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 weeping softly, and had departed happy, or as happy as any one could be made by a deathbed story. Campaspe wondered, indeed, if the death of the Countess under these glamorous conditions were not calculated to make Lou happier even than she had been while her sister lived. Lou must always instinctively have resented the living Ella. Sympathetically, as well as geographically, they must have dwelt thousands of leagues apart. It was only in death, as a matter of fact, that Lou possessed Ella once more as a sister. Now, probably, she would create for herself a legend of a great love. The real scene, what had actually occurred, on the other hand, belonged to Campaspe alone, and was inextricably complicated and confused in her mind with the thought of her own great desire.

She lifted another log from the copper sugarkettle which held the supply and laid it on the fire almost reverently, as though she were offering a sacrifice to the gods. Outside, she was aware, the clouds were breaking and the drizzle had ceased. The creaking and rattling of the casements, however, gave evidence that a high wind was blowing.

The clock in the process of striking five was interrupted by the faint, far-away tinkle of the doorbell. Presently, Campaspe heard Frederika softly making her way along the hallway towards the street entrance. She did not wish to see anybody, but her lassitude was so complete that she lacked the force to warn Frederika that she was not at