Yo' dance yo'se'f mos' ter death, I
reck'n."

"I--I'm so tired, Emmaline. Take the crown. It's heavy."

The negro woman untangled the glittering points from the meshing hair
with careful fingers. "Po' li'l chickydee-dee!" she said lovingly.
"Reck'n she flop all th' feddahs outer her wings. Gimme that ol' tin
crown--I like ter lam' it out th' winder! Come on, now; we go up-stairs
soft so's not ter 'sturb Mis' Judith."

In the silvery-blue bedroom, she deftly unfastened the hooks of the
heavy satin gown and coaxed her mistress to lie on the sofa while she
unpinned the masses of waving hair till they lay in a rich surge over
the cushion. Then she brought a brush and crouching down beside her,
began with long gentle strokes to smooth out the silken threads, talking
to her the while in a soft crooning monotone.

"I jes' know Mis' Judith wish she well ernuf ter see her chile bein'
queens en things 'mongst all th' othah qual'ty! When they want er
_queen_ they jes' gotter come fo' her little girl. Talk 'bout th'
stars--she 'way above _them_! Ranston he say Mistah Valiant 'bout th'
bestes' dancer in th' world; say th' papers up in New York think th' sun
rise en set in his heels. 'Spec' ter-night he dance er little with th'
othahs jes' ter be p'lite, till he git back ter th' one he put th' crown
on. So-o-o tired she is! But Em'line gwine ter bresh away all th'
achiness--en she got yo' baid all turned _down_ fo' yo'--en yo' pretty
little night-dress all _ready_--en yo' gwineter _sleep_--en
_sleep_--till yo' kyan sleep no mo' _nohow_!"

Under these ministrations Shirley lay languid and speechless, her eyes
closed. The fear that had stricken her heart by turns seemed a cold hand
pressing upon its beating and an algid vapor rising stealthily over it.
But her hands were hot and her eyelids burned. Finally she roused
herself.

"Thank you, Emmaline," she said in a tired voice, "good night now; I'm
going to sleep, and you must go to bed, too."

But alone in the warm wan dark, Shirley lay staring open-eyed at the
ceiling. Slowly the terror was seizing upon her, the dread, noiseless
and intangible, folding her in the shadow of its numbing wings. Was her
mother the one over whom that old duel had been fought? Was it she whose
love had been wrecked in that long-ago tragedy that all at once seemed
so horribly near and real? Was that the explanation of her fainting? She
remembered the cape jessamines. Was the date of that duel--of the