inistered to much pain, stood by the bed, speaking gently, as if
transmitting a final message.

"The doctor found a bottle of chloral--she had been sleeping badly for a
long time, and she must have taken an overdose by mistake.... There is no
doubt of that--no doubt--there will be no question--he has been very
kind. I told him that you and I would like to be left alone with her--to
go over her things before any one else comes. I know it is what she would
have wished."

Selden was hardly conscious of what she said. He stood looking down on
the sleeping face which seemed to lie like a delicate impalpable mask
over the living lineaments he had known. He felt that the real Lily was
still there, close to him, yet invisible and inaccessible; and the
tenuity of the barrier between them mocked him with a sense of
helplessness. There had never been more than a little impalpable barrier
between them--and yet he had suffered it to keep them apart! And now,
though it seemed slighter and frailer than ever, it had suddenly hardened
to adamant, and he might beat his life out against it in vain.

He had dropped on his knees beside the bed, but a touch from Gerty
aroused him. He stood up, and as their eyes met he was struck by the
extraordinary light in his cousin's face.

"You understand what the doctor has gone for? He has promised that there
shall be no trouble--but of course the formalities must be gone through.
And I asked him to give us time to look through her things first----"

He nodded, and she glanced about the small bare room. "It won't take
long," she concluded.

"No--it won't take long," he agreed.

She held his hand in hers a moment longer, and then, with a last look at
the bed, moved silently toward the door. On the threshold she paused to
add: "You will find me downstairs if you want me."

Selden roused himself to detain her. "But why are you going? She would
have wished----"

Gerty shook her head with a smile. "No: this is what she would have
wished----" and as she spoke a light broke through Selden's stony misery,
and he saw deep into the hidden things of love.

The door closed on Gerty, and he stood alone with the motionless sleeper
on the bed. His impulse was to return to her side, to fall on his knees,
and rest his throbbing head against the peaceful cheek on the pillow.
They had never been at peace together, they two; and now he felt himself
drawn downward into the strange mysterious depths of her tra