d at the little travelling-clock on the dressing-table, and saw
that its hands marked four. An hour had passed already.... She rose and
administered the prescribed restorative; then she took the pulse, and
listened to the beat of the heart. Strong still--too strong!

As she lifted her head, the vague animal wailing ceased, and she heard
her name: "Justine----"

She bent down eagerly. "Yes?"

No answer: the wailing had begun again. But the one word showed her that
the mind still lived in its torture-house, that the poor powerless body
before her was not yet a mere bundle of senseless reflexes, but her
friend Bessy Amherst, dying, and feeling herself die....

Justine reseated herself, and the vigil began again. The second hour
ebbed slowly--ah, no, it was flying now! Her eyes were on the hands of
the clock and they seemed leagued against her to devour the precious
minutes. And now she could see by certain spasmodic symptoms that
another crisis of pain was approaching--one of the struggles that Wyant,
at times, had almost seemed to court and exult in.

Bessy's eyes turned on her again. "_Justine_----"

She knew what that meant: it was an appeal for the hypodermic needle.
The little instrument lay at hand, beside a newly-filled bottle of
morphia. But she must wait--must let the pain grow more severe. Yet she
could not turn her gaze from Bessy, and Bessy's eyes entreated her
again--_Justine_! There was really no word now--the whimperings were
uninterrupted. But Justine heard an inner voice, and its pleading shook
her heart. She rose and filled the syringe--and returning with it, bent
above the bed....

* * * * *

She lifted her head and looked at the clock. The second hour had passed.
As she looked, she heard a step in the sitting-room. Who could it be?
Not Dr. Garford's assistant--he was not due till seven. She listened
again.... One of the nurses? No, not a woman's step----

The door opened, and Wyant came in. Justine stood by the bed without
moving toward him. He paused also, as if surprised to see her there
motionless. In the intense silence she fancied for a moment that she
heard Bessy's violent agonized breathing. She tried to speak, to drown
the sound of the breathing; but her lips trembled too much, and she
remained silent.

Wyant seemed to hear nothing. He stood so still that she felt she must
move forward. As she did so, she picked up from the table by the bed the
memorand