Her hands fell heavily. "Do you not know? They--they are beginning to
say that I--" she paused, and clutched her throat. "Read!" she gasped,
pointing to a newspaper lying on the floor at her feet.

I stooped and lifted what showed itself at first glance to be the
_Evening Telegram._ It needed but a single look to inform me to what she
referred. There, in startling characters, I beheld:

THE LEAVENWORTH MURDER

LATEST DEVELOPMENTS IN THE MYSTERIOUS CASE

A MEMBER OF THE MURDERED MAN'S OWN FAMILY
STRONGLY SUSPECTED OF THE CRIME

THE MOST BEAUTIFUL WOMAN IN N