good and might do a great
deal of harm." She would have the courage for that, surely, but, if she
failed at the critical moment, she could say, simply: "I do not know."

She crept downstairs and returned with a sheet of Constance's
note-paper. Neither she nor Barbara had ever been obliged to use it, and
it was far back in a corner of a deep drawer, together with North's
check-book, which had been useless for so many years.

As she had expected, it exactly matched the other sheet. She folded the
two together, with the letter to Laurence Austin inside. North would not
be disappointed, now, when he reached into his pocket and found no fond
letter from his dead but still beloved Constance. Barbara could not
change this, by rewriting into anything save a cry of passionate love.

[Sidenote: Subtle Revenge]

Miriam's whole being glowed with satisfaction. She thrilled with the
pleasure of this subtle revenge upon Constance, who was fully repaid,
now, for writing as she had.

_"I do not quite trust Miriam. She loved your father and I took him away
from her."_

She repeated the words in a whisper, and smiled to think of the deeply
loving, passionate page to another man that had filled the place. Let
the Fates do their worst now, for when he should read it----

[Sidenote: The Irony of Fate]

Some way, Miriam was very sure that his sight was to be restored to him.
She perceived, now, the irony of his caressing the letter Constance had
written to Barbara. How much more ironical it would be to see him, with
that unearthly light upon his face, moving his hand across the page
Constance had written to Laurence Austin just before she died. Miriam
well knew that the other letters had come first and that Constance's
last word had been to the man she loved.

The hours passed on, slowly. The mist that hung over the sea was faintly
touched with dawn before Miriam arose, and, taking the coat, went back
to Ambrose North's room. She paused outside the door, but all was still.

She entered, quietly, and laid the coat on a chair. She started back to
the door, but, before she touched the knob, the blind man stirred in his
sleep.

"Constance," he said, drowsily, "is that you? Have you come back,
Beloved? It has seemed so long."

[Sidenote: Surging Hatred]

Miriam set her lips grimly against the surging hatred for the dead that
welled up within her. She went out hastily, and noiselessly closed the
door.

XVII

"Never Again"