ange.

"Everything is very strange," said Rebecca with a shudder.

"What do you mean?" inquired Caroline.

"Nothing," replied Rebecca.

Nobody entered the study that day, nor the next. The third day Henry was
expected home, but he did not arrive and the last train from the city
had come.

"I call it pretty queer work," said Mrs. Brigham. "The idea of a doctor
leaving his patients at such a time as this, and the idea of a
consultation lasting three days! There is no sense in it, and _now_ he
has not come. I don't understand it, for my part."

"I don't either," said Rebecca.

They were all in the south parlor. There was no light in the study; the
door was ajar.

Presently Mrs. Brigham rose--she could not have told why; something
seemed to impel her--some will outside her own. She went out of the
room, again wrapping her rustling skirts round that she might pass
noiselessly, and began pushing at the swollen door of the study.

"She has not got any lamp," said Rebecca in a shaking voice.

Caroline, who was writing letters, rose again, took the only remaining
lamp in the room, and followed her sister. Rebecca had risen, but she
stood trembling, not venturing to follow.

The doorbell rang, but the others did not hear it; it was on the south
door on the other side of the house from the study. Rebecca, after
hesitating until the bell rang the second time, went to the door; she
remembered that the servant was out.

Caroline and her sister Emma entered the study. Caroline set the lamp on
the table. They looked at the wall, and there were two shadows. The
sisters stood clutching each other, staring at the awful things on the
wall. Then Rebecca came in, staggering, with a telegram in her hand.
"Here is--a telegram," she gasped. "Henry is--dead."

The Messenger

BY ROBERT W. CHAMBERS

Little gray messenger,
Robed like painted Death,
Your robe is dust.
Whom do you seek
Among lilies and closed buds
At dusk?

Among lilies and closed buds
At dusk,
Whom do you seek,
Little gray messenger,
Robed in the awful panoply
Of painted Death?
R.W.C.

From _The Mystery of Choice_, by Robert W. Chambers. Published,
1897, by D. Appleton and Company. Copyright by Robert W. Chambers.
By permission of Robert W. Chambers.

All-wise,
Hast thou seen all there is to see with