sten. I
don't help in that sort of work, my boy. What's up here? I've
helped you before, and I've held your secrets; but I don't go into
the business of making any more secrets, d'ye see?"

"There aren't going to be any more, Jamieson," rejoined Dunwody
slowly. "I've got to keep hers. You needn't keep mine if you
don't feel like it. Get her well, that's all. This is no place
for her. As for me, as you know very well, there isn't any place
anywhere for me."

The old doctor sighed. "Brace up to it, my son. But play the game
fair. If it comes to a case of being kind to yourself or kind to a
woman, why, take a gamble, and try being kind to the woman. They
need it. I'm coming back: but now I must be getting on. First,
I'm going to get something to eat. Where's the whisky?"

Dunwody for the time left him, and began moodily to pace apart, up
and down the gallery. Here presently he was approached by Jeanne,
the maid.

"Madame will speak to you!" announced that person loftily, and
turned away scornfully before he had time to reply. Eager,
surprised, he hastened up the stair and once more was at her
bedside. "Yes?" he said. "Did you wish me for anything?"

Josephine pushed herself back against the head board of the bed,
half supported by pillows. With her free hand she attempted to put
back a fallen lock of dark hair. It was not care for her personal
appearance which animated her, however, although her costume,
arranged by her maid, now was that of the sick chamber. "Jeanne,"
she said, "go to the armoire, yonder. Bring me what you find
there. Wait," she added to Dunwody. "I've something to show you,
something to ask you, yes."

Jeanne turned, over her arm now the old and worn garments which
Sally earlier had attempted to remove.

"What are these?" exclaimed Josephine of the man who stood by.

He made no reply, but took the faded silks in his own hands,
looking at them curiously, as though he himself saw something
unexpected, inexplicable.

"What are they, sir? Whose were they? You told me once you were
alone here."

"I am," he answered. "Look. These are years old, years, years
old."

"What are they? Whose were they?" she reiterated.

"They are grave clothes," he said simply, and looked her in the
face. "Do you wish to know more?"

"Is she--was she--is she out there?" He knew she meant to ask, in
the graveyard of the family.

"Why do you wish to know?" he inquired quietly. "Is