yfulness. "I am glad.
Kiss me, my beloved, kiss me.--You dear--yes, once more. I have had
such a queer night. I dreamt I had been fearfully knocked about
somehow, and was crippled, and in pain. It is good to wake, and find
you, and know I'm all right after all. God keep you, my dearest, you
and the boy. I am longing to see him--but not just now--let Denny bring
him later. And tell them to send Chifney word I shall not be out to see
the gallops this morning. I really believe those dreams half frightened
me. I feel so absurdly used up. And then--Kitty, where are you?--put
your arms round me and I'll go to sleep again."

He smiled at her quite naturally and stroked her cheek.

"My sweet, your face is all wet and cold!" he said. "Make Richard a
good boy. After all that is what matters most--Julius will help you----
Ah! look at the sunrise--why--why----"

An extraordinary change passed over him. To Katherine it seemed like
the upward leap of a livid flame. Then his head fell back and his jaw
dropped.

CHAPTER VII

MRS. WILLIAM ORMISTON SACRIFICES A WINE-GLASS TO FATE

Mrs. St. Quentin's health became increasingly fragile that autumn; and
the weight of the sorrow which had fallen upon Brockhurst bowed her to
the earth. Her desire was to go to Lady Calmady, wrap her about with
tenderness and strengthen her in patience. But, though the spirit was
willing, the flesh was weak. Daily she assured Mademoiselle de
Mirancourt that she was better, that she would be able to start for
England in the course of the next week. Yet day after day, week after
week passed by, and still the two ladies lingered in the pretty
apartment of the rue de Rennes. Day by day, and week by week, moreover,
the elder lady grew more feeble, left her bed later in the morning,
sought it earlier at night, finally resigned the attempt to leave it at
all. The keepers of Lucia St. Quentin's house of life trembled,
desire--even of gentle ministries--began to fail, the sound of the
grinding was low. Yet neither she, nor her lifelong friend, nor her
doctor, nor the few intimate acquaintances who were still privileged to
visit her, admitted that she would never go forth on that journey to
England at all; but only on that quite other journey,--upon which
Richard Calmady had already set forth in the fulness of his
manhood,--and upon which, the manifold uncertainties of human existence
notwithstanding, we are, each one of us, so perfectly certain to set
fo