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 have really monopolized quite shamefully, can go back to his chambers and his clients again."

"Yes," said Jacynth dully. "I can go back. I—I have neglected them too long."

It was the end, he realized; she needed him no longer. He should see her no more—he would go. But before he could carry out his intention, he was startle by a sudden change in Onslow's expression and, shocked beyond words, he saw him throw his arms above his head, turn sharply round three times, and totter heavily against a wire flower stand, full of hyacinths in bloom, which he brought down with him in his fall. It was all over! The long-standing heart trouble, combined with the excitement of the varied events of the past months, and especially of the last hour, had brought poor Frank Onslow's checkered career to a sudden and tragic close, and the form that lay there among the bared bulbs, crushed bells, scattered earth and broken pots of the hyacinths was already itself nothing but lifeless clay.

Fenella felt too much for tears; she stood there in a kind of stupor, wondering what had happened to her, and how it would affect her when she was able to think of it. It was Jacynth who, with his never-failing tact and consideration, came to her relief.

"This is no place for you now," he said in his