rink not--do I talk wildly? I mean not all I say--my brain seems on
fire, little Beatrice. Come; it may be you know some grim old legend
of this room--it must surely have one. Never was place fitter for a
dark deed! Tush! never be so frightened, child--forget my vagaries.
Tell me now and I will listen."

Whereat she cast herself lithely on the satin couch and turned her
lovely face on me. So I gathered up my small wits and told her what I
was not supposed to know--how that, generations agone, a Montressor
had disgraced himself and his name, and that, when he came home to his
mother, she had met him in that same Red Room and flung at him taunts
and reproaches, forgetting whose breast had nourished him; and that
he, frantic with shame and despair, turned his sword against his own
heart and so died. But his mother went mad with her remorse, and was
kept a prisoner in the Red Room until her death.

So lamely told I the tale, as I had heard my Aunt Elizabeth tell it,
when she knew not I listened or understood. Alicia heard me through
and said nothing, save that it was a tale worthy of the Montressors.
Whereat I bridled, for I too was a Montressor, and proud of it.

But she took my hand soothingly in hers and said, "Little Beatrice, if
tomorrow or the next day they should tell you, those cold, proud
women, that Alicia was unworthy of your love, tell me, would you
believe them?"

And I, remembering what I had seen in the blue parlour, was
silent--for I could not lie. So she flung my hand away with a bitter
laugh, and picked lightly from the table anear a small dagger with a
jewelled handle.

It seemed to me a cruel-looking toy and I said so--whereat she smiled
and drew her white fingers down the thin, shining blade in a fashion
that made me cold.

"Such a little blow with this," she said, "such a little blow--and the
heart beats no longer, the weary brain rests, the lips and eyes smile
never again! 'Twere a short path out of all difficulties, my
Beatrice."

And I, understanding her not, yet shivering, begged her to cast it
aside, which she did carelessly and, putting a hand under my chin, she
turned up my face to hers.

"Little, grave-eyed Beatrice, tell me truly, would it grieve you much
if you were never again to sit here with Alicia in this same Red
Room?"

And I made answer earnestly that it would, glad that I could say so
much truly. Then her face grew tender and she sighed deeply.

Presently she opened a qu