* * * * *

This, then, was the finish. Love had ended. Youth itself was ending,
too, here in the dead silence of this lamplit room.

There remained nothing more. Except that ever darkening horizon where,
at the earth's ends, those grave shapes of cloud closed out the vista
of remote skies.

There seemed to be no shelter anywhere in the vast nakedness of the
scheme of things--no shadow under which to crouch--no refuge.

Dim visions of cloistered forms, moving in a blessed twilight, grew
and assumed familiar shape amid the dumb desolation reigning in her
brain. The spectral temptation passed, repassed; processional,
recessional glided by, timed by her heart's low rhythm.

But, little by little, she came to understand that there was no refuge
even there; no mystic glow in the dark corridors of her own heart; no
source of light save from the candles glimmering on the high altar; no
aureole above the crucifix.

Always, everywhere, there seemed to be no shelter, no roof above the
scheme of things.

* * * * *

She heard the telephone. As she slowly rose from the sofa she noted
the hour as it sounded;--four o'clock in the morning.

A man's voice was speaking--an unhurried, precise, low-pitched,
monotonous voice:

"This--is--the--Memorial Hospital. Doctor--Willis--speaking. Mr.--John--
Estridge--died--at--ten minutes--to--four. Miss Westgard--wishes--to--
go--to--your--residence--and--remain--over--night--if--convenient....
Thank you. Miss--Westgard--will--go--to--you--immediately. Good-night."

* * * * *

Palla rose from her chair in the unfurnished drawing-room, went out
into the hall, admitted Ilse, then locked and chained the two front
doors.

When she turned around, trembling and speechless, they kissed. But it
was only Palla's mouth that trembled; and when they mounted the stairs
it was Ilse's arm that supported Palla.

Except that her eyes were heavy and seemed smeared with deep violet
under the lower lids, Ilse did not appear very much changed.

She took off her furs, hat, and gloves and sat down beside Palla. Her
voice was quite clear and steady; there appeared to be no sign of
shock or of grief, save for a passing tremor of her tired eyes now and
then.

She said: "We talked a little together, Jack and I, after I telephoned
to you.

"That was the last. His hand began to burn in