d. She now opened the doors of
the wardrobe for the first time, and began to hang her dresses on the
hooks in the large compartment on one side.

After a few minutes only of this occupation, she grew weary of it, and
decided on leaving the trunks as they were, until the next morning.
The oppressive south wind, which had blown throughout the day, still
prevailed at night. The atmosphere of the room felt close; Agnes threw
a shawl over her head and shoulders, and, opening the window, stepped
into the balcony to look at the view.

The night was heavy and overcast: nothing could be distinctly seen.
The canal beneath the window looked like a black gulf; the opposite
houses were barely visible as a row of shadows, dimly relieved against
the starless and moonless sky. At long intervals, the warning cry of a
belated gondolier was just audible, as he turned the corner of a
distant canal, and called to invisible boats which might be approaching
him in the darkness. Now and then, the nearer dip of an oar in the
water told of the viewless passage of other gondolas bringing guests
back to the hotel. Excepting these rare sounds, the mysterious
night-silence of Venice was literally the silence of the grave.

Leaning on the parapet of the balcony, Agnes looked vacantly into the
black void beneath. Her thoughts reverted to the miserable man who had
broken his pledged faith to her, and who had died in that house. Some
change seemed to have come over her since her arrival in Venice; some
new influence appeared to be at work. For the first time in her
experience of herself, compassion and regret were not the only emotions
aroused in her by the remembrance of the dead Montbarry. A keen sense
of the wrong that she had suffered, never yet felt by that gentle and
forgiving nature, was felt by it now. She found herself thinking of
the bygone days of her humiliation almost as harshly as Henry Westwick
had thought of them--she who had rebuked him the last time he had
spoken slightingly of his brother in her presence! A sudden fear and
doubt of herself, startled her physically as well as morally. She
turned from the shadowy abyss of the dark water as if the mystery and
the gloom of it had been answerable for the emotions which had taken
her by surprise. Abruptly closing the window, she threw aside her
shawl, and lit the candles on the mantelpiece, impelled by a sudden
craving for light in the solitude of her room.

The cheering brightness roun